1.A page wide panel. A lone figure climbs the steep incline of a snow-covered mountain. The figure is wrapped in thick clothes with a hood up over his head,in his hand is a sword wrapped up with cloth. Snow falls heavily all around.The panel is almost entirely white; the figure a speck of black, the sword he carries has a faint red flow to it.
Forty-eight hours from now.
2.Pull in close on the figure. We are behind him as he grasps with his free hand to pull himself further on. Snow whips all around him
3.A close up on the wrapped up sword in the hooded figures hand. The red glow is growing stronger.
4.The hooded figure has just come over a peak, we are facing him but snow and the shade from the hood cover his face so we can’t see whom it is.
5.Over the shoulder shot of the hooded figure as he falls to his knees looking at the vast Shaolin temple that stands before him. The temple looks like this,it is crafted into the very rock of the mountain and is covered in snow. The stairs leading up to it roll out from the position of the hooded man.
A full-page splash.
Thedoors to the Temple have been kicked wide open, snow pours into the large central room of the temple, Shaolin monks look to the door in shock, the firepits all around the chamber blow as the mountain wind rushes in.
Standing in the doorway, hood now blown down, holding the Blood Sword in one hand and its wrappings in the other is a very cold and pissed off looking Ian Nottingham.
Where the fuck is Michael Finnegan?
My sword told me he was here.