He's an odd one. That D. Wade. I tend to call him Dwade or Duffy. He doesn't seem to mind the former and only finds the latter acceptable in Ordo settings. I don't quite understand. However, he is fun.
I'm writing this after he assigned me a task and I did it. I recorded it somewhere else in my pile of notes. But he seemed upset at how I accomplished the task. To quote Him directly, "You Don't Fuck Tom. You Don't FUCK Tom Turkey. He Has Claws. He will Rip Your Junk Off." While this is humorous and a tad bit silly and I have mirrored it back at him a couple of times since, I think I see his point. I didn't learn from the task. I did it the way a kindred would do it.
It reminds me of the time earlier before the task. Of a time Duffy Challenged me.
Two Vampires walk into a bar, or more specifically a Daeva and a Mekhet. Or, more specifically two crazy nigh immortal psychopaths with nocturnal proclivities walk into a bar. However the Joke goes, there we were. It was some shit hole that was the closest to the elysia of the evening. However there were plenty of patrons. In a world as dark as ours,many turn to alcohol to help them dull their pain. I've seen it literally thousands of times. I've taken advantage of it many times as well. That night however, we were there for a game. Not to feed but to compete. To see who had the stronger force of personality. No powers, just charisma, moxie, and charm. To witness, Dr. Right was there as well, not to act as judge, because we didn't need one. But to observe. To lurk. He wasn't and isn't important. Duffy and I took our places, gave a curt nod to the other to signal the green light and then we began from opposite corners of the bar.
I went into it quickly, tricking a cute young thing near me to spill her drink on my shirt, smirking and flirting and convincing her to buy me one or two to make up for it. I wasn't paying attention to my competition because I knew I was going to win. In five minutes, I had the prettiest young things in a circle around me. I had chummed the waters and the little fish were gathering around the shark for protection.
That's when from my position of power that I saw the rest of them. Duffy was still in the corner, he had as many, not the kind that I tend to choose for food, but I know my target audience and apparently he knew his too. We were two bodies of gravity in that space. The rest of them orbited us. He consoled those in his orbit and I had the opposite approach, feeding off their emotions. We were opposite magnets and the iron filings gathered around us and drew magnetic lines between us. Forty-five minutes after we had begun, we were enjoying ourselves, our pawns, and the other's prowess. We realized we had to get back and we tallied our numbers. Surprisingly they were equal. I left with a stack of assorted cards and numbers. Duffy the same. He encouraged them to be more. I encouraged them to be hedonistic and enjoy themselves. I don't know which is better.
We wandered back to the gathering and he agreed to teach me so I could be better. He then gave me the task I previously mentioned and wrote about. He is an odd one. Many just view him as crazy. He is far more centered than others. I almost trust Duffy.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Friday, March 21, 2014
The Candy Man Can
3/21/2014
This city is on the brink of war. Only a few know it. He is preparing the hearts and minds for it. Building resentment on both sides. I am worried that no one else notices. He plays the others in power and they have no idea that he is. They just suspect him of being the typical plotting elder. They can't see him manipulating them. When I point out his plays to him, he just responds with a slick comment that is effectively just a tip of the hat to me for noticing. If I keep noticing, I will begin to fear for my requiem.I know that with Bear's disappearance and so on that the coteries have split. One has died, and the other has picked it over like a carrion crow. I still believe in our mission. I know I have newer priorities and needs. I know I have to reunite with my wife first. However, if they are all destroyed or if war breaks out it will delay everything. I will talk to Jack at the next gathering. Maybe he will believe me and share it with the others. If he doesn't then he is a fool.
I feel like the city is being saved by a manic depressive with a human taxidermy hobby from a candy making sociopath. What is 2014 coming to.
And the world tastes good because the candy man thinks it should.
-L
Friday, March 14, 2014
Let the Blood Flow Like Water
It was a few nights later. I was beginning to feel the hunger once more. I hadn't eaten since. I hadn't drained the blood from another victim. I hadn't killed since. Just thinking about it caused me pain as I relived that terrible feeling. I kept thinking about her hand around my wrist going slack. It sliding smoothly along my cold dead Unclean skin.
I had spent the past week understanding that with my faith and my beliefs that I was now unable to follow. I would never be me again. She had turned me into a monster that violated all of my beliefs about the dead. As a dead man, my gods and priests and witches would only ignore my pleas. I stopped worshiping. To simply continue to do so was to curse the gods I loved.
I had lost my support system and I was being forced to commit acts that were further than I had ever gone. Before, I had done bad things. They were for the family. There was a reason before. They made sense. Now, my actions were whims of Hers. The things I was made to do just simple cruelties for another's amusement.
This night it got worse. When she came for me, I was in a corner wrapped in sheets suffering as before. I was wrapped like a mewling and crying at least as much. She walked in and demanded that I stop. She told me that She had a gift for me. My body didn't know whether to cringe to rush over to her side. In the end, I twitched away and then rushed forward.
Before me on a table was an ornate box. It was some rich dark wood. It had a silver geometric design inlaid into the wood. It smelled of fresh flowers and some kind of perfume. It was beautiful. She told me about the ebony (the wood) and it's rarity and expense. She talked about the silversmith that she entranced for the gift. She told me of perfumed oils that were rubbed into the finished wood so that the scent wouldn't fade for some time. Then, when she was done, she explained that she wanted me to understand how much effort she had put into it. She paused and I thanked her for the box. I told her of its beauty in numerous words.
She laughed. She explained that she wanted me to know how much effort and thought and money went into making the box simply so that I would know the value of the real present which was inside. I was confused but eager to know what could be better than a thing of such beauty. She encouraged me to open my gift. Ever so carefully, just in case it was something more fragile than the box, I opened the lid. It moved soundlessly, proof of its master craftsman ship. When it was open, and I saw what was inside, I recoiled. Within the box, on a bed of fine satin, was a polished human skull. Upon the top of that skull was etched a name. It was etched with great care and the etching was stained with ink so that the name was clear.
Rebekah.
Over the sound of what I later realized was my own screaming She said simply, "She is yours. Your first kill."
Such kindness of action, such forethought masked Her intentions. Her deliberate cruelty. I hated Her and for a moment it was greater than my love for Her. I collapsed to my knees and drew my dagger. She laughed again. I began cutting my arm until she forbade me. My blood stained the floor. It took me a second before I realized I was just spilling her, Rebekah's, blood once more. I was just tarnishing her memory once more. It hurt more than the knife wounds. After She was done enjoying the moment, She forbade me from ever seriously harming myself. With those words and that command she cursed me.
After petting me gently and then ruffling my hair she left me alone. I was alone with the box. I was alone with Rebekah.
-L
Sunday, March 9, 2014
A Quiet Little Evening as a Homemaker.
3/12/2014
I write this to memorialize the lesson.
Dwade, as I call him, or Duffy or Dane or Roz spoke with me a few weeks ago. We connected as only the broken can. Each seeing the other's pile of pieces for the complex thing that it was. He is broken, his mind slips through the 'when' of a moment in a manner in which I have only heard of in the great oracles of old.
He has knowledge of Ordo secrets I seek,and he agreed to teach me the path. His first task was that I should meet and pick up or go on a date with a mortal and not feed on them. I was to return them to their life after encountering me unmolested. It seemed simple enough.
I set out upon this task early one evening. After the sun had set, I decided to venture to my newer territory and begin there. Uptown had been Her's and it seemed fitting that I use it this way and defy Her in yet another way. Just the thought made me smile as I drove there.
I began my hunt in a "historic" Chicago bar, The Green Mill. As soon as I walked in I remembered coming here before. I had been in here a few years after coming to the city. Back then, it had been a shit hole bar with attached history next to a drug clinic of some kind. Tonight, it was effectively the same shell, just a polished interior covered in that new history lacquer. And the surrounding city was cleaner, richer, and in general pretending to be nicer. It was also my hunting grounds.
I met her at the bar, I didn't even order a drink. He name was something like Hailey or some derivative. I called her Samantha. After a couple seconds of communication she was in love like they all are. Minutes more, we were walking back to her apartment under the pretense of me making sure that she got home safe. Usually as soon as there was a convenient alleyway, or if I am feeling especially patient, as soon as their door closes, I am on them like a fat kid on candy. There's that happy little squeal of resistance as the fangs pierce them and then the Kiss has them and they begin cooing as I feed. That night, that was all I could think about. That little squeal and the warm gushing. I maintained my composure, I had planned for this. I had planned to not feast. I did notice every alleyway along the few blocks back to Samantha's.
As we got to her door, she invited me upstairs for "some fun." I told her I didn't know about that, but that I would love some coffee. After we were secluded from the world behind her locked apartment door, I thought she was going to try to drag me into her bedroom. I distracted her by asking for that coffee. She looked dismayed but went to her kitchen and I took a reserved pose on the couch as I sat. She came back and we talked. Well, she talked. She talked forever about her hopes and dreams and how she was so lucky to meet a cute great guy like me. I was bored in seconds. It didn't take much longer than that to make me just want to drink from her just to shut her up. I decided to take a different approach. I began asking her about her secrets and about things that she was ashamed of. My blood did the rest.
It is amazing how much guilt women have in this day an age. They do petty things to sabotage their friends like buying doughnuts for the office because the secretary makes you feel self conscious about your body and if she eats them and you don't then you have won some small victory. Then they carry around those things with them. When made to admit them, they get all cute and sad and cry. I was more comfortable being there and holding her in her misery than being talked at about her pointless life. It was a moment of realization that I have had time and time again. The one emotion that I can still connect with mortals about is misery or sadness.
Anyway, that night I held her. It reminded me of many previous times I pretended to be kind. After she fell asleep, I took a number of heavy blankets and covered her windows. I figured that I would prolong the experiment. The following morning as the sun rose, I chose to remain awake. The fog was there as always weighing down upon my shoulders. We talked in the morning. I wasn't my eloquent self, but she didn't notice, such is the infectious love that my kind instill in mortals. I told to go to the story and gave her a list of things which to get. I also informed her that we were going to host company that evening. She was excited to meet people I knew. I called Alec and let him know I wouldn't be in today and that he and Tannit were invited to a dinner at "my girlfriend's" house that evening. When she overheard that, she practically swooned. This was getting exhausting.
During the day while Samantha was out, I arranged her apartment in a way I thought was more fitting. I threw all of her photos of family and loved ones into a drawer, I re-arranged her kitchen so that the four of us would fit better and my seat at the table would give a slightly more imposing image. Her book shelves were in terrible locations and so they got moved. Along with her TV and couch. That work took a long time in my state, and by the time I was finishing, Samantha was home. I explained to her what she was going to be cooking and how to begin. She was upset about her things, but I explained that it was for the best. She forgave me and asked that next time, I ask first. I lied and said I would. She smiled and kissed my cheek. Her warmth made me hungry. I figured a healthy pot roast would be a fair meal for my employees. The sound of her thumping heart made me hungrier.
I did my best to ignore it. I told her that while she was working that I would be taking a nap on the couch. I laid down and let my senses expand to the area around me. I listened to the tenants living on either side of her. I listened tot hem go about their lives. I thought about turning them into a feast of blood and gore. How does that old song go? Sweet dreams are made of these? In the next few hours the apartment filled with smells that distracted me from the smell of skin and blood beneath its surface. I felt the sun set with my eyes closed and felt the fog lift and my body wake fully. I "awoke" and went to the bathroom to make myself presentable for the evening. I took a boiling shower and got dressed again. Spending onyl a few minutes primping in front of the mirror. I looked tired.
A few minutes after 7pm, there was a knock at the door. Alec arrived with Tannit in tow. He apologized for being late. I know it was because he likely had to pull Tannit away from whatever it was that she was doing; Perhaps even splash some water on her to pull her out of one of her drug hazes. Alec is a good man. He cares too much. He had brought a bottle of wine and in addition to the 4 I had Samantha pick up, we were well stocked.
I invited them in and cracked a bottle. There was some jovial conversation where Alec commented that he hadn't heard about me dating anyone. I turned on the charm and they were drawn to me as usual as I told some bullshit story about how me and Samantha met. Samantha corrected me at the end by mentioning that her name was in fact Hailey. I laughed and thanked Samantha and mentioned that maybe we should move to the kitchen to have some of Samantha's lovely cooking. She seemed a bit dismayed that she had been re-named and didn't have much say in it. I smiled and complimented her on her cute dress for the evening, and she cooed a coo that was almost as good as the Kiss. She loved me and was mine. I took my seat at the head of the table I had arranged with a spot for Tannit and Samantha on either side and Alec's spot at the foot. Seeing Alec, he obviously knew what I was up to, having seem me pick up a number of women over the years, but Tannit just looked slightly hurt to see how much attention I was paying to another woman. I decided I would watch her wine consumption for her. It wouldn't do for her to drink too much and then mix it with the pills that she was no doubt on. Her pupils were normal tonight for once, thank god. The meal would do her good. We talked a bit about the day's work as Samantha readied and served the roast.
When the table was served, there was an edible looking pot roast, green beans cooked with bacon, and mashed potatoes. It was a hearty mortal meal. Alec insisted on saying grace for us all, and afterwards, I served everyone, myself excluded. When asked about it by Samantha, I told he that I appreciated her efforts but that I was dieting tonight. The funny part is that she didn't get the joke. She did a good job of keeping from crying at my remark and I leaned over and kissed her cheek. The rest of the dinner was relatively benign except for a few notable events. At one point, I slammed my fist on the table without realizing it because I was thinking about pouncing on and feeding on Samantha when she almost murdered me with her small talk. I missed Tannit practically guzzling a bottle of wine when she "went to the bathroom." The girl needs help and I should probably send her to Ollie in my place for my next appointment. it may do her some good and give Ollie a break from dealing with me. Alec, as usual, was the center of stability. He kept conversation going, managed my impatience as always, kept referring to Samantha as Hailey which she seemed to like, and he kept Tannit from drinking too much.
In the aftermath of the dinner, Alec asked if I would be wanting a ride back, I told him that I would. Samantha was heart broken and I explained that I would call her as soon as I got home so she would know that I made it safely. She again insisted that her name was Hailey and also something about me not having her number. I put my business card in her hand as I left with Alec and Tannit. Oddly enough, it took both of us to navigate her down the stairs. We paused for a quick vomit break before putting her into the car. Alec drove me to the hearse and dropped me off. I assured him that I would see him tomorrow.
I went home and did not feed that evening. I figured carrying out the experiment over two days would be better than one. It helped me realize how hard something so easy would be to me. It has been some time since I have gone without gorging myself on blood. Part of me felt empty. Maybe it is because I was carrying out experiments like this instead of working towards my goals. I will find her.
I will soon be sharing this report with Dwade. I'll have to copy it, but it will suffice. It feels odd copying part of my random notes and scrawlings and giving them to another.
Till the next time,
-L
Friday, March 7, 2014
Waiting is the Hardest Part
03/06/2014
I have seen one, but not found the ones which I seek. I know the tool with which I can search. He could be in my possession. I paid handsomely for his delivery.
I can find the shells.
I can learn the methods to make them like us.
The current problem is with the Dragolescu and Contessa Elizabetha Darlington Costello Coppola. The bitch is ruining my plans and delaying them. She is not even a real Contessa. That is just her name. Fucking entitled Twilight Judge. The damned Ordo Dracul and their fucking politics once again fuck with my plans. All I seek is transcendence. All they do is squabble and fight among themselves. Maybe Czalk and his insanity are justified. I know that they push me.
This Contessa will pay. Each day that my plans are delayed looking for another Dragolescu, I will make her suffer for a year.
Doctor Right made promises to me that he couldn't keep. I gave him an out because of our history and so that there would not be another squabble in our group. We are hemorrhaging enough. The bad blood leaking from everywhere. Jude and everyone, Henry and Baby Bear, Baby Bear and Jack, Ellen and Doctor Right. I could keep going. Since Czalk took praxis the city is going to shit. I miss Clay. Fuck Hal. He is part of this too.
I will open the door. I will find what I seek. I will claim it and bring it back with me. I will fill the vessel. I will reclaim what I lost. Together we will transcend.
-L
Sunday, February 23, 2014
The Dark Path
02/23/2014
Let me begin by acknowledging that my scrawl in this entry may be hastened and uneven. The excitement of recent events has shaken me. I write this of sound body and mind even with my unfocused approach. I have started down a dark road. Wei has taken my focus and narrowed it on a singular point. It was all a choice of his to take the three of us on what he called an excursion. This excursion is out into the underworld. For some reason he thought Ellen and Jude would be good choices. Jude seeing the underworld sounds idiotic. Someone of his faith and temperament would mentally crack. I have to say he handled it better than expected. Ellen makes sense. She is currently facing issues with death and I believed that it would be good for her. She was the quietest of us, and yet when she did talk... anyway, it doesn't matter. that is no the point.However all of that is inconsequential. The underworld is full of the spirits of the dead, or ghosts as Wei called them. Apparently some make it and some don't after death. Tragic deaths and things left undone make it more likely that a person's spirit will make it over to the other side. Apparently necromancers can summon the ghost of a person long dead from any distance. Knowing this, Wei's power, and what the Dragolescu was capable of I have a new plan. I can do it. I have the power to make everything alright again. I realize how this might sound, let me explain.
At the last gathering I asked many their thoughts on god and they responded. I just wanted some divine intervention in order to fix those acquaintances that were suffering. Then some new kindred walks up and suggests praying to Ra. Ra who would only answer one prayer ever and who only wanted one simple sacrifice of blood. It sounded so simple and pure and right. Why wouldn't Anya have simply told me about Ra if it would work. Point is... the deal I made was that I wanted my wish / prayer answered and in exchange I wouldn't not bother at least that god ever again.
Let me carefully explain this so that I never forget it. Gods exist and occasionally feel the need to remind you. I didn't have time to sacrifice to Ra before my request was answered. They didn't fix my friends, but they gave me the greatest gift I have received in decades. A chance at happiness and togetherness once more. I've remembered what it is like to have hope. I have a plan. I have put the plan into action. If anyone or anything gets in my way, I will destroy it. Along this path, I am the immovable object. Nothing will deter me. I will get what I have lost back.
I want anyone who breaks in and reads this to understand: If you attempt to prevent me from my goal, I will burn you. I will burn all that you love.
I understand the possible evil of my current and future actions and the dangers that they may spread to those close to me. Czalk has his insane plan... I suppose I now have mine. I, however, will not share mine. This road is solitary. I need no sycophants or capitualators. The excursion has showed me that I have allies. This may come to be a problem. This task is straightforward and simple. I will bend the tools to my will and accomplish what must be done.
To my friends, if this fails and you find these writings: I do not know how far I will fall. It will be bad. I encourage you to keep your relationships alive, your hearts open, and your sense of hope alive. Our existence can be so dark. Those of my blood curse know this harsh lesson best. Avoid dark thoughts and if you ever end up living as long as myself, don't forget that hope can hit you at any time. It can make you feel alive again for even the briefest period. Embrace it and let it fill you. Also remember to listen to the neonates. Some are idiots. Others show us what we were like when we could still feel and were still close to human. These lessons and remembrances are important. For decades I have strived to forget who I was as a mortal. In light of recent events and nights, this seems to have been a mistake. This is not to say that I think humanity is better. We kindred are the next step. There is something beyond even us kindred, and we should strive to be better. Whatever that "better" means to each of us. Friends should I fall, I do not know the depths, or if I will be able to rise again. Drastic action may need to be taken.
Thank you all for the gifts you have given me. I begin a journey that I know will transform me into something unrecognizable at the end. If successful, I will reach great glory. If I fail, I may fall further than this city can bear. Maybe this path will lead to the transcendence I seek. Maybe it will lead to my destruction.
In either case farewell,
-L
Friday, February 21, 2014
Blood is like love.
Blood is like love.
The first kiss is magic,
the second is intimate,
the third is routine.
It had been maybe a week. It felt more like a month, but realistically it was more like a week. It was hard counting the nights like days. In addition to that, always being hungry and on the verge of starving causes the mind to lose focus. I had fed on scraps. Blood drooled from one leech to myself. I loved her. It was wrong. And I hated that I loved her. She wasn't Kizzy. She was the lying evil harlot that was responsible for Kizzy's death and then mine. And she chose me and not her. She felt the need to point that out. I loved that. That sickening heart gushing (if it still could) that fills you with warmth. It made me want to vomit but all I could do was smile and thank her. I still remember what it was like to be a slave to her.
But, it had been a week or so. I was starving. I refused to do what I wanted to do so badly. I refused to sink my new teeth into warm skin and suck. It was disgusting. The entire idea of it. Filthy. Unclean. I was Unclean. I was dead. Sometimes I still felt like my neck hurt even though that was nights ago. Corpses are Unclean and she made me one of them. She thought it fitting that I be denied the opportunity to rest eternally with my wife. She stole that from me. And I loved her.
But, it had been a week. I was so hungry. Have you ever starved? Probably not. It is awful. Your insides are in knots and everything twists and bits within you. It feel like everything within you is trying to eat you just so it can survive. I stared at dogs and cats and any animal I saw with such hunger. She told me that humans are what we're meant to feed on. The idea was more than sickening. To pollute another with my Unclean corpse by biting them? My cold rotting flesh touching theirs which would now be Impure because I touched them... How could I curse another as such... It was WRONG.
Then it happened. I still remember every detail. She had prepared for it while I slept. She tossed me in a pit with some lass from the village near the cave. When I woke, I was so hungry. My emaciated corpse looking more dead than ever impelled me. I looked at the poor girl. Homely, freckles under the grime on her face. Her dress covered in the muck from the pit. I glanced up and saw Her smile. The bitch was enjoying this. She wanted to play with me. It made me feel special that she wanted to watch. That she wanted to look at me. I loved what she was and the attention she gave.
I lunged at the poor girl's crying form. In the dark, I couldn't see the color of her hair, but I remember her eyes. They were shocked. They were like black orbs as large as dinner plates, all color was lost to the fear. I tried to resist. I tried to let go and curl up into a ball in the corner, but I remember it compelling me to do it. The hunger. I sank my fangs into something other than my new love for the first time. The hot splash in my mouth, the ecstasy I felt, my brain was on fire, I saw colors that I had never seen before. I heard sounds that I have never heard since. It was horrifying and beautiful. There might have been a cute whimper as one of her tiny little warm hands wrapped around my wrist. I couldn't stop. I kept sucking like the leech that she made me. I heard her laughter above. All I wanted to do was to let go and curl into a ball and cry. But I couldn't. I was making her laugh and I was so hungry. I couldn't stop now. I heard her voice encouraging me to drink deeper. So... I did. The hand around my wrist tightened. After minutes of sucking on the wound, her little weak hand let go. After that, I could stop. I innately knew that it was done. That I had eaten all there was to eat.
I was shaken. I recoiled back against the opposite wall of the pit. I held myself and tried to cry. And damn it all, my tears were blood. They were her blood. I cried her blood for her. The poor damned girl. She came down into the pit and held me, and I was happy. She cooed at me and I felt loved. I also felt hate. I hated what I was. I hated what she made me. I hated that Kizzy was gone and I was forbidden from joining her. But my new love, my new master, my Sire held me. She made me forget about the girl for a time.
But later... I cried more of her blood for her.
It would be this way for ever.
Blood runs through your veins; that's where our similarity ends.
-L
Sunday, February 16, 2014
On the Life and Death of the Pursuit of Happiness or Once III
[[Let this be a caution to sensitive readers. Stop reading.]]
Once Upon a Time...
... there was a happy family that just had their first child. When Agata was born the man's heart swelled. He stopped being merely a man and became a father. This transformed him. He stopped working as he did and spent as much of his time with his family. He hired an au pair to live with them from the village. They lived peacefully as a family on the dead viscount's wealth. They wanted for nothing.
When Aleksander was born two years later, the man couldn't have been happier. Blessed with not one but two wonderful babies. Both of whom were perfectly healthy and strong and growing into beautiful little children. Agata was already running around the estate and opening every cabinet she encountered. She pointed and demanded things she wanted. She said 'no' or 'go away' when she wanted to be left alone. She was darling and brought light to the estate. Aleksander, like most babes, just nursed and slept and cried and cooed. It was beautiful and wonderful.
Six months after the birth of Aleksander the man's wife was pregnant again. They celebrated as they usually did and prepared. In those days and in that land it was common to hire a midwife from the village to deliver the child at home. So, they did. This time, the woman that they hired was different than the old woman who delivered the first two births. The old woman had passed and the young woman was her apprentice. The young woman was soothing and confidant and sure of herself but something was different about her.
When the time came for the birthing, the man and woman were together, as they had been before. This time though the life from the woman's womb was not. The child was stillborn. It was grey and lifeless. It was a lump of flesh that tore open the healed hole in both the man and the woman. The hole that they had both forgot. The hole of her father, and the hole of his family. To them, it felt like the ground had opened up and swallowed their happiness whole. The midwife insisted on staying around and consoling them and counseling them on their loss. To this the man and woman were grateful. to lose as they had lost is something that no parent should have to go through.
The days passed and their children, who they cared for dearly and cherished ever moreso, could not understand their grief. The woman secluded herself from the rest of her family. for a time her only guest was the midwife who brought her breakfast and supper and tried to talk to her about her loss until she was shooed out of the room. The days became dark then. The happiness form before was eclipsed by the loss that hung in the air around the estate. The midwife did her best but it seemed as if the woman was lost to her grief. And although it was never said or acted upon, to her it felt like the man blamed her body's weakness for the loss.
And so it came to pass that one day the woman was found in her bath with her wrists cut along with her nether regions and neck. The scene was ghastly and gruesome even by today's standards. A month later Aleksander had his first birthday. To all but the children, it was a hollow victory. The midwife had been invited to stay on because of her rapport with the children and her experience with loss of this kind. The man spent most of his time with the midwife talking and trying to understand the emptiness and betrayal that his beloved felt and blamed him and her own body for. He wanted to understand how she could reach the point where taking her life and leaving their beloved children was even and option.
The man finally felt completely alone. His people had left following their personal codes. He had followed his heart and his ambition and stayed with the woman. He had had a family. He had two beautiful children and had almost had a third. and now, even with his children, he felt abandoned. He felt alone for the first time in his life. He tried to shrug off the feeling. He tried to focus on teaching Agata about the world. He tried to focus on spending tie with his first born son Aleksander. And yet, there was that hole. That Hole that came back again and refused to allow itself to be filled.
The man's talks with the midwife helped him understand his beloved's decision. How Kizzy could feel so hopeless how she could feel as if there were no options left to her. He walked with the midwife often through the estate's garden. They stopped often at the foot of the tree where Kizzy was buried. Where her body sat in the earth rotting and neglecting the living. There were times where the man wished he had spent more time with Agata or Aleksander but where he needed to talk to the midwife; where he needed to understand. The man meant well, but in the year after his wife's passing the man spent a significant amount of time with the midwife. He was never unfaithful to his beloved, but he did feel a kind of love for what the midwife did. He felt love for the words of peace that the midwife offered him.
And yes, there were odd things about her that he noticed. He noticed that there were times where her skin was as cold as the winter's frost. There were times where she seemingly forgot to breathe. And, queerer than most it was how she never seemed to be around during the day. But to the man, who was suffering greatly at the loss of his beloved, his Kizzy, he ignored the nagging feelings that he had. He spent time with the midwife because she was the only one who he felt understood his pain. Talking to her seemed to soothe it for a time. He ignored Agata and Aleksander when he was with the midwife. He forgot about time and things like the appropriateness of walking with a woman who was not your wife after nightfall when he was with the midwife.
It became such a problem that months had passed before he even realized that he was willfully neglecting Agata and Aleksander. He did not realize that the au pair was more a parent to them than he was. When he realized this he wept. He wept for the loss of Kizzy and of the close bond that he had had with his children when she was alive. He cried out to the heavens begging, bargaining, and angry for all that had happened.
Two days later, the man succumbed to his own grief. He took the last act that he ever would. He took a rope from supply shed and went to the tree over Kizzy's grave. He was weeping the entire time. His tears plinked on the hard packed earth of his beloved's grave as he began tying the rope. His birth family had left him, losing faith in his capabilities. His adopted family had left him blaming him for judgement and ridicule which he did not offer. Kizzy had left him all alone with two children that he could not care for. They were better off with the nanny. They were better off with a surrogate parent than a pathetic man who would neglect them for their natural born lives. The man finished tying the rope. He said the words of his people asking for a blessing of the newly born on his children and he climbed the tree.
The climb was slow and he sprained his wrist on the way up. But, he had climbed the tree. He was above the place where Kizzy, his beloved, the most beautiful woman that he had ever heard rumor of lay. He was determined to be with her soon. Even if it meant breaking the oaths that he gave to his people long ago. Even f it meant shattering the idea of family that existed still at the estate of which he owned. The man would be re-united with the woman. The man would find a way to fix this hole that continued to eat at him.
There was the splatter of tears on the hard earth as he put the rope around his neck. He thought of Agata and how beautiful she was becoming even at the young age of four now. How not long ago it was that she was two and just remembering to run and point and shout. He thought of Aleksander and how he was already two years old himself. How he had grown even in his mother's absence. His mother's absence. That phrase resounded within the ever growing canyon within the man and his whole body sobbed with him. The man continued his work atop the branch that he had chosen. He wrapped the rope around it. He was ready. Kizzy would be there. Agata and Aleksander had people to watch after them. People more prepared than he was. They would be well taken care of.
10
He thought of Kizzy's smile and how he missed it.
9
He thought of Agata sucking her thumb still and playing with her favorite wooden horse.
8
He thought of Aleksander and the man he would become.
7
The man that would grow up and lead the people of the valley.
6
Images of Kizzy floating in a tub full of reddish brown water.
5
Images of His cousins judging him. How the council of his people rejected him and his complacency.
4
Images of slipping the poison into the old man's wine glass late one evening.
3
Kizzy, Agata, and Aleksander together on their bed.
2
"Dear God, am I doing the right thing?"
1
Falling.
Hanging.
The End.
The everlasting End.
-L
Once Upon a Time...
... there was a happy family that just had their first child. When Agata was born the man's heart swelled. He stopped being merely a man and became a father. This transformed him. He stopped working as he did and spent as much of his time with his family. He hired an au pair to live with them from the village. They lived peacefully as a family on the dead viscount's wealth. They wanted for nothing.
When Aleksander was born two years later, the man couldn't have been happier. Blessed with not one but two wonderful babies. Both of whom were perfectly healthy and strong and growing into beautiful little children. Agata was already running around the estate and opening every cabinet she encountered. She pointed and demanded things she wanted. She said 'no' or 'go away' when she wanted to be left alone. She was darling and brought light to the estate. Aleksander, like most babes, just nursed and slept and cried and cooed. It was beautiful and wonderful.
Six months after the birth of Aleksander the man's wife was pregnant again. They celebrated as they usually did and prepared. In those days and in that land it was common to hire a midwife from the village to deliver the child at home. So, they did. This time, the woman that they hired was different than the old woman who delivered the first two births. The old woman had passed and the young woman was her apprentice. The young woman was soothing and confidant and sure of herself but something was different about her.
When the time came for the birthing, the man and woman were together, as they had been before. This time though the life from the woman's womb was not. The child was stillborn. It was grey and lifeless. It was a lump of flesh that tore open the healed hole in both the man and the woman. The hole that they had both forgot. The hole of her father, and the hole of his family. To them, it felt like the ground had opened up and swallowed their happiness whole. The midwife insisted on staying around and consoling them and counseling them on their loss. To this the man and woman were grateful. to lose as they had lost is something that no parent should have to go through.
The days passed and their children, who they cared for dearly and cherished ever moreso, could not understand their grief. The woman secluded herself from the rest of her family. for a time her only guest was the midwife who brought her breakfast and supper and tried to talk to her about her loss until she was shooed out of the room. The days became dark then. The happiness form before was eclipsed by the loss that hung in the air around the estate. The midwife did her best but it seemed as if the woman was lost to her grief. And although it was never said or acted upon, to her it felt like the man blamed her body's weakness for the loss.
And so it came to pass that one day the woman was found in her bath with her wrists cut along with her nether regions and neck. The scene was ghastly and gruesome even by today's standards. A month later Aleksander had his first birthday. To all but the children, it was a hollow victory. The midwife had been invited to stay on because of her rapport with the children and her experience with loss of this kind. The man spent most of his time with the midwife talking and trying to understand the emptiness and betrayal that his beloved felt and blamed him and her own body for. He wanted to understand how she could reach the point where taking her life and leaving their beloved children was even and option.
The man finally felt completely alone. His people had left following their personal codes. He had followed his heart and his ambition and stayed with the woman. He had had a family. He had two beautiful children and had almost had a third. and now, even with his children, he felt abandoned. He felt alone for the first time in his life. He tried to shrug off the feeling. He tried to focus on teaching Agata about the world. He tried to focus on spending tie with his first born son Aleksander. And yet, there was that hole. That Hole that came back again and refused to allow itself to be filled.
The man's talks with the midwife helped him understand his beloved's decision. How Kizzy could feel so hopeless how she could feel as if there were no options left to her. He walked with the midwife often through the estate's garden. They stopped often at the foot of the tree where Kizzy was buried. Where her body sat in the earth rotting and neglecting the living. There were times where the man wished he had spent more time with Agata or Aleksander but where he needed to talk to the midwife; where he needed to understand. The man meant well, but in the year after his wife's passing the man spent a significant amount of time with the midwife. He was never unfaithful to his beloved, but he did feel a kind of love for what the midwife did. He felt love for the words of peace that the midwife offered him.
And yes, there were odd things about her that he noticed. He noticed that there were times where her skin was as cold as the winter's frost. There were times where she seemingly forgot to breathe. And, queerer than most it was how she never seemed to be around during the day. But to the man, who was suffering greatly at the loss of his beloved, his Kizzy, he ignored the nagging feelings that he had. He spent time with the midwife because she was the only one who he felt understood his pain. Talking to her seemed to soothe it for a time. He ignored Agata and Aleksander when he was with the midwife. He forgot about time and things like the appropriateness of walking with a woman who was not your wife after nightfall when he was with the midwife.
It became such a problem that months had passed before he even realized that he was willfully neglecting Agata and Aleksander. He did not realize that the au pair was more a parent to them than he was. When he realized this he wept. He wept for the loss of Kizzy and of the close bond that he had had with his children when she was alive. He cried out to the heavens begging, bargaining, and angry for all that had happened.
Two days later, the man succumbed to his own grief. He took the last act that he ever would. He took a rope from supply shed and went to the tree over Kizzy's grave. He was weeping the entire time. His tears plinked on the hard packed earth of his beloved's grave as he began tying the rope. His birth family had left him, losing faith in his capabilities. His adopted family had left him blaming him for judgement and ridicule which he did not offer. Kizzy had left him all alone with two children that he could not care for. They were better off with the nanny. They were better off with a surrogate parent than a pathetic man who would neglect them for their natural born lives. The man finished tying the rope. He said the words of his people asking for a blessing of the newly born on his children and he climbed the tree.
The climb was slow and he sprained his wrist on the way up. But, he had climbed the tree. He was above the place where Kizzy, his beloved, the most beautiful woman that he had ever heard rumor of lay. He was determined to be with her soon. Even if it meant breaking the oaths that he gave to his people long ago. Even f it meant shattering the idea of family that existed still at the estate of which he owned. The man would be re-united with the woman. The man would find a way to fix this hole that continued to eat at him.
There was the splatter of tears on the hard earth as he put the rope around his neck. He thought of Agata and how beautiful she was becoming even at the young age of four now. How not long ago it was that she was two and just remembering to run and point and shout. He thought of Aleksander and how he was already two years old himself. How he had grown even in his mother's absence. His mother's absence. That phrase resounded within the ever growing canyon within the man and his whole body sobbed with him. The man continued his work atop the branch that he had chosen. He wrapped the rope around it. He was ready. Kizzy would be there. Agata and Aleksander had people to watch after them. People more prepared than he was. They would be well taken care of.
10
He thought of Kizzy's smile and how he missed it.
9
He thought of Agata sucking her thumb still and playing with her favorite wooden horse.
8
He thought of Aleksander and the man he would become.
7
The man that would grow up and lead the people of the valley.
6
Images of Kizzy floating in a tub full of reddish brown water.
5
Images of His cousins judging him. How the council of his people rejected him and his complacency.
4
Images of slipping the poison into the old man's wine glass late one evening.
3
Kizzy, Agata, and Aleksander together on their bed.
2
"Dear God, am I doing the right thing?"
1
Falling.
Hanging.
Then Blackness.
A loud snap.
A loud crack.
Then the end.
The End.
The End.
The everlasting End.
-L
Friday, February 14, 2014
The Lie in the Truth or Once Upon a Time: Part II
Once upon a time...
...it was an unseasonably warm summer when they came, the travelers in their caravans, to the little happy village in the valley. It was now led by the man and his lovely wife. The viscount had passed peacefully in the night a month ago and left leadership to his new son-in-law, such were the ways at the time.
But the caravans came, and when they did, they did not simply pass through selling their wares like was custom. They stayed. The man welcomed this, because to him they were his family and his friends. He introduced his wife and things were well. Because of the influx, the village's resources were strained, but there was still plenty. Tensions rose between the villagers and the caravaneers. The outsiders were called rogues and sneak-thieves, they were treated harshly by the locals for their beliefs and their ways. The villagers were called called words of all manner of curse.
The man stood for his people and did his best to ease tensions. The woman did her part to ease her people. The coming winter had the villagers scared and superstitious about the new comers. Winter came and surprisingly things were fine. Everyone had food, fights didn't break out, and there was a party or two. It seemed that things would stay this way for a while.
However quite quickly in the following year, the man's family of travelers came to him one evening in his keep. Their meeting was private and did not even include the woman.
"Cousin," they said, "how come you have put down roots here in this village? It is not the way of our people."
"Cousins, our plan for this village worked perfectly. We are welcomed with open arms and they give to us without cause. Why should we want to leave?"
"It is not our way. We are meant to travel from place to place. There is safety with the family and safety with our numbers on the roads. The trick of appearing wise and defeating bandits will earn you honor here for only so long. The people will forget. What happens if they learn of the poison? They will question what really happened. In your story that you told didn't your friends or family die at the hands of the bandits? The people here are not complete fools. We have taken what we wanted from them. We should be moving on."
"We shall stay and drink the spoils of our great victory! Do not forget that I am Rom Baro!"
"We came here tonight to hope to convince you. I see now that that is not possible. The Chovihani will be convening a krisatora tomorrow night. We tried to warn you. Rodina je rodina." and with that, they left the man alone in his room to sulk for the evening.
The following night, the man's position among the travelers was revoked. He was still one of them, but no longer their leader. In the following weeks, the travelers and their caravans left the last to go almost a year to the day of their arrival. The man watched them disappear along the wooded trails leaving out of the valley from the parapets of what began to feel like a large empty prison.
The man and the woman left the keep the following year having made preparations and building a nice estate a little further down the valley. The keep was transformed into a place for storage and defense in case a time of troubles ever came to the little valley.
For the man, that time had arrived when his people left. That is not to say he wasn't happy. He had the beautiful woman in his life, and a nice new home for the two of them. He was still well respected in the village in the valley. Things were well, but a seed of doubt was planted within him by those he respected and cared for. And after planting said seed, they had left; perhaps to never return again.
However, that nagging hole was easily ignored and filled with a bright shining light when one morning while the man was looking to papers and books and such things, the woman came in and gave him news that filled him with such hope and joy. They were going to have a child. The man could barely contain himself and grabbed his wife lovingly and wept tears of joy.
Months later, a baby girl rushed screaming and crying strongly into the world. The man and the woman had a daughter named Agata. They cherished he greatly. Two years later, they had their first son Aleksander. The man remembered his family of travelers, but no longer viewed their passing as tearing out a part of him. Their leaving was what needed to happen to put him right here. Because right here with his two year old daughter and his new-born son was exactly where he was supposed to be. The people of the small town were his new family. They celebrated with the man and his beautiful wife (who had only become more beautiful and cherished by the people with time).
Again, there was much rejoicing. And yet again, stopping here would leave the story unfinished.
Until next time.
-L
...it was an unseasonably warm summer when they came, the travelers in their caravans, to the little happy village in the valley. It was now led by the man and his lovely wife. The viscount had passed peacefully in the night a month ago and left leadership to his new son-in-law, such were the ways at the time.
But the caravans came, and when they did, they did not simply pass through selling their wares like was custom. They stayed. The man welcomed this, because to him they were his family and his friends. He introduced his wife and things were well. Because of the influx, the village's resources were strained, but there was still plenty. Tensions rose between the villagers and the caravaneers. The outsiders were called rogues and sneak-thieves, they were treated harshly by the locals for their beliefs and their ways. The villagers were called called words of all manner of curse.
The man stood for his people and did his best to ease tensions. The woman did her part to ease her people. The coming winter had the villagers scared and superstitious about the new comers. Winter came and surprisingly things were fine. Everyone had food, fights didn't break out, and there was a party or two. It seemed that things would stay this way for a while.
However quite quickly in the following year, the man's family of travelers came to him one evening in his keep. Their meeting was private and did not even include the woman.
"Cousin," they said, "how come you have put down roots here in this village? It is not the way of our people."
"Cousins, our plan for this village worked perfectly. We are welcomed with open arms and they give to us without cause. Why should we want to leave?"
"It is not our way. We are meant to travel from place to place. There is safety with the family and safety with our numbers on the roads. The trick of appearing wise and defeating bandits will earn you honor here for only so long. The people will forget. What happens if they learn of the poison? They will question what really happened. In your story that you told didn't your friends or family die at the hands of the bandits? The people here are not complete fools. We have taken what we wanted from them. We should be moving on."
"We shall stay and drink the spoils of our great victory! Do not forget that I am Rom Baro!"
"We came here tonight to hope to convince you. I see now that that is not possible. The Chovihani will be convening a krisatora tomorrow night. We tried to warn you. Rodina je rodina." and with that, they left the man alone in his room to sulk for the evening.
The following night, the man's position among the travelers was revoked. He was still one of them, but no longer their leader. In the following weeks, the travelers and their caravans left the last to go almost a year to the day of their arrival. The man watched them disappear along the wooded trails leaving out of the valley from the parapets of what began to feel like a large empty prison.
The man and the woman left the keep the following year having made preparations and building a nice estate a little further down the valley. The keep was transformed into a place for storage and defense in case a time of troubles ever came to the little valley.
For the man, that time had arrived when his people left. That is not to say he wasn't happy. He had the beautiful woman in his life, and a nice new home for the two of them. He was still well respected in the village in the valley. Things were well, but a seed of doubt was planted within him by those he respected and cared for. And after planting said seed, they had left; perhaps to never return again.
However, that nagging hole was easily ignored and filled with a bright shining light when one morning while the man was looking to papers and books and such things, the woman came in and gave him news that filled him with such hope and joy. They were going to have a child. The man could barely contain himself and grabbed his wife lovingly and wept tears of joy.
Months later, a baby girl rushed screaming and crying strongly into the world. The man and the woman had a daughter named Agata. They cherished he greatly. Two years later, they had their first son Aleksander. The man remembered his family of travelers, but no longer viewed their passing as tearing out a part of him. Their leaving was what needed to happen to put him right here. Because right here with his two year old daughter and his new-born son was exactly where he was supposed to be. The people of the small town were his new family. They celebrated with the man and his beautiful wife (who had only become more beautiful and cherished by the people with time).
Again, there was much rejoicing. And yet again, stopping here would leave the story unfinished.
Until next time.
-L
Monday, February 10, 2014
Someone Purer
Recently there has been a lot of talk about sin, god, absolution, redemption, and kindred. I know that the Lancia Sanctum or the Acolytes of the Circle tend to be our philosophers on religion's place among our kind. However with recent events, I feel it necessary to look back to where we came from to find our foundation for this issue. I recognize the irony in that statement. We Dragons are ever looking forward to what we kindred can become now that we are freed from mortality and blessed/cursed with immortality.
My point is look to the mortals. I understand that the Lancia believe that their bible is the true version. They are demons to tempt or punish mortals. Some believe that if they can do whatever it is that they do to mortals then that mortal is not righteous enough. That is a fair stance to take, but the mortals themselves have described the phenomena far clearer and over a longer period of time. Many mortal philosophers have examined the bible and other religious texts and concluded that entity god is dead and we are just in his still partly working machine. Others follow the belief that god is alive but like a neglectful parent who drowns their baby in the bathtub god is not invested in our mewling cries. These may seem like pessimistic viewpoints, but examine closely the counter arguments. There is significant proof of humanity's cursed and struggling existence and very little proof of divine intervention (kindred or otherwise).
Even when we were mortal, however long ago that was, god did not care about us. Millions pray every day for peace, food for their table, shelter from the abuse that god's creation applies and all these prayers go unanswered. I prefer to think that god is dead. That is the kindest option. If god still exists and he ignores or abuses or tests his creation in this fashion, then god is truly the most evil entity in all of existence. And I've met several extremely dark souls in my requiem.
Let us examine the followers of god. Many mortals do good only with the expectation of a metaphysical reward. If the only thing keeping a person decent is the expectation of divine reward, then that person is a piece of shit. In addition to this, the common good make up stories and creation myths of god. Look at those who choose to preach, those who lead or pull others to god. some truly believe and wish to do only good. However, a great number brainwash the lesser educated, the foolhardy, and the desperate. They transfer the people's fear and self-loathing onto themselves and become a figurehead of authority that provides an immediate cathartic release. The more fervent they are about their faith, the more the followers respond in kind. The message changes, but the acts stay the same. Religion has been used as a tool of control. It has pacified nations. It has crumbled empires.
Now, while I view the entity of god to be dead or worse than and I despise the masses that buy in to fervent metaphysical ideology without examining its true purpose, I fully believe that the allegory and the moral teachings in many religious texts are a good baseline. They set a value system that most mortals agree upon and many younger kindred still feel attached to. I respect those of our kind that choose to stick to an overly stringent set of personal rules. They choose to make their immortality harder. This has to it a twisted nobility that is rarely seen in nights that we currently frequent. I know kindred that have only ever eaten animals and refuse to taste the sweet nectar that is human blood. I know kindred that hold to strict moral tenants that they followed while living. This elegance is one of the few things that still passes for beauty in my eyes. My respect for the older of us that still hold to their rules and faith is almost boundless. I choose to revel in my requiem. I have chosen to accept the monster that I was made. I choose to enjoy all that we are, all that we have become, and all that we can achieve.
As kindred we avoid talking about certain topics. Purity tends to be one of them. Most of us consider the beast to be a curse even with all the benefits that it grants us. We live with one foot in the mortal world and the other foot in a raging eternity of night. This duality is beautiful in many ways. The beast curses us to the night. It makes us a predator of everything. We are the apex predator of every single ecosystem. Some of us forget that and try to cling to who they were. This is dangerous and incorrect. Who we were shaped us and called out to the monsters that made us monsters. As much as we were likely drawn to them, they were drawn to us for who we were.
Some forget who and what we are. Some of us forget who we were. Some of us remember too vividly. Sometimes when the sun dips below the horizon and we wake, our bodies feel not our own. Sometimes for just a second we can get lost in who we were. It is in that moment of remembering that the beast is within us all that hope for a return to mortal life dies. It can be the cruelest gift of short lived hope. Our ties to our former metaphysical beliefs should teach us, enlighten us, but not bind us completely to the dead husk of who we were. We are not as pure as we once were. We never will be again. Hold onto your morals, hold onto what you believe, but know that it is a revenant of the person you were. Holding onto these characteristics is noble and honorable and, likely even, good. Believing that they are still who you are is simply naive.
I was gripped with a bitter fear,
...
That the body I was in,
Might belong to someone else,
Someone kinder, someone surer,
Someone innocent, young and beautiful,
Someone purer.
That's no one I know.
Just some thoughts to ponder. After all I have been through I still remember my beliefs; do you yours?
-L
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Chosen to Lead
As underhanded as I was, I did not bribe, threaten, or use my power to sway the opinions of the family. I spoke relatively plainly and said the points I stood for if not completely why I stood for them. I directly misled only one person directly involved in the events and that was my opponent.
In the past few weeks, I began as Alderman of the West, I was fired from that position by a change in leadership. I was made a member of a murder of harpies. I was fired as a harpy because I was made Priscus of my clan.
Things are still in upheaval, but I was chosen to lead.
They will get to see a new mask underneath my normal one... fun.
-L
In the past few weeks, I began as Alderman of the West, I was fired from that position by a change in leadership. I was made a member of a murder of harpies. I was fired as a harpy because I was made Priscus of my clan.
Things are still in upheaval, but I was chosen to lead.
They will get to see a new mask underneath my normal one... fun.
-L
Friday, February 7, 2014
If you ever find yourself in the wrong story, leave.
Events shape us, but you know this already, you too were shaped by your events. They make us who we are. We all have our own personal stories. Sometimes we forget a story or adopt one that isn't our own in order to make a conscious change. Sharing those stories can empower them. Some stories gain lives of their own that are greater than the real events. In the spirit of this, let me tell you a story. I will begin with a few words of warning: This story is a lie. However, like most lies, if you are able of seeing the truth underneath, then you may gain something greater than if just told the whole truth from the beginning. Such is the power of lies.
I shall begin with the old words, for they hold power and bind the story with it.
Once upon a time in a far away land, there was a certain river valley. In this valley there was a village surrounded by forested mountains. There was a keep inhabited by an old viscount. The viscount was a kind man who did not overly tax the folk and made sure that in winter no one starved. Along the river that cut through the valley there were small tiered waterfalls that the villagers put to use by building mills for their grain.
The viscount, although old, had a younger daughter. She was the talk of the surrounding lands. Her skin was supposedly like satin, her hair the color of the breaking dawn, eyes like the spray coming over the top of the falls over the vale. Very many young men tried to win her interest. The viscount issued a challenge to any would-be suitor of his fair daughter. Being wise and generous he insisted hat the men display these talents as well as honor, bravery, and humbleness.
In the spring when the mountain passes thawed and the river swelled, caravans of traders made their way through the valley heading to richer locales. Still, they went through the dale and carried the story of the viscount's daughter and the village to places unknown. They also carried the tales of the viscount's challenge. To some, this challenge was more interesting.
Late one spring after an especially harsh winter a lone rider came to town. His horse was sable and of good breeding; especially sturdy and quick. Unlike the beast of burden, the man mounted on it was malnourished, emaciated, and wounded. The kind people of the valley cared for the man and when he was well enough to tell his tale, he began, "I was beset upon by brigands in the hills beyond the mountain pass. They dispatched my friends and I only escaped by chance with what I thought was a mortal wound. This horse has been carrying me for what has felt like days."
Immediately, after hearing this, the viscount issued the first task for his daughter's hand: removal of the bandit problem. Meanwhile, the viscount insisted that the man stay in his keep until he recovered fully. A month passed and the man healed, and the many young men who went out in search of bandits never returned. During his recovery in the keep, the man saw the beauty of the viscount's daughter for himself and upon doing so foolishly fell in love.
The man swore to track down the bandits and rid them from the land beyond the mountain pass. He departed and many thought he would never survive to return a second time. Life in the village continued and prospered over the rest of the year. That winter there was a massive blizzard early in the season which closed the mountain pass earlier than expected.
In the depths of midwinter, there came a stranger walking into the town. He was dressed in gray rags and staggered like a man lost to the wild. He walked through the deep snow right up to the front of the keep. It was only when he was allowed entry that it became apparent that he was the man who left earlier in the year.
The man told the tale of how he sought out to find the lost young men, how he could not find them, but how he found the bandit camp. He told of how he eliminated the bandits using stealth and guile, how he was in the pass during the blizzard, and how he was trapped for days. He told his tales until he passed out from exhaustion once more.
When the man recovered once more in the keep, he was awarded riches by the viscount for his bravery and service to the land. Being a man who traveled and had few possessions, the man gave the money to the towns people who housed him and nursed him back to health during the times he was injured as well as those in the village affected by the harsh winter more than most.
When the viscount heard of this, he summoned the man to his keep. "I had my healers care for you and I gave you gifts of gems and gold for your deeds, why did you give them away? Were they not valuable?"
The man plainly responded, "I have traveled the earth many years and walked on many gems and jewels, but never have I been in such a place that has more beauty than a man can buy. I gave to those in need and those who cared for me when I was ill."
"You are a stranger to our lands, but you show strongly the values that I hope to instill in my people. Speak plainly, have you come for my daughter's hand?"
"If she will have me."
And with that, and the consent of the daughter, the man became engaged to the most beautiful and pure woman in the lands. They were wed. There was much ado. The people rejoiced.
But, this is not the end of the story.
No, there is far more to come.
-L
I shall begin with the old words, for they hold power and bind the story with it.
Once upon a time in a far away land, there was a certain river valley. In this valley there was a village surrounded by forested mountains. There was a keep inhabited by an old viscount. The viscount was a kind man who did not overly tax the folk and made sure that in winter no one starved. Along the river that cut through the valley there were small tiered waterfalls that the villagers put to use by building mills for their grain.
The viscount, although old, had a younger daughter. She was the talk of the surrounding lands. Her skin was supposedly like satin, her hair the color of the breaking dawn, eyes like the spray coming over the top of the falls over the vale. Very many young men tried to win her interest. The viscount issued a challenge to any would-be suitor of his fair daughter. Being wise and generous he insisted hat the men display these talents as well as honor, bravery, and humbleness.
In the spring when the mountain passes thawed and the river swelled, caravans of traders made their way through the valley heading to richer locales. Still, they went through the dale and carried the story of the viscount's daughter and the village to places unknown. They also carried the tales of the viscount's challenge. To some, this challenge was more interesting.
Late one spring after an especially harsh winter a lone rider came to town. His horse was sable and of good breeding; especially sturdy and quick. Unlike the beast of burden, the man mounted on it was malnourished, emaciated, and wounded. The kind people of the valley cared for the man and when he was well enough to tell his tale, he began, "I was beset upon by brigands in the hills beyond the mountain pass. They dispatched my friends and I only escaped by chance with what I thought was a mortal wound. This horse has been carrying me for what has felt like days."
Immediately, after hearing this, the viscount issued the first task for his daughter's hand: removal of the bandit problem. Meanwhile, the viscount insisted that the man stay in his keep until he recovered fully. A month passed and the man healed, and the many young men who went out in search of bandits never returned. During his recovery in the keep, the man saw the beauty of the viscount's daughter for himself and upon doing so foolishly fell in love.
The man swore to track down the bandits and rid them from the land beyond the mountain pass. He departed and many thought he would never survive to return a second time. Life in the village continued and prospered over the rest of the year. That winter there was a massive blizzard early in the season which closed the mountain pass earlier than expected.
In the depths of midwinter, there came a stranger walking into the town. He was dressed in gray rags and staggered like a man lost to the wild. He walked through the deep snow right up to the front of the keep. It was only when he was allowed entry that it became apparent that he was the man who left earlier in the year.
The man told the tale of how he sought out to find the lost young men, how he could not find them, but how he found the bandit camp. He told of how he eliminated the bandits using stealth and guile, how he was in the pass during the blizzard, and how he was trapped for days. He told his tales until he passed out from exhaustion once more.
When the man recovered once more in the keep, he was awarded riches by the viscount for his bravery and service to the land. Being a man who traveled and had few possessions, the man gave the money to the towns people who housed him and nursed him back to health during the times he was injured as well as those in the village affected by the harsh winter more than most.
When the viscount heard of this, he summoned the man to his keep. "I had my healers care for you and I gave you gifts of gems and gold for your deeds, why did you give them away? Were they not valuable?"
The man plainly responded, "I have traveled the earth many years and walked on many gems and jewels, but never have I been in such a place that has more beauty than a man can buy. I gave to those in need and those who cared for me when I was ill."
"You are a stranger to our lands, but you show strongly the values that I hope to instill in my people. Speak plainly, have you come for my daughter's hand?"
"If she will have me."
And with that, and the consent of the daughter, the man became engaged to the most beautiful and pure woman in the lands. They were wed. There was much ado. The people rejoiced.
But, this is not the end of the story.
No, there is far more to come.
-L
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Conscience Killer
I heard this song the other day and it brought back memories from my time in modern day Poland. (1871-1886) Back then though it was was divided between the Prussian Empire, the Austrian Empire, and the Russian Empire. However, I was primarily in the Russian and Prussian partitions. I mainly spent my time in the cities of Kijow, Rowne, Luck, Wilno, and Warsaw.
1868 was the year when I began making plans to travel. If you have not traveled across the world in the late 1800's then you have no idea how difficult it was to move back then. Even with my former riches, getting everything together for a long journey was still complicated. Luckily, the rom's caravans were not extremely hard to sun-proof. The problem is that the rom were looked down upon by all. Most viewed us as an ethnicity that was just waiting for someone to cleanse. Sounds terrible, I know. In 1873, I arrived in the Russian Empire's city of Rowne. There my retainers and I met up with another camp of roma. They had been persecuted worse than others that I had seen. Their children were abducted and abused. They were then usually either ransomed back or sold off into slavery. The local officials viewed slavery as illegal. However, my people were not considered legal persons, so the questions of legality were null and void.
I refused to accept it. I met with the families that had lost. I gave them a choice. A choice of the power to get revenge and to serve me or to accept their lot in life and to live free. It was here that I created my first ghouls. The six that chose power and service I gave my blood. The change was startling. I also taught them how to properly use small blades, the only legal 'weapons' that we could have. With these skills, they were able to kill fourteen of those responsible. In one night. I used my powers to distract and assist.
It was vulgar. It was messy. It was evil. I am ashamed of what I enabled mortals to do. One of them died that evening. Not right away, but as a result of wounds he suffered during the attack. I know that they were grieving and that they might have sought revenge without me. But, I gave them the power and the initiative to do it. However, my word was kept and I expected them to do the same. The families did.
We left Rowne relatively quickly after that night. I cleaned up the dead as best I could, but it was time to move on. Luck was the next city. And it was anything but that for us. Along the path, the ones I empowered needed more and more over-watch like children who were overly unruly. The gift I bestowed didn't save them from their grief and just gave them another... hunger. I had to feed more than usual during our journey just in order to keep up with their demand.
When we arrived, I sold most of the gold jewelry that I had stolen or conned from people back in Rowne. I used the majority of the proceeds to buy a small house that could serve as a haven for the time being. This proved to be a poor decision. I should have not chosen to put down roots so soon. My ghouls thirsted for vitae. This complicated things when establishing a temporary home. I know that I do rituals now but back then I knew nothing about the occult other than the superstitions and tales of my people and that kindred society existed. I knew the hunger that we kindred feel. I knew the heady rush of clamping my fangs in the flesh of a living human and feeling the splash of hot vitae in my mouth. I knew the pleasure that i bestowed with the kiss. I knew the joy afterwards of licking the wound. I did not however know what it meant to be a ghoul. I did not know the clutch of the vinculum as a mortal. I did not know the drive to keep the vitae in your system. I did not know how instead of just empowering the body how it also warped the mind.
The remaining five, whose names I have forgotten to history, were in mind and action every possible definition of the word ghoul and ghoulish. They strove to keep me fed simply so that they would not feel empty. They made so many mistakes that were almost breaches of the masquerade. I spent much of my time tending to them because they could not and would not take care of themselves. Their hunger was too great. After an incident with the wife of a Russian Officer, we had to leave again. It was 1876 according to my journals. Luck had been where I first saw the problem that would haunt me throughout our journeys. The trip to Wilno just further confirmed what I had previously seen. Their hunger and rage was all that I fed them. When I reprimanded them about their behavior, it was like kicking a puppy. They recoiled simply from my harsh words. They had lost control.
They years in Wilno were better. That is not to say that they were good, but the city was (and still is) far larger than Luck or Rowne. This gave us an amount of room to hide in. The Prince of the region was a member of the First Estate and being that I was still on the run from my Sire's allies, I chose to not introduce myself. I poached and hid and taught the five to do the same. One night one of my ghouls was discovered and without an acknowledged master summarily destroyed. I only found this out years after the incident. However at the time, when he didn't come back and I didn't hear of his body being found, I thought that he broke free of the spell my blood had over him and freed me from the curse of watching over him. It was 1882 when I had to leave Wilno rather abruptly. I crossed paths with another kindred late one evening. As you well know when we meet, our beasts snarl. He managed to not recoil from me, but came to his senses and ran to report me. From what I have heard, the prince of Wilno back then was rather militant about outsiders. We prepared to leave that night and my servants made certain that we departed by morning. I was asleep by then of course.
It took us almost a full eighteen months to reach Warsaw. We took and inefficient route that ensured that any trackers that may have been sent after us would not be able to follow. In addition to this, we avoided taking the easier route through the Austrian Empire. We were in the Prussian Empire and it was time for a positive change.Warsaw like Wilno was a larger city. It was easy to blend it. To play the game of wicked masks. To put down roots and to corral the desired of my ghouls. By the end of 1884, they had taught me their final lesson. When I gave them the choice eleven years ago between power and acceptance of their fate, I did not give them a choice. I infected them with my own wants and desires of revenge. It was not a choice. The ones that chose to keep the ways and not accept my 'gift' were the lucky ones. I'm certain that by then they had learned to accept their loss and forgive their oppressors. I fell into a year long depression. Mortals around me felt the waves of my power even back then. Many killed themselves. It just served to push me farther into examining what I had lost and what I had done to my own people. I was equally as bad as those that abducted children to sell as slaves. I deserved the lowest form of contempt.
Meanwhile, my ghouls kept me fed. They tried to raise my spirits. They tried to bring me out of my low swing any way they could. But they did not and could not know that their very attempts were what haunted me and drove me deeper into self hatred. In late 1885, I decided that I needed to save them. That that was the best I could hope to do. However I could. I would at least do that. I tried purging them of the vitae, but they starved for it, and I couldn't watch them suffer. I was still weak. I let them drink from me after refusing for some time. I tried to teach them to control their urges, but it was futile. Everything I did just endeared them to me more. They just wanted more, and they still hated. The hate burned almost as bright as my blood in their veins. But, I had to save them.
It was hard. It may have been the third hardest thing I have done in my unlife. I murdered them. I look back on it, and I could call it a mercy killing at the time, but it was murder. They were alive and then through my actions, they were not. I had cursed them. I had taken what made them Rom and robbed them of it. All that I could see as solving that at that time was ending them before they sacrificed more of themselves for me and my desires. So, as a result, I murdered them. At the time I tried to rationalize it as best I could. It broke me. The experience made me accepting of the monster that I am today. It shaped me.
The lyrics of the song that song earlier hit me like a wave, crashing into my chest and making me miss the thump of a heartbeat once more.
I'm a constant sinner
A conscience killer
...
I'm a red-blooded sickness
There was no way around it
...
Cause it don't mean all that much, does it?
But we never really had a choice
No it don't mean all that much to us
But we never really had a choice
We're conscience killers
Don't want no conscience at all
I recently made my first ghoul since then. I don't know yet if ti was a mistake. But it was not rom. I will never again do that. I like to think I learned form my mistake, but I feel more like I am doomed to repeat it.
Farewell conscience,
-L
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Out of the Blue and Into the Black
I don't know how I'm s'pose to feel my body's cold my guts are twisted steel.
And I feel like I'm some kind of Frankenstein waiting for a shock to bring me back to life,
but I don't want to spend my time waiting for lightning to strike.
When the earth begins to glow we feel a strong twinge. For some of us it is mental: our vision begins to fade, we hallucinate slightly, or we get headaches. Others have a more physical response: We feel pain in our extremities, hands tremble, or our joints lock up. The point is that we all feel it somehow when the sun is about to crest and birth its light into the sky. We tend to hurry to a place of refuge from its light. Most of us feel the pull of slumber still. It's tenebrous coils wrap themselves around us and pull us to sleep. Some of us are capable of resisting it's pull, but it is like existing in a waking dream.
We all know what it is to sleep as a vampire. Some of us have even experienced the 'sleep' of torpor. Our days are dark and when our eyes close we feel the beast swirling inside us and we dream. Sometimes our dreams are just black empty voids. Sometimes they are nightmares that shake us. Sometimes, and these can be rare for those of us who are not young, we dream of the past.
She was very fair. Her skin the color of a white winter mink. Her hair was natural curled in locks as black as a raven with one lock tied with usnje kabel in perje. Eyes like polished stones with striations of all earthly hues. She was fond of dressing for utility, her blouses and skirts were not what the people would call pretty. However, she always wore a variety of metal bracelets on both arms. She lit up a room whenever she walked through the entryway. She was a goddess among us. She walked through camp and livened the mood. The rest of us would engage and laugh and cease our work or games.
I had a dream of Lydia.
I have not been able to recall her face since before I came to this country. I mean I have seen glimpses of her face in mortals plenty of times, but it is always a twisted reflection. It isn't the same. Today, in my dream, I saw her. It was like a scene from my past. I remembered our camp. I remembered her and the rest of the gav. The specifics of the dream are not important. What is important is that she was important to me before she died before I died. Again, I have been reminded of something lost.
She taught me so much. I learned how to pick locks from her. I learned how to weave tales and lies from her. She was one of the gav's most skilled grifters. She was the heart that inspired us. Her smile warmed our hearts. When she died instead of just us, her family, having to purify themselves the entire gav chose to undergo the preciscevanje ritualii odstraniti naso necistoco. It was unlike anything that had happened before. Njen konec jej pritozevali vsii.
She was the best of us. May no one disturb her bones.
-L
And I feel like I'm some kind of Frankenstein waiting for a shock to bring me back to life,
but I don't want to spend my time waiting for lightning to strike.
When the earth begins to glow we feel a strong twinge. For some of us it is mental: our vision begins to fade, we hallucinate slightly, or we get headaches. Others have a more physical response: We feel pain in our extremities, hands tremble, or our joints lock up. The point is that we all feel it somehow when the sun is about to crest and birth its light into the sky. We tend to hurry to a place of refuge from its light. Most of us feel the pull of slumber still. It's tenebrous coils wrap themselves around us and pull us to sleep. Some of us are capable of resisting it's pull, but it is like existing in a waking dream.
We all know what it is to sleep as a vampire. Some of us have even experienced the 'sleep' of torpor. Our days are dark and when our eyes close we feel the beast swirling inside us and we dream. Sometimes our dreams are just black empty voids. Sometimes they are nightmares that shake us. Sometimes, and these can be rare for those of us who are not young, we dream of the past.
She was very fair. Her skin the color of a white winter mink. Her hair was natural curled in locks as black as a raven with one lock tied with usnje kabel in perje. Eyes like polished stones with striations of all earthly hues. She was fond of dressing for utility, her blouses and skirts were not what the people would call pretty. However, she always wore a variety of metal bracelets on both arms. She lit up a room whenever she walked through the entryway. She was a goddess among us. She walked through camp and livened the mood. The rest of us would engage and laugh and cease our work or games.
I had a dream of Lydia.
I have not been able to recall her face since before I came to this country. I mean I have seen glimpses of her face in mortals plenty of times, but it is always a twisted reflection. It isn't the same. Today, in my dream, I saw her. It was like a scene from my past. I remembered our camp. I remembered her and the rest of the gav. The specifics of the dream are not important. What is important is that she was important to me before she died before I died. Again, I have been reminded of something lost.
She taught me so much. I learned how to pick locks from her. I learned how to weave tales and lies from her. She was one of the gav's most skilled grifters. She was the heart that inspired us. Her smile warmed our hearts. When she died instead of just us, her family, having to purify themselves the entire gav chose to undergo the preciscevanje ritualii odstraniti naso necistoco. It was unlike anything that had happened before. Njen konec jej pritozevali vsii.
She was the best of us. May no one disturb her bones.
-L
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Ritual
Alice: How long is forever?
White Rabbit: Sometimes, just one second.
Some of us believe in ritual. This can either be the mundane ritual that we each do nightly, or it can be more... complex. Some of us wake at sunset every night, find food immediately, and then continue about our regular business until right before sunrise where we return to our haven and do our usual pre-sleep rituals.
Ritual can be as usual as nightly activity like this or more complicated. Acolytes of the Circle have their rituals. Supposedly we Dragons do as well. The Lancia Sanctum certainly have their rituals. Ritual affects us all. Being creatures that are effectively immortal, we tend to develop ritual as part of our lives without realizing it. We sometimes live our lives in cyclical trends again without realization. Rituals can enforce this behavior or help us break free from it.
I believe in studying the stars and developing rituals as well as rites that help us interpret them. I use star charts focused on specific dates and times to help me interpret events that are currently happening and predict events that will happen. I understand that a lot of folks have a hard time believing in the scientific merit of portents and signs much less astrology in general. These skeptics should review material throughout the ages. Some of the most influential occult groups have found the merit in astrology; some going so far as to use it for predicting and planning for the future.
I use ritual to seek guidance in the tumultuous world around us. For example, I predicted that there would be death and fire and blood throughout the year last year. There was. Lucas Pritzker the pyro-kinetic or fire mage caused numerous trouble throughout Chicago. In addition to this, there were more found outside the city. Apparently there is also and 'Old Man' leading them. All of this magic around us and still some doubt the power of ritual.The two charts included here are of tonight. the circular one shows the convergence of the astrological signs with the planets and astrological bodies for tonight. The black map of the world shows the path of them across the world. This information is readily available to anyone with access to the internet. However, knowing what to do with the information and the best ways to interpret it is what takes dedicated study and knowledge. I love teaching others about the occult and the stars. There are things that live in the black of space that make us look like a simple bacterium living on the flesh of a kine. Through watching and understanding the movement and effect of the heavenly bodies we can see the effect of such things like witnessing a black hole by seeing the effects it causes on the things around it.
Anyway, I rambled on for a while. The point is that if we use ritual correctly we can better learn about and interpret the continually evolving world around us. All kindred should find some way to better understand the world that they live in. While a crucible lasts, we need to better understand the changes that occur abnormally quickly in all of us. There is also a need to better understand where these changes will lead us. Historically crucibles are short. However in this short period of time so many things happen.
I feel like I am being abnormally direct. Also, I'm pretty sure I have Cherophobia.
With that out of my system, I'm off to our gathering tonight.
-L
Friday, January 24, 2014
Therapy: Good for Everyone
Every new beginning is filled with hope.
Had another session with Ollie. He hates it when I call him Ollie, but he is such a... child. I suppose he could be older than I was when I died. He is positive without being annoyingly so. He points out how death and grieving are necessary facets of our temporary temporal existence. That my funeral home has a social need in the community. I find his dress deplorable, but I suppose it is excusable.
Know what the best part about him is? He is a mortal who listens. I can just rant about all my problems and as long as I'm careful to just make my stories from history sound like delusional thoughts or dreams, I'm fine. Oh, and also no comments about eating people. I avoid those and any real masquerade breaching topics. I am not a vampire, I am a young small business owner in today's economy. There are reasons I am unhappy. I explain how my friends are extremely petty and bicker and push and pull for just a wee bit more of social standing within our circles. I explain how it all gets to me. How exhausting it can be. I used a phrase I've heard before from the television: "I feel like I'm back in high school." He smiled at that and wrote more. I effectively explained the issue with Clay as a work story.
I have to say I felt the impulse tonight to reveal the truth about what I am. I thought about doing the whole Interview with a Vampire thing. But that would have been too cliche. Plus, I don't want to kill Ollie yet. I'm sure he will eventually disappoint me. Oliver is a decent mortal. He is someone to talk to. He makes good points to think about.
Although I do always feel like he is just doodling on his yellow college-ruled legal pad. I wonder if he writes things down for real. I wonder what my clinical diagnosis is. I had better not be a case study used in a class project.
-L
Had another session with Ollie. He hates it when I call him Ollie, but he is such a... child. I suppose he could be older than I was when I died. He is positive without being annoyingly so. He points out how death and grieving are necessary facets of our temporary temporal existence. That my funeral home has a social need in the community. I find his dress deplorable, but I suppose it is excusable.
Know what the best part about him is? He is a mortal who listens. I can just rant about all my problems and as long as I'm careful to just make my stories from history sound like delusional thoughts or dreams, I'm fine. Oh, and also no comments about eating people. I avoid those and any real masquerade breaching topics. I am not a vampire, I am a young small business owner in today's economy. There are reasons I am unhappy. I explain how my friends are extremely petty and bicker and push and pull for just a wee bit more of social standing within our circles. I explain how it all gets to me. How exhausting it can be. I used a phrase I've heard before from the television: "I feel like I'm back in high school." He smiled at that and wrote more. I effectively explained the issue with Clay as a work story.
I have to say I felt the impulse tonight to reveal the truth about what I am. I thought about doing the whole Interview with a Vampire thing. But that would have been too cliche. Plus, I don't want to kill Ollie yet. I'm sure he will eventually disappoint me. Oliver is a decent mortal. He is someone to talk to. He makes good points to think about.
Although I do always feel like he is just doodling on his yellow college-ruled legal pad. I wonder if he writes things down for real. I wonder what my clinical diagnosis is. I had better not be a case study used in a class project.
-L
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Balloons
Balloons. What can you say about them. They fill with a liquid or gas and if too full they pop. If they are too cold they are extremely brittle and can crack. When too hot, they melt. When left alone in the ravages of time, they dry rot. However, the point of a balloon is to contain things. That is it's purpose.
Most of us are used to seeing balloons filled with some lighter than air gas, prancing around on a string or other tether. If the balloon gets loose, then it soars into the sky headed for certain disaster an awful lot like Icarus. However most balloons stay grounded by their tethers until the ravages of time and osmosis make the trade and they sink slowly earthwards.
Then again, some balloons are untied. This looses all of their internal pressures out into a short lived rage where they fly about and burn brightly before once more falling to the ground. Others untied and held abusively; the internal pressure making all sorts of rude noises. Others yet are untied and held carefully so that they may rid themselves of their internal pressures and balance the aethers within.
Das dab ka i roata le neve vurdoneski
I have realized a need for balance. I understand that perhaps the equilibrium that others seek isn't for me. I just need to feel closer to balanced.
I know many kindred with cracks, others whose psyches have melted, and plenty who just rot. Luckily I don't know any who have popped. Some try to soar too fast, others just sink back to the ground.
I've been looking for a mortal therapist. Perhaps Oliver will work out.
Nashti zhas vorta po drom o bango
This should go well...
-L
Most of us are used to seeing balloons filled with some lighter than air gas, prancing around on a string or other tether. If the balloon gets loose, then it soars into the sky headed for certain disaster an awful lot like Icarus. However most balloons stay grounded by their tethers until the ravages of time and osmosis make the trade and they sink slowly earthwards.
Then again, some balloons are untied. This looses all of their internal pressures out into a short lived rage where they fly about and burn brightly before once more falling to the ground. Others untied and held abusively; the internal pressure making all sorts of rude noises. Others yet are untied and held carefully so that they may rid themselves of their internal pressures and balance the aethers within.
Das dab ka i roata le neve vurdoneski
I have realized a need for balance. I understand that perhaps the equilibrium that others seek isn't for me. I just need to feel closer to balanced.
I know many kindred with cracks, others whose psyches have melted, and plenty who just rot. Luckily I don't know any who have popped. Some try to soar too fast, others just sink back to the ground.
I've been looking for a mortal therapist. Perhaps Oliver will work out.
Nashti zhas vorta po drom o bango
This should go well...
-L
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Elections
Our exalted leader has decided that the traditional position of a Primogen is due for elections. This tedious exercise should be fun. My opponent is my friend Joe Diparma. I will win of course, but I appreciate him running against me. He is an opponent not to be underestimated.
Ahh, Politics... O xonxano baro.
-L
Ahh, Politics... O xonxano baro.
-L
Friday, January 3, 2014
News
Kai zhal o vurdon vurma a mekel
At our usual bi-monthly dinner Alec my business manager mentioned an interesting story in the news. Something that caught my attention. Apparently Wicker Park's suicides spiked in the month of December. Now, around the holidays things like this are common, but Wicker Park's numbers are especially high. This concerns me for a number of reasons.
First, Wicker Park is a smaller neighborhood within the territory of West Town. West Town is mine. Second, Jonathan Clay is responsible for Wicker Park in that he eats there. He should be keeping up his feeding grounds. I should talk to him about it. But now that we've just begun to repair our friendship I am hesitant to reprimand a friend for a simple mistake for which I strongly doubt he is responsible.
Oh, what to do. What to do.
Sometimes I feel like establishing myself here was a mistake. However, I often feel that establishing myself elsewhere would be just as big of a mistake. With all of my successes here, I feel doomed. I feel like the tangible blackness that is the night reaches out to entangle me and hold me down. Mater Tenebrarum haunts my day dreams. A being of shadows perhaps from the depths of the black between the stars itself. Perhaps if she comes for me I could ask her questions before the end...
Reminds me that I should either sleep or get back to my experiments.
At our usual bi-monthly dinner Alec my business manager mentioned an interesting story in the news. Something that caught my attention. Apparently Wicker Park's suicides spiked in the month of December. Now, around the holidays things like this are common, but Wicker Park's numbers are especially high. This concerns me for a number of reasons.
First, Wicker Park is a smaller neighborhood within the territory of West Town. West Town is mine. Second, Jonathan Clay is responsible for Wicker Park in that he eats there. He should be keeping up his feeding grounds. I should talk to him about it. But now that we've just begun to repair our friendship I am hesitant to reprimand a friend for a simple mistake for which I strongly doubt he is responsible.
Oh, what to do. What to do.
Sometimes I feel like establishing myself here was a mistake. However, I often feel that establishing myself elsewhere would be just as big of a mistake. With all of my successes here, I feel doomed. I feel like the tangible blackness that is the night reaches out to entangle me and hold me down. Mater Tenebrarum haunts my day dreams. A being of shadows perhaps from the depths of the black between the stars itself. Perhaps if she comes for me I could ask her questions before the end...
Reminds me that I should either sleep or get back to my experiments.
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