The Dark Path

02/23/2014

The Haunting by Kamelot

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

Blood is like love.

Blood is like love. 

The first kiss is magic, 

the second is intimate, 

the third is routine.

Blood by the Editors

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

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.

Then Blackness.

A loud snap.

A loud crack.

Then the end.

The End.

The End.

The everlasting End.

-L

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

Someone Purer

Someone Purer by Mystery Jets

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