Vampires, Werewolves And Humans Roleplay
In Character => Character Stories => Topic started by: Lurker on December 12, 2016, 07:36:58 PM
“Who goes there?” spoke an elderly voice, his echo resounding through the empty streets of Avignon. The man, trimmed his grey beard while his ancient eyes attempted to gaze in that all-consuming abyss. Scratching his hairless head the man gave off an aura of fear, he was afraid, not shaking or shivering, but he was terrified, and his twitching eyes gave it away, it didn't matter how well he hid it, the thought of walking alone at night in those eerie streets filled him with dread. However the elder had much to do on such short nights and soon turned around, closing his tired eyes for a brief second merely to discover a young man with a crooked smile and a hungry gaze as he opened them once more. “W-what” simply muttered the old man, startled, as he stepped backwards. “Isn't it a bit too late for you to be walking out 'ere?” uttered the man with a nigh teasing voice, approaching with light steps, that barely made any sound at all, it's smile seemingly growing larger.. there was something rotten about that man, unholy even, the elder couldn't tell what it was though. “Y-yes, t'was just heading home..” begun talking the ancient man, his voice hardly obfuscating the primordial fear deep within his soul. “No, you weren't, heading off to the brothel at night, weren't you? Thought nobody would see you, just your little secret, eh?” alleged the younger fellow whilst moving closer to the elder, his gaze seemingly staring straight into the old man's shame, he wouldn't stay around for such however, stumbling slightly he turned around just to barely make a step before feeling a pungent pain in his neck, it soon, however, turned into bliss, better than the most expensive whore he could afford, he wasn't aware of anything, the pleasure was everything for him, the world could burn around him for all he cared. His psyche shaken by the intense thrill could barely remain conscious. He wished to stay in that state forever, you could say he was finally happy. However such wouldn't matter much, for that familiar all-devouring darkness soon creeped in his eyesight, leeching his life away. Fear and joy mixed together as the elder gave his last breath of life away. The monster that had consumed the man's light so nonchalantly dropped him on the ground and walked away afterwards, whistling happily into the night. It's the world we live in, a bloodcurdling abomination where we are born, we grow up, we love and we die. Unless you're one of them, those terrible creatures hidden in the darkest corners of the world, for the sun itself hates their very existence, leeches feeding off life and all that is pure, for they are only capable of depravity. These debauched things, they are an anathema to life. This is the story of one such being, a bitter monster whose life could be turned into a theater piece, a most glorious tragedy. Her days when passion burned her very being, giving her power and strength, as that of gods perhaps, moments when everything had a purpose, even the most meaningless things, everything seemed to connect and she felt content, happy even. But then sorrow consumed this monster, as it reminded her of what she truly was, and it turned her into nothing but a pointless fiend, roaming from alley to alley, feasting on that precious vitae they all lust so much for. The wheel kept turning and the moments of anguish overshadowed those beautiful nights when one could find light, even in the blackness that had conquered her life. This is the story of Cecile. Where do we begin? Well, from the beginning, if we started this halfway you may just think to yourself how could such a depraved thing exist, without further contemplation, let's begin.
Running, dangerously fast, through those cobbled streets of Avignon, whose pavement had been crafted by some of the most skilled architects they could find in France, were a few kids with great vigor and energy, their hairs moving back and forward as they ran, there were four of them, two of masculine birth, both seemingly very happy to be there, for surely they had much work to do back home, the girls were for the most part competing against each-other, each attempting to out-run the other . The other men and women, all busy with their work, be it selling food or other such things or bringing folks into the whorehouse, would glare daggers at the young and bright children, from time to time. Whenever they bumped into someone the kids would hear what could only be described as curse on their family as they continued their run, they had to suffer enough with their soul-crushing jobs, those annoying infants made everything worse. Ah, youth, when nothing matters but having the grandest fun your naive minds can imagine, how can such a beautiful time be torn apart? Shredded into memory as life slides it's constant river into oblivion. The children ran rampant across many a street until they crossed what seemed to be a shabby house broken down by the ages alone, a woman, wearing somewhat greasy garments, whose face had started to betray her age, wrinkles clearly visible on the poor woman's appearance, was standing in front of the door, she needed not to speak, a penetrating gaze was all the woman had to do in order to make one of the children loudly gulp, it was one of the girls, a few of the children chuckled, attempting to muffle their laughter by forcing their inexperienced hands over their mouths, the girl whom had gulped at first however, wasn't laughing, in fact she seemed quite sad as she begun trot towards the woman, however before winding up in front of the middle-aged woman, the girl turned around to the other children and spoke, making no attempts to hide her sadness. “See you tomorrow”, she then turned back around, not awaiting any feedback from her words, and begun strolling towards what one could only assume was the one whom had given birth to the little lassie. As upset as the kid seemed, there was still that powerful energy only youth can grant one, deep beneath the surface of her visage. With innocent eyes she looked upwards making visual contact with that older lady, before smiling with that precious guiltlessness found in unspoiled children. Her mother broke her cold emotionless facade, smiling back at the child. They both stepped with delicate paces inside their abode, it didn't matter how many cracks the haven may display, the dwelling gave off a homely aura of happiness, disregard how many fractures and breaches the outside of the house may have, the family living inside was strong and self-reliant. So long as the family would stay together, they would be happy, it didn't matter how poor they were. You wonder, what's their story? Who are they? Where do they work? So many questions, but they all have answers. I guess you deserve to know a bit, but I won't tell you anything, figure it out on your own. What kind of story would it be if I just told you everything? It'd be boring. Now go on, don't let me stop you with my ramblings, I'm not the one you should be worrying about, not yet anyway, I'm just writing a story for a friend. However as promised by life itself, over and over again, the light of beauty and happiness must end eventually, and sadly for Cecile, it didn't take long until everything was taken away.
A young girl, no older than twelve, with a raven's wing colored hair, was roaming about those gorgeous streets that created the Parisian beauty of Avignon, the graveled roads and rocky buildings, with their charming Romanesque style illuminated by rays of that divine light always shining both upon the righteous and immoral. The entire city was shining with heavenly luminescence, giving off a celestial appearance to the area. The youthful lassie seemed to constantly gaze downwards, where her hand could be found, she seemed to be holding a small pouch, every step the girl took, a recognizable sound could be heard resonating from the pouch, this metallic noise was none other than coins bumping each-other. Eventually Cecile abruptly stopped in her tracks, right in front of a small booth out on the streets, it was poorly constructed, nails half-way inside, fractured planks of wood and so on, on top of the booth one could find bread of all sorts, brioches, baguettes, fougasses and more less identifiable kinds. The man in charge, a middle aged man with long hair and tired eyes, seemed to either not notice, or completely ignore, the small girl standing in front of the booth gazing at the bread with ever-curious eyes. She soon however shifted her sight upwards glaring at the man, trying to get his attention, the feller however, continued gazing into nothingness. Cecile decided to expel the contents from the pouch on to the table, which were in fact a few coppery coins. The man glanced downwards at the girl, arching an eyebrow, before gazing at the coins on the table. With slow movements the man picked up each coin placing it inside his pouch, before grabbing a baguette and handing it over to Cecile, whom quickly grasped it with gentle fingers, she proceeded to get a good grip on the baguette, making sure it wouldn't fall off while she ran. She quickly turned around afterwards getting ready to begin the jog towards her home, albeit she bumped into someone as soon as she turned around. The girl noticed the baguette escaping her careful grasp falling onto the unclean road. Staring up, once again, she saw an old man with a fairly long, grey beard, “Hmph, watch where you're going” he muttered only giving a half-second eying to the girl before walking away with heavy pacing. Cecile blinked a few times, she proceeded to bend down and with hasty moves the young lassie clutched the baguette. She shrugged and continued her walk, this time however without jogging. The girl made sure to clean the bread with her clothing as best as she could, hoping her mother wouldn't notice it had been stained by falling on the ground. She eventually made her way back home, stepping inside that decrepit home which held much beauty, in the eyes of those who weren't spiritually blind, disregard it's appearance. “Ah, you're back, good” spoke her loving mother grabbing the baguette from her daughter's hands, before carefully examining the bread, she nodded afterwards and slowly begun to walk towards the kitchen, but stopped halfway there, turning back around to face her daughter. “Can you grab the salt from your father's workplace, he brought it there for some reason” she told Cecile before heading back into the kitchen. The young girl soon made her way to her father's workplace, he wasn't home at the time, he'd leave home from time to time in that manner, going to meetings with other other carpenters and such, sometimes he'd speak to rich people, Cecile didn't know too much about her father's contacts. Whatever the case, the young girl gazed around the room, with those sweet ever-curious eyes. That one room had always given her a weird vibe, maybe it was merely because she didn't quite understand what her father did with all those strange ointments and such, he'd mutter many times “One day we'll make tables like we make words”, he'd say it as a joke, however Cecile could feel a well hidden desperation beneath such words. Her eyes finally caught the salt she was looking for, however it was on a shelf fairly high-up, although the young girl had always been fairly tall, in comparison. Cecile begun to stretch for the jar of salt, she could barely grasp it with his fingers, she decided to make a small jump in order to grab it, and with possibly extreme luck or uncanny precision she managed to get a good hold of it. She jogged along afterwards to her mother, finding her in the kitchen, cooking a great meal for her family, the girl smiled as she handed her mother the jar, she noticed however her mother seemed awfully blurry, no, /everything/ seemed faded and fuzzy. Without giving it much thought she returned to her usual activities.
“Everyone is blind, what's the difference between me and them? There is no difference, none at all, none at all. Sometimes I wonder what it's like.. I've considered my options, cutting my wrists sounds like the best way to go about it. I don't want to live in this world anymore, or live anymore in general. I feel empty. I'm already dead, why shouldn't I just end it? I want to die. I look around me, I see nothing, I don't know what I should be feeling right now, I've seen the most disgusting things, should I be glad? Life isn't worth such feelings. Please let me die. When I dream, I cry. When I wake up from my nightly sleeps, I just want to die, every day, every single day. Why was I born? What punishment is this? From who? Nothing makes sense anymore. I dream of dismembered heads, impaled on sticks with crimson spikes at their ends. There is nothing I want more than for my head to be there. In my morbidity I forget what the purpose of life is, I used to be certain of what the meaning of life was, even though I was so young, so innocent.. but now I stumble, nothing but darkness in front of my eyes, I like the night, because I'm not alone, everyone can feel the dread I feel. Let it end, God, kill me. What's the purpose of life? To destroy this mockery we live in? The world is such a cruel place. Why? Look around you, if you're not blind, suffering as far as they eye can see, peace may only be found when there is no more life, no more suffering.. But now, I can't do anything, I'm stuck in the care of others, others who would never agree to such philosophies, I just want to find peace.. I want to die, please kill me. There's nothing left for me here, nothing. Every day I long for sweet release. I don't know how much longer I can handle it, should I just do it? Find a kitchen knife and end it all? I shiver as such thoughts, what lies on the other side? If someone could just give me death's cold embrace I wouldn't have to think of such things, it'd be easier, wouldn't it? I'm staring at the infinite stygian universe lying in front of my eyes. I'm screaming, silently in my mind. My soul shriveled by this all-consuming rot that has eaten my life. I feel it, beneath my skin, a many faced beast, an angel of despair. It's hard to go on, why do I still try? There's no point, no reason to my madness. Whenever I hear them walking around my room, I bite my tongue.. Why can't I just ask them to end it all? There's no point to life as a whole, but under my condition, it's even worse. Sometimes they take me out for a walk, at first it was done when the morning rays could whisper soft words to my skin, until the ridicule from some of the children in town made such walks heavy on such the psyche. As, the morning walks became, well.. nightly walks, it didn't make much of a difference for me. But I could feel their fear, walking out at night, it wasn't pleasant, who knows what lurks right outside their perception? Superstition truly breeds a special kind of fear, doesn't it? I want to die. Please, kill me already. I feel their eyes filled with shame, piercing me.. Why?” The audience clapped, loudly. The theater piece they had just heard was something they'd never quite forget, the passion in which those disturbing words were said, the tears slowly falling down Cecile's cheeks. The more emotional folks in the crowd begun to cry as well, it was a beautiful moment, one that would forever be engraved in their minds and souls. A few seconds passed and everyone regained their posture, more or less, that's when Cecile begun to sing, and more tears followed. How could such a young, broken lady, have such an angelic voice? What made her timbre truly captivating was the sheer passion and emotion which she used to fuel her chanting, sorrow and perhaps even hatred, hidden and locked beneath her carcass, this was the time she allowed it to reign free, all of her emotion, her angst, she allowed it all to break free, and as she weeped so did the entire audience, as if their souls mixed together one brief moment. She finished on a soul-shattering crescendo leaving the crowd in awe, she awaited there on the scene a few seconds, staring into nothingness, with those cloudy emotionless eyes, until a few other actors came around and helped her walk away. Loud clapping was all she could hear, however she didn't seem to care much about it. “Very good, very, very good Cecile, I knew you had it in you” were words she could hear coming from her side, she immediately recognized the voice, it was her mentor in the arts of drama, an old man, or so thought Cecile due to his raspy voice, he had always seemed very passionate about his work, which Cecile really liked about him, however he himself has lost much of his talent in such divine tragedies as the ages passed away. This had been Cecile's debut, her first actual time playing a piece for an audience. She continued to walk ahead, guided by the helping hands of her colleagues. The characters she had the chance to play were limited, she doubted there would ever be a blind main character she could “become”, nonetheless, it didn't matter too much to her, the fact she could have somewhere to sleep, eat and so on was all she really wanted. She heard a door open in front of her, it had become much easier to hear things after her sight fizzled away. After being led inside her room, Cecile heard the door behind her close and with careful steps she walked towards where she knew the bed was located. The blind female delicately sat on her faithful bed and merely stood there looking into that ever-lasting abyss in front of her eyes. Part of her wanted to cry for her lost vision, again and again, another side of her felt somewhat at peace with what she had become. Then she heard the door creak as it slowly opened, her head instinctively turned towards the sound, even though it made little difference. “W-who goes there?” she mumbled, feeling extremely uneasy and at the mercy of whoever had just opened her door, she cursed herself in her head for forgetting to lock the door, maybe it had been just someone playing a prank and there was nobody at the door at the moment. Cecile slowly stood up and with shaking legs she approached the door, moving her hand around in order to try and touch the door, she eventually found it and steadily closed the door, latching it afterwards with the chain door lock present at the door. She heard footsteps afterwards slowly making their way from her door, the realization soon washed over Cecile, someone had been staring at her, silently, as she closed the door. The thought alone sent shivers down her spine. Violently shivering she made her way back to the bed, laying down and staring into the light-less void ahead of her.
“Forgive me milord, I'm just a poor ol' woman, living on the streets, I lost me'sight you see.. Care to spare some coin?” had asked Cecile of a man dressed in fine clothing, the man gazed around the scene for a brief second, before lowering his sight on the blind beggar sat on the ground. “Begon ye foul oaf, I've no gold to spare to one such as ye” spoke the man in a clearly comical fashion, attempting to imitate a british accent. The woman stood up on her feet, facing the man, whom arched one of his eyebrows at the female, his face clearly showing how surprised he was, perhaps over-showing it. “I curse thee to lose all ye once cared for, ye foul thing” muttered the blind beggar, her voice trailing off into a whisper, but so undeniably real. The man loudly gulped taking a step backwards, “Witch!” he shouted pointing a finger at her. “I'll have yer head for this!” his words were spoken without any real emotion, his acting was incredibly sub-par in comparison to the blind woman. The sound of marching feet was heard by all in the room as a group of men dressed up as guards walked into the scene, they loudly paced towards Cecile, grabbing her, not too harshly however and proceeding to make her fall on her knees. “Take off her head!” shouted the nobleman while staring at Cecile. The beggar silently glared the man with an empty and vacant expression. One of the guards lifted his sword with a malevolent grin shaping his face. The curtains fell down with an audible plump. “Alright, someone get her out of here quickly, Jean, Jacques, get ready for the next act” spoke the familiar elderly voice, as a few helping hands guided Cecile out of the scene into her room, this time she made sure to lock the door after her and with her usual careful steps she sat on the bed, much like she did every day. Her usual routine was merely sitting there and staring into that pure blackness which she had been cursed with. However this time she cracked down, her mind kept assaulting her with vile thoughts, how useless she was, her fear of the life that awaited her, how lonely she was, everything fueled the tears that were now sliding down her cheeks. The girl quietly weeped for a few seconds before hearing her door getting unlocked, she felt her heart skipping a beat, then the door opened with that obnoxious creak and it closed, followed by foot-steps outside pacing away. She begun shivering as fear sunk it's fangs into her soul. Someone was stalking her, she didn't feel safe, at all, however she pushed herself onto her feet and stumbled to the door, locking it with shaking hands before going back to bed.
“Forgive me, my lord, I'm just a poor ol' woman, living on the streets, lost me'sight, you see.. Care to spare some coin?” spoke Cecile once more, she hated playing that piece, however it didn't really matter, the girl knew she was a natural, everyone could tell. She wouldn't allow her emotions to mix with her acting, she was a true actress. “Begon ye foul oaf! I've no gold to spare to one such as thee!” loudly uttered the one dressed in noble clothing, Cecile hated his acting, it was horrible, anyone with the smallest amount of skill in drama could tell that, she couldn't even see him and already knew just how bad his acting was. She knew him as a person and he was a fairly nice lad, but that was no excuse for his performance. Cecile climbed onto her feet, staring at where she thought the man was before speaking with her entrancing voice “I curse thee to lose all ye once cared for.” The man shouted as usual “witch!” and then called in the guards, sword raise up high and the curtains fall down, sometimes Cecile felt as if she was the character of her first play, someone who simply wanted to die, but nobody was willing to end her. She walked to her room once more, with the help of the others, once they arrived in front of the door Cecile spoke however, “could you check if there's anyone inside?”, she heard steps as the actors walked inside and back outside, one of them shaking his head before remembering she was blind. “No, nobody inside” spoke another one as they guided her into the room, closing the door behind her. She locked the door and then proceeding with her usual memorized steps the girl sat on her bed, once again. “I love your acting”, she froze over grasping the sheets at her sides, breathless. “Don't scream, I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to give you what you deserve, something to match your potential, hm? You're so much more than /this/, don't you agree?” the voice became clearer as whoever spoke approached Cecile. The blind girl however was far too afraid to say anything, she merely silently sat there, wishing for all of this to be a nightmare. “This isn't a dream, there's something about you, a beauty to your sorrow that I cannot define in mere words, I want you by my side, forever. I need you. And you will be mine” whispered the man into Cecile's ear. The man proceeded to slowly lick the blind one's neck, as she shivered beneath the man's obsessive desire. The thing soon continued by biting her with unnatural fangs, never seen before on a human being. Ecstasy followed, for both the man and the girl, as blood begun to be drained out of the poor female. Her heart begun to slow down, until it was nothing but a whisper of something that once was there, then it stopped, everything stopped.
She awoke to find herself instantly possessed by a most unholy craving, a lust so profane, even God would surely not forgive such blasphemies. She desired blood. Luckily for her there was a bowl with a delicious looking red liquid right next to her, which she didn't see, however the smell was all the beast needed. Her body gave in and she begun to drink the vitae laid there for her, like a starving dog. Soon there was nothing left, however she wasn't sated, she regained control over her body and stood up on her feet, unsure if she was in her room or somewhere else. Her wits soon came back and fear overcame her, just what had she become? “I hope you found your meal sufficient for the time being, we'll soon go hunting for more my dear” spoke that dreadful voice, he had made her into whatever she was now. “Where am I? W-what am I?” she muttered, her voice giving up afterwards. “We're in your room, and you are-.. Well, perhaps we should explain everything after you're sated, no?” had asked the monster while guiding her out of her room, they walked through a corridor inside the theater until they arrived in front of a door, the man opened it, allowing Cecile to walk inside. She heard mumbles from someone in there, but before she could take any rational thought as to what was in the room, her body instinctively jumped on the scent and the noises, biting at whoever was there. It tasted so good, it made her feel whole again, for a brief second. “Stop” commanded the man behind her and she did, the blood was delicious, but she was sated and the commanding tone of the man was intoxicating. “Don't drain them dry, never, if you can resist the urge, you hear?” spoke that unholy monster while guiding Cecile out of the room. “We need to leave now, I'll explain everything to you in the carriage, but we need to leave now” uttered the man while grasping Cecile, they both headed out into the night, Cecile merely following him in confusion.
“First of all, you're a vampire, you need to feed off blood to survive” begun speaking the man, as the carriage made it's way down the midnight road. He didn't seem to worry much of the driver listening in on the conversation. “Why-..” meekly muttered Cecile, immediately interrupted by her sire. “Your talent.. you are art, I wanted to preserve that, for eternity, do you understand? You'll live /forever/, imagine.” Cecile pondered at the situation ahead of her, before responding with a cold “I don't want to live forever, not like this”, while pointing at her eyes. The man smiled, even though Cecile couldn't see him, while gazing into her dead eyes. “I'm not sure about regaining your vision, however there is something you can do to make it easier, enhance your hearing, maybe even see through someone else's eyes, these are all things possible with the right power, and you can learn these things” spoke the man with his exhilarating timbre. “What's your name?” asked Cecile, slowly regaining her courage. “Alfred, let's begin with the basics, you're immortal, as in, you don't age anymore, however sunlight and fire will make a quick job of you, understand?” begun talking Alfred while looking outside the carriage. “Sunlight? So, I'd burn in the sunlight? Like the myths say?” questioned the blind vampire. “Yes, so, for one such as you, never be alone, if I one day leave you, find other vampires and stay with them, maybe one day you'll be powerful and witty enough to survive on your own, but now, coupled with your disability and the fact you're young and naive, you need people” uttered the man, staring deep into those greyed eyes. “I understand, I think, tell me more”
“You had-.. Homework, had you not?”, asked a middle-aged female, adjusting her old glasses as her eyes inspected, slightly bored, a boy standing in front of her. The boy gulped, shifting his sight to the ground for a brief second, although it was more than enough for the woman in front of him to notice he clearly hadn't done his homework. “Oh, I see how it is, you've not done your homework, hm?”, she spoke, arching her eyebrows as she softly tapped the table to her right. The boy looked around the room, which was a mediocre classroom with the usual tables and chairs, which were all occupied by a student, except two of them. “I'll take that as a no, as I've told you yesterday, anyone that doesn't do his homework-..” She stopped midway her speech as the woman heard a few knocks coming from the door on her left, “Come in”, she uttered. The door handle slowly turned downwards, as if deliberately creating tension. The door proceeded to open, the boy and the woman, whom were the only ones able to see whom stood at the other side, gazed unblinkingly at the individual. A young woman, clearly in her twenties stood on the other side, she wore a plain, black button-up shirt and gray pants, a satchel in her right hand, with a few books coming out of the top. She adjusted her black, rectangular glasses, much like the other woman had done before, and gestured for the woman to come outside, while looking around the corridor found at her right. The middle-aged woman, sighed softly, yet visibly, and headed outside, closing the door behind her. “What is it, miss Myers?”, muttered the older woman as, staring inquiringly into her eyes, the younger woman noticeably gulped, approaching the older woman, “Well, I got lost, know where class X-C is located by any chance?”, spoke with an unexpected sardonic tone, as she gave off an awkward smile, as if trying to cover up how much resentment she held for the woman in front of her. “I know it's your first day, but, do you really not know where the class you're meant to attend to is?”, asked the older woman, quite perplexed, or feigning it fairly well. Miss Myers, opened her mouth ever so slightly, as if about to say something, but instead she merely shook her head. “Second floor, first class going left after leaving the stairwell” she mumbled, whilst turning around to the door of her class. “Thank you!”, exclaimed the younger woman, just as the senior teacher opened the door. Miss Myers begun pacing, quite rapidly down the corridor, turning her head around from time to time, as if expecting someone to be there, she walked up the stairs to the second floor, two steps at a time. She looked towards her left, quickly visualizing the area in search for the closest classroom, and there it was. She wondered why nobody had placed anything at the doors of the classroom that would give out such essential information as “Which class is it?”, she stopped in her tracks, noticing she had spoken those words out loud. She cracked her knuckles, getting mentally and spiritually ready for her first time. She gasped for air, touching the door's handle and opened the door. The chattering in the class faded to nothing as soon as the door opened, with feigned elegance the woman entered the room, closing the door behind her. “Hello there, I will be your Spanish teacher from now on, my name is Arianne Myers, call me as you wish”, she spoke, pacing towards the teacher's table and placing one hand over it, slowly tapping her feet on the floor, to make sure nobody would see them shake, she was scared of what their response would be, more so than she should have been. One of the students raised his hand, while staring at the young woman. She shifted her sight to the young teen, gesturing him to speak, albeit she noticed, perhaps too late, that the gesture was overly dramatic and gave her a bad look, she gulped while staring at the kid. “What happened to professor Foreman?”, he asked bluntly, still staring at her with eyes like claws. “Y-you.. Don't know?”, she asked without giving her words much thought. The boy shook his head, then changed his sight to his table, awaiting an answer. “Goddammit, these idiots are making me tell them he died? What kind of school is this?”, she thought, as she silently looked around the room, with a dumb-founded expression. She scratched her head unconsciously and muttered, “He's dead”. Some of the students opened their eyes wide, staring at her, as if into her soul, others merely glared the ground, not knowing how to react. Arianne, instantly regretted her choice of words, “How can I be so blunt? My god, I'm retarded”, she thought while shifting her gaze to the chair she was supposed to sit in, she strolled towards it, carefully sitting on it. She inspected the classroom one more time, pushing her glasses towards her face with her left hand. She placed the satchel on the table, taking out the books from inside. “So.. Can anyone tell me what were the last things you did with mister Foreman?”, she scratched her chin while speaking in a calm and collected tone, or so she thought. The silence that came as a response was deafening. “I see”, muttered miss Myer, while opening one of the books she had on her table. “How did he die?”, asked a girl, in what Arianne thought was an overly dramatic timbre. She bit her lower lip unconsciously, while simply staring at the book in front of her, she felt her eyes watering, but had no idea why, she hadn't even known the man, she blinked a few times trying to regain control over her body. “W-well, it was a car accident, I'm surprised nobody told you anything..” she spoke while tapping her table a few times, at the same time as she was tapping the floor with her feet. An uncomfortable silence followed. “I'm guessing you're not really feeling the spanish right now, hm?” she continued to speak, while shifting her sight to the ceiling, she was getting the hang of it. Another ear-shattering silence followed. “Alrighty then” she muttered, not really knowing what to say. The hour went by, extremely slowly, the soft chattering of the students was both annoying and relaxing, in a way, maybe she'd learn to love her new job, or maybe she'd resent it. She wasn't quite sure if this was the right job for someone like her, but she had gone through college exactly for this job, now really wasn't the time to re-think things. She'd learn to control her emotions, her fears, she had to. The bell ringed, “Praise Baal”, she thought at the same time as she stood up from her chair. With quick paces she headed towards the door, grabbing the handle, whilst giving the class a mischievous look, that seemed really out of place. Arianne walked out of a den of suffocation, blending with the crowd of students outside, “I'm going to be the best teacher this “mundo” has ever known, you'll see mom, you'll see. “This job isn't for you, sweetheart, trust me, I know you”, no you don't, “Your mother is right, sweetpie, it's just not for you..”, shut up already, you don't know me, “but we do”, bleh” she nearly stumbled upon a student, while lost in her thoughts. She shook her head, noticing the door to the “Teacher's room”, which actually had a name written on it, one of the reasons she remembered the room from the school's “tour” she had taken the day before. Miss Myers paced confidently towards the door, opening it with unnecessary subtlety, she took a few steps inside, looking around, there were a few teachers already, drinking coffee, chatting with one another, most of them were fairly old, so she outright felt like a fish in the desert. “Alright, time to mingle”, she said to herself, albeit too quietly for anyone to hear. The young woman roamed around the room towards the coffee machine, choosing a button at random, while inspecting her surroundings, she noticed an old man, around his sixties talking with a woman in her forties, or fifties. On the other spectrum there was a man in his thirties, with a well groomed beard and expensive clothing talking with a forty year old man. Arianne shifted her gaze back to the machine, and noticed that in the plastic cup she had placed there was nothing but milk. Anyone looking at her would notice her petrified look, an arched eyebrow, mouth slightly open, one hand stopped in mid-air towards the cup of milk. “I'm an idiot, how am I so stupid! My god-.. Guess I'll have to drink it now” miss Myers was thinking as she grabbed the plastic cup and sat on a random chair, she took a sip from the milk, her head tilted to one side, as if saying “It's not that bad”. The door opened and that teacher whom had told Arianne where her classroom walked inside, the young woman squinted her eyes a little bit, remembering how bitchy she had been when she showed her the school, if anything it was her fault she hadn't known where her classroom was. She walked towards the coffee machine, which was right behind where Arianne had sat down, she regretted not having picked a better spot, but she wasn't going to move now. The middle-aged woman inspected the machine for a few seconds, then jokingly said “Did someone order just milk? Cause there's none left, and you know I like my coffee with milk.” A few laughs could be heard from the teachers and some “Not me!” Miss Myers stared into the distance, her heart skipping a beat as the older woman seemed to approach her, Arianne didn't turn but knew she was staring at her cup of milk. “Oh”, she muttered surprised while turning back to the coffee machine. The young woman closed her eyes for a few seconds, possibly imagining all the ways in which she'd torture that hideous old fart, possibly just embarrassed. She finished her cup of milk, mindlessly staring at the people in the room, with an emphasis on the older woman whom she had much hate in store for. Miss Myers knew she had roughly two hours of free time until her next class, the young woman relaxed herself on the chair, sighing, she observed that hideous older teacher, analyzing her speech patterns and gestures, while scratching her chin. “Oh, I need to go home now, I have one hour until my next class and I'd really like to eat home” she muttered as she stood up from her seat. Arianne stared at her with sleepy eyes, as she walked out of the room. The young woman shook her head, standing up from her chair and, with quick steps, following her outside. “Miss Copperfield, wait, I was heading home as well, mind if I accompany you?”, said miss Myers as she caught up to her. The older woman, glared her with intrusive eyes before saying a cold “Sure.” The two strolled out of the school and were pacing in silence on the half-empty streets, from time to time exchanging a look among themselves. “So, miss Copperfield, do you have a husband? Kids? Pets?” curiously asked the younger woman as they stopped in front of a traffic light, reaching with one hand deep into her pocket. The older woman, slowly blinked, apathetically looking at the passing cars, she then answered with a pitiable “No.” Arianne nodded, softly touching the woman's shoulder before beginning to pace on the road as the traffic light glared green on her side. The older woman soon followed, quickly catching up to her, as if Arianne had deliberately slowed her pace for her to do so. They crossed the road and headed down an alley, in front of them lied a neat little apartment, as if it was a light at the end of a tunnel. Painted in a charming leaf-green color, it gave off an aura of tranquility, quite hard to come by in the city. “That's where I live, you've not gone out of your way to get here, right?” asked the older woman, showing no signs of actual care for the question. “No, of course not” answered Arianne, as the older woman seemed to be searching inside her handbag, probably for her keys. “Goodbye then” she sharply spoke, grasping her keys and softy inserting them into the key-hole. Miss Myers smiled as the door closed in front of her. “What to do..” she muttered walking away from the door. On the other side, the older woman begun walking up the stairs of the apartment, on the second floor she stopped in front of a door with the number 7 written on the door in a shiny golden color. Miss Copperfield unlocked the door, stepping inside her home, the place looked tidy, organized, perhaps overly so. There was perhaps one thing out of place in the absolute order of her home, a massive pile of books lying on a table. The books themselves were old, some of them had lost their color, or their entire cover. The older woman sighed, glaring the books for a few seconds before heading to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, grabbing a plate of food she had cooked the day before, the older woman proceeded to place the plate on the kitchen's counter, with little care. She paced outside the kitchen towards the books, the woman sat on a couch right behind the table covered with books. With stumpy hands she grabbed an open book, she remembered having left there last night after passing out at three in the morning. She begun reading the book, the writings were in latin and they seemed more like senseless scribblings than a book's writing. The older woman scratched her shoulder, concentrated on understanding the maddening words. She noticed though, she had touched something non-textile on her shoulder, she looked down on the couch spotting a strange small device, she grabbed it with two fingers inspecting it closely, it was a camera. The older woman stared at it for a few seconds, unblinkingly, panic building up in her insides. She felt sick. With a quick hand movement she placed the device on one of the books in the table, standing up soon after with shaky legs, she headed for the door. Her hand was violently shaking as she opened it, nearly jumping outside her apartment afterwards. One of the reasons why she never saw what happened. A pinching pain in her neck followed, then another one in her stomach, then everywhere. She fell down, too late to scream, darkness had swallowed her.
Swirling around, the breeze on my face, what a beautiful night. What a beautiful night. Californian nights, this is exactly what I had thought it would be like, I dreamed of this swirl. I dreamed of the soft wind, cold but comforting, coming through my open window. Californian nights. The rare red lights of the vehicles in front of me, had dazed me beyond consciousness, it was a spiritual experience. My hands steadily keeping the steering wheel in place, so that I might continue swirling around the roundabout. They begun to shake a little bit, I started to wonder if I had fed in the last couple of days, memories of a bearded man came to mind, had I fed on this person? No, I would never feed on dad, besides, he had been dead for quite some time. Dad didn't have a beard though. Then why-.. I begun accelerating just a little bit more, but not beyond a hundred kilometers per hour, I knew exactly what I was doing. I noticed I was veering just a little too much, afraid I might destroy my ascendancy, I veered slightly to the right, I wonder if that fixed it. I widened my eyes before crashing into a building on the side, looking downwards I noticed I had been impaled, with some debris, straight through my heart. I blinked. And continued to drive, many thoughts came through my mind at the time, did that really happen? Was it a premonition? Were the bearded man's fangs fake? So few questions and so many answers to pick from. I slithered my way to the seat on the left, still keeping my hands on the steering wheel, in an uncomfortable position. I turned on cruise control and continued the swirl, it reminded me of that one time I had a lot of fur, those days when life was so cheerful, yet I couldn't help but feel a crushing defeat, I grabbed worms from the ground and squished them with my bare hands, it didn't make me feel any better. That's when they came, we danced joyously all the way through, boy, I had never felt so happy. Was this before Rome or after? I had lost my sense of time. Which made me wonder, as another vehicle made their way out of the roundabout, how long had I been here? About ten minutes, maybe? Wasn't there a meeting today? No, no, those idiots planned it for tomorrow, I remember.
That's when it happened.
When so many useless thoughts were infesting my mind. The world turned red and blue, it was simply divine, I had never felt such a vivid and consuming hallucination. Was I finally going to get raptured by The One Above? A smile, so sincere, had shaped my face. “Pull over to the side and turn off your engine!” had spoken God himself. I veered to the right and stepped on what should have been the break, however there was nothing there, for I was on the other seat. I crashed into the apartment block on the right of the roundabout, a sharp piece of debris flew right through the window and impaled the driver seat. I cursed out loud, as smoke filled the inside of the car. It was however pretty ominous to see the smoke vanishing into the night as I opened the door. I noticed a police vehicle parked on the side, two police officers had stepped out of the vehicle and were walking towards me, hands on their holsters. I violently and rapidly placed my hand inside my jacket, they shot me before I could take out my watch. Californian nights. I fell down and died, closed my eyes and waited for heaven. When I finally opened them, I was in a dark small place, a box or something, I screamed and kicked everywhere for what must have been years, until finally, a bright white light assaulted my eyes. That must have been purgatory, and this, this was heaven, I told myself, quite hopeful. A man, wearing long white clothing was standing over me, he seemed quite puzzled. “Archangel Gabriel, it's truly a pleasure” I muttered standing up from purgatory. He took a few steps backwards, and continued gazing at me with terrible dread. “What's the matter, huh? Bet you didn't think you'd see me again, did you? It's time for payback, asshole, nobody does that shit to my dad and lives” I shouted with unholy anger emanating from my voice. Then I drained him dry. I noticed he didn't taste any different from a normal person, which made me wonder if humans are secretly angels, the thought alone left me frozen in sheer terror for a minute. I walked out, looking for Buddha or something, instead I found myself back on the streets, what kind of nightmare was this? Was I truly immortal? I remember people talking about quantum immortality or something on the TV, I guess this has something to do with it. I wandered aimlessly through the streets until I arrived at a bar called “Seven Rats” and had a rat king painted on the door. I walked in, if anything to tell them how neat I thought the picture was. A bunch of shady looking people gazed at me intensely. “I can't believe it, you actually got here just in time for the meeting. Have we found a reliable kook, John?” spoke one of them, as she gazed towards some ruffian or another. Oh yeah, the meeting was today.
Hippy Sorcerer Malkavian, actually pretty good imo (PART 1)
Psychological analysis of the patient: Baldric Cornell #1
Patient has shown a mild irrational disgust for large bodies of water, be it bathtubs filled to the brink or lakes and oceans. Even pictures of the latter managed to make the patient feel uncomfortable. The more I inquired with him, the more I found out the reasons for this phobia and needless to say, I found those reasons /very/ disturbing. It reminds us, as people, how much more work there must be done to civilize our society. Baldric was born under very religious parents, now this wouldn't be a problem if said parents weren't also very brutal. I always find it strange how well those two go together. Either way, the way it was told to me, his parents, especially his mother, since his dad was usually not home (we'll come back to that), would beat him up quite badly. He also didn't have any friends, at school or at home, always a loner or perhaps too shy to make any friends, whatever the reason, he seemed to also be bullied at school. All of these factors most likely left quite a lot of mental bruises, which in turn left him with far weaker mental protection against psychological derangements. His father, as I said earlier, was rarely at home, since he worked as a truck driver. The lack of a fatherly figure in his early life, may also have caused his lack of courage and apathy. However, when his father was home, he would often be far more cruel than his mother, whenever he did something wrong, he had a special kind of punishment ritual. He would bring the boy to a lake close to their home and, hear this, force his head under water until he nearly drowned. Crazy, I know. I'm not trying to drawn any conclusions here, but his father was found drowned, I'm not saying he killed him, I'm really not, it could have been someone who had seen what this man had done and decided to give him some of his own medicine. But really, it wouldn't surprise me if Baldric was the one who did this. You probably wonder about what the investigation said, as far as I know, it was conducted locally and the cause was said to be an accident. Anyway, this does explain his irrational loathing for large quantities of water, I'm working with him as hard as I can, but I'm afraid he's clinging far too tightly to his trauma. Another thing I find quite peculiar, is his attire and overall looks. He wears hippy-esque clothing, to each his own, I guess, but I feel that he has embraced his weakness, his inability to stand up for himself and masked it with “peace and love bro” , he also sports long hair, could be that he feels more feminine than masculine, sterns from the lack of a fatherly figure in his early life, perhaps? I've noticed he has this tendency to see himself as the faulty one in many situations and usually feels weak and worthless compared to those around him, even if he doesn't voice these thoughts out loud, it's obvious to the trained eye. An inferiority complex. Of course this sterns from his constant maltreatment experienced from both his parents and his colleagues at school, the scars were deep and the wound got infected I guess, a shame. After the constant bashing he ended up thinking that maybe he really was at fault. I also noticed he suffers from mild forms of both existential and social anxiety, it also seems to branch into stranger anxiety. His social anxiety most likely sterns from his school days, that constant feeling that whenever someone is talking to you, they probably mean you harm, he feels this way, because back at school, that's exactly what happened. I'm not sure about his stranger anxiety, it may have just evolved out of general social anxiety. As for his existential anxiety, I think I can explain that quite easily, he's smart enough to see the world from outside of any norms of order, be it religion or science, I believe the understanding of the fact he's simply a grain of sand has left him feeling meaningless and empty. This is common for intellectuals however, so I wouldn't worry much about it. It also seems to come periodically only, perhaps when things in life don't go very well. What can I say, I feel pretty bad for him, and I am trying my best, but I don't think there's much I can do, it's like he doesn't want to let go of the things are hurting him. Ever dealt with anything like this?
Doctor Richard Greendale – Mental ailment studies, California, Los Santos
Psychological analysis of the patient: Baldric Cornell #2
I should never have left your wing, I'm clearly not capable of running things by myself, it seems. I'm getting lost Foreman, really need your advice on this one. If possible, I know you're really busy, but if /possible/ could you come down to Los Santos one of these days? So you can talk to him, because I can't get through, I just can't. Anyway, here's what I've found out, I really wish I could tell you good news, on how he's improved and whatnot, but that's just not the case, old friend. He's told me of this one time when his father brought him along on a job, trucking through America and things like that, it didn't turn out very well as you can imagine. Apparently at one point his dad made him drive the truck, apparently at dusk, in a road far away from big cities and most people in general. His father was shouting at him for not doing it right, he didn't tell me details on what he was doing wrong, don't think he knows himself to this day. Either way, apparently a dog just ran in front of the truck and got squished. This, of course, made him very upset, since he liked dogs, like most people do. He stopped the truck and stood there frozen for a few seconds. During that time a large pack of dogs, from which the initial dog probably belonged to, had made their way towards the stopped truck and were barking at it, like dogs do, I guess. Many of them were right in front of it. I know this might sound like a bad spooky story, but his dad told him to keep going and afraid of him, he continued going, running over some of them. I showed him a few pictures of trucks and you won't believe his reaction, it wasn't loathing or disgust, as he had previously shown with large bodies of water, it was outright fear. He was an open book, his eyes widened, his body became tense and his speech nervous. I think he has a phobia of trucks. I need you here Foreman. Can you be here by next week on friday? That's when we'll have the next session. I'd /really/ appreciate it. Whatever your answer, do give me some advice.
Doctor Richard Greendale – Mental ailment studies, California, Los Santos
Psychological analysis of the patient: Baldric Cornell #3 (12/25/73)
Alright, big news. By the way, don't sweat about it, I know you're really busy, I certainly don't blame you for not coming, so don't blame yourself, alright? As I was saying, big news, not sure if they're good or bad, it's really a double edged sword. He's apparently joined some New Age cult. He kept talking about transcendence, UFOs and how Jesus, Hindu gods and some other people are ascended masters, or something. Whatever floats your boat, I guess, he definitely seems to be getting better, well, if anything his mood is getting better, so that's a plus. I'm really worried though, we all know cults recruit people who have all sorts of problems and feel like outcasts and not wanted anywhere, just like Baldric. And we definitely all know what they do to them, they indoctrinate them and tell them all manner of things that separate their views from reality. In a way, I guess that's what we all do, we all search for something that keeps us away from the harsh truth of reality, but these cults take it too far, and I am /very/ worried that he'll become delusional. It's basically adding insult to injury at this point. I'd really like to have a word with their “cult leader”, apparently he calls himself Seeker of the Moon, whatever that means. What's really worrying though, and I wasn't sure I wanted to write to you about it, but I have to, is something that happened two days ago. I was out shopping, with my wife and child. Little Jimmy was being very annoying, more than usual, taking things out of rafts and hiding them, like a fucking thief. I decided to scold him, I may have gotten a little rough, not gonna lie. A lot of people were looking at me, since Jimmy was crying very loudly, and guess what, amongst those people, I saw him. Now, I don't know why he was there, I'm not gonna make some crazy assumptions and say he was stalking me, but damn was it creepy. He just gave me this blood chilling look and walked away. Fuck, what if he sees me as a figure similar to his father, this could ruin any development we've made until now. He might not even wish to come back to the sessions, how do I [The writing eerily stops there]
Foreman, I'm scared. I'm not calling the police and neither should you, but I need to tell someone what just happened. I heard noises coming from my bathroom while I was writing the report or note, whatever you want to call it. I went there to check, since both my wife and Jimmy were out. I found HIM, in my house, I don't even know how he got inside, jesus christ, he had filled the tub with water and he had a knife. He told me to come closer, or else he'd hurt me and that he didn't want to hurt me. I was so scared Foreman, so scared I didn't know what to do so I just I just did as he asked, I came closer and he he grabbed me and threw my head into the water, kept it there for a long time, jesus, I thought I was gonna die. He kept repeating, “Let it cleanse the hate away”, first it was barely a whisper, then he started shouting it. I have never been so scared in my life do you understand? Come here please. I need someone to talk to. DON'T CALL THE POLICE.
My dear Greendale
It has been too long since I've received a note from you, after we had spoken in person due to the “event”, you had told me your intentions of visiting the cult leader, what has happened? I'm very worried about you. It's been 2 weeks, Richard. I'm coming over next tuesday. Thought you should know friend, I hope you're doing fine. Don't let this patient consume you. You have a life of your own Richard, and that should be your priority, you, your wife and your son.
Name: Richard Greendale
Cause of death: Drowning
Observations: We believe that it was merely an accident, since he was in fact wearing a swimsuit, however it is quite strange that he would go out swimming in April. The water might have been too cold, giving him a cramp or something around those lines which caused him to be unable to swim. The family has requested for there not to be an autopsy, after the interrogation we deduced that he hadn't received any suspicious letters or had any trouble with anyone. When questioned if he had gone swimming in this time of the year before, they were unable to give a conclusive answer, however, due to lack of any information that could possibly point out that this was something more than a tragic accident, the investigation has been concluded.
It had been raining all day, I remember quite clearly. What attracted me to him? Can't say for sure, maybe it was his fear-filled eyes, the fact he always seem to avoid eye contact with everyone, his long unkempt hair, his trucking hat or maybe it was just pure luck. As I said, can't say for sure. I just know, I saw him from my window, it was dark, but not very dark. I think it was nine. I just know that I instantly felt something, a click. He walked inside some psychiatric building, not a mental asylum or anything, mind you, just one of those places where they make you lay down in a comfortable leather couch and then you talk, and they talk, and it's all pink. I remember waiting for him outside, he didn't notice me, nor did I expect him to. I followed him home and strangely enough, he lived in a shitty apartment. Why is this strange? Because those damn psychologists are expensive. Not only do they fill your brain with a bunch of bird shit, telling you how your issues come because your mother stopped giving you the teat too soon, they're also very expensive. So it raised a lot of questions. Was someone else paying for these sessions? Parents perhaps? Was he using all the money he made working on them? Did it really matter? No, it didn't. I remembered I was late for a meeting with my fellow brothers and sisters, so I lingered no longer outside the apartment of that curious man. As expected my fellow brothers were cheerfully socializing with each other, drinking kool aid and having a jolly time without me. Of course, once I arrived they all smiled and saluted me with such lovely passion. What a joyous night that was, my accursed thirst for blood was sated, their divine thirst for love and knowledge was, as well, sated. We discussed how far we traveled in our path to spiritual evolution, what our reincarnations would be or had been and the possibility of channeling Buddha or Christ, both of which were ascended individuals whom had surpassed the human potential. We also discussed how in the end, all of humanity would ascend and we'd all spiritually travel to different planes in an endless exploration, our material plane was simply one of learning and preparing. We couldn't quite make an exact opinion on the matter, but we sure had a good time. We finished it all with our usual meditation. After they all left, I grabbed that wretched black notebook, and I read it's content over and over again. Was I really going to do it? Would I really kill all my followers for a brief glimpse of godhood? ((The Pursuit of Apotheosis – Rites of blood, page 64)) Why yes, it had already been decided, there was no time for second thoughts. At times like these, I felt much like Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment, but I knew, I /had/ to do it. Afterwards I begun creating a Blood Crystal ((Blood Crystal – Rites of blood, page 63)). A few nights later, or perhaps it was the night afterwards, I forget, I had given the crystal to that strange mortal. I told him exactly what he wanted to hear, that he too could have a purpose. Like a moth to a flame. I wonder what he must have felt, realizing he too, could feel love for another. What joy! I walked up to him one night, soon after, and he wanted to know more. I opened my arms and we walked together. He was a UFO aficionado and was an easy convert, when he heard how accepting we were of his ideas, since we all believed in aliens, I bet he felt right at home. We taught him the essence of New Age, how humanity, both collectively and individually was in a constant spiritual evolution, the purpose of aliens (we decided they were simply another form of existence, like us, only perhaps closer to ascendancy as a species than us) and how our government was trying to obfuscate the existence of them and UFO. We spoke about those ascended humans whom were a halfway point between human and Oneness. In the end, we all felt enlightened and full of love, love amongst each other and love towards me. A few nights later the strange mortal had come to me with questions as to what he should do. He found out someone he had thought highly of was in fact troubled by evil in it's soul. I had told him to do as his instinct told him, afterall, the instinct is how the Inner Godhead speaks to us. He thanked me for my wise words and left. I never asked him what he had done, although perhaps I should have, at the time I hadn't realized just how special this mortal was. When someone by the name of Richard Greendale came to us, telling me how I should leave the mortal alone, if I knew what was good for my sake and that he would call the police to shut down our cult, we did what we thought was right. We knocked him out and wondered how to terminate the body, so that his Higher Self might find a better reincarnation, one filled with love and not hate. The mortal vehemently suggested we drown him. Thus we did as he asked. We took off his clothes, gave him a brand new swimsuit one of our sisters had bought and we let him drown in the sea, the mortal however did not come with us, he was either unnerved by the sea, or by the idea of killing someone, he did seem like he had a soft heart, and he perhaps felt guilty about suggesting to drown him. It was a bittersweet moment, the death of someone is always sad, it's a momentary loss in the Oneness itself, however it was also a happy moment, for he'd certainly become someone better in his next life and more likely to spiritually evolve. The next night we payed a visit to his wife and showed her too, that love can destroy all barriers. She quickly became a convert. It took quite a long time for the police to find his body, but once they did, they came to her to interrogate her. We had asked her not to say anything that could incriminate us, we had much good left to do in the world afterall. She obliged. She told us an old friend of his had come to visit and that he was very sad to hear of his passing and quite suspicious as well. We converted him as well. Love truly breaks all barriers. By this time the strange mortal that had attracted me at the beginning had become my favorite of the bunch, there was something different about him, as if he had been contacted by aliens or advanced humans, and that had left him touched in a way. He reminded me much of myself, I too had seen the truth, if only for a brief second. I decided to embrace him. He was a good pupil, when he heard about vampires and all of the other things out there, he wasn't surprised. I taught him the disciplines of our clan to a certain extent and initiated him in the ways of New Age sorcery. However, once I told him my plan, to forcefully make my way towards ascension, he was not pleased to say the least. He still held a strong connection with the other brothers and sisters, through the partial blood bound I had created between them ((Enfolding the Believers – Rites of blood, page 64)). I still did the ritual. And he left me. I believe he wandered with a coterie of anarchs for a while, but I've heard he eventually left them too, I'm not sure where he threads these nights, but I've heard rumours he's left the urban environment for something more natural. I'd definitely want to see him again, to tell him all that I have seen. To tell him how many times I've done that very ritual. To tell him how monstrous I've become inside. To tell him I should have listened to him. To beg him not to make my mistakes. Where are you, Baldric?
Soon after my embrace, I felt some things about myself had changed. My “issues” as my former psychiatrist would call them had either dulled or strengthened. I definitely still felt anxious and afraid of strangers and most people in general, attempting to avoid all manner of conversation and interaction with them. My fear of those dreadful infernal machines people call trucks was still there, in fact, it had become much more powerful and dominating. My highs were duller and my lows were lower. Back in my mortal days when something bad happened I'd ponder at the nature of the world, our life's meaning and many other existential problems, however I could still function properly and could continue working or doing whatever else I was doing, albeit in a subpar manner. Now, when I break down into an existential crisis, I can barely think of anything other than it, which makes doing things near impossible, even walking somewhere is hard and I might get lost. All I want to do in those moments is ponder at the nature of life, the world and the universe or read books about it, from Ayn Rand to New Age spirituality. I also felt extremely attached to the trucking hat of my father, I couldn't save him, I was a coward and a fool and I couldn't save him from his hate and show him the love he deserved, so in a way, I'm protecting this hat to represent that now I am not who I was as a child. I may be a peaceful and weak person, but I've left my hatred behind. I might be weaker than most people around me, but that doesn't matter. Let's talk about New Age spirituality and sorcery, the former changed my life, the latter my unlife. I believe in spiritual evolution. I believe Jesus, Buddha, Shiva, Brahma, Gandhi and others are ascended masters, and I am to be one myself one day. I believe in the existence of extraterrestrial intelligence and I believe the government is trying to cover it up. I believe during my embrace, while I was dead, I saw all of Oneness in it's entirety, and my brain wasn't able to cope with it's divine beauty. I believe other kindred have their eyes closed during this experience, which is why they're “sane”. I believe in a collective unconscious of thoughts and ideas and I have proof of it's existence for I hear them, the voices. We all hear them. Some may call me deluded, but I'm simply enlightened. I believe in peaceful solutions to problems, violence should always be the last option. But it shouldn't be excluded as an option.. Now how does all this tie up with New Age sorcery? Through the power of our unique blood and will, I can do things. Things that have been reported through the ages as psychic phenomena and the powers of those enlightened, like walking on water with yogis and Christ. Both of these things come from a mastery and elevation of the spirit over matter. It comes from understanding of the Higher Self, our Inner Godhead. By coming to realization over it's nature we might do things that other would consider supernatural. It is merely using our natural potential as part of divinity. All of this power is stocked in the back of our brains, in our subconscious mind. The first thing my sire taught me about New Age sorcery (this was after he taught me the basics of my clan's disciplines and general knowledge of kindred society and anatomy) was how to teleport. It might sound strange that he started with something as complex as teleportation, however he had told me it wasn't any more difficult than levitating objects or summoning fire with one's will alone. I'm unsure why exactly my sire had decided to start with teleportation, but I guess it doesn't really matter where he'd start. My first few attempts were a complete failure, as in, absolutely nothing happened. He told me to continue meditating on the Oneness and how it's part of myself. I did. I begun getting frustrated as I noticed my inability to do magic, but both myself and my sire weren't willing to give up. Eventually my frustrations vanished into apathetic acceptance and only then, in that grueling tranquility did I manage to teleport for the first time. What joy. I had continued to study, meditate and practice for many weeks afterwards, eventually being able to teleport far longer distances. This is when he brought me to the ocean. I had asked him why we were here, since I didn't like to be around big pools of water, it triggered memories best left untouched. That's when he walked on water, in front of my eyes. I attempted to follow him, taking his hands and walking towards him. But I sinked, much like in the bible, when Peter had walked on water towards Christ. At least he had been able to walk on the water in the first place. What followed was an existential crisis, which is why my sire had decided to try again another night. I had studied and prepared much for the ritual, I've read the majority of recorded water walkings, most of which were in India, and I had read many mantras and other Hindu and Buddhist dogma. I was ready. When the night arrived, I softly chanted the mantra under my breath, for the elevation of spirit over body and I walked on water, next to my sire, as equals. This was however around the time my sire had told me of his plans, of his desire to poison the other followers to brutally advance his spiritual evolution. I could barely believe my ears. I had decided that studying from him any further was certainly not worth the price, it would go against all of my beliefs, as such I had taken a few tomes of occult lore and New Age spirituality with me, and I left for another city. What follows is a sad tale that I'd rather not thread upon, for it brings memories of deceased friends into mind. But I might tell you how after that unfortunate accident I traveled to India, where I hoped to learn a few more things on the nature of love and understanding, perhaps even magic. I was not aware how perilous the undead world of India was until I arrived, apparently the kindred in the country were at qualms with another species of vampire they called cathayans. I would've died to one of these, I believe, if it wasn't for a young kindred whom I befriended, it was lucky he spoke english. He was studying an arcane art known as Sadhana, I found similarities between our magic, however his was much more rigid and religious, focusing primarily on Hinduism and especially Shiva, while mine was more focused on spirituality in general. Whatever the case I managed to learn a ritual from him, I slightly modified it's practice to perfectly fit my style and it worked brilliantly. ((check Rites of blood for hacking rituals from other types of thaumaturgy)) I took my farewell from him around a year later, told him he was free to come visit me whenever he wanted. I decided to live in a small county close to nature for my next years. So I traveled to Red County.
Yeren story, kinda like this one
“Who goes there?” spoke an elderly voice, his echo resounding through the empty streets of New York. The man, trimmed his grey beard while his ancient eyes attempted to gaze in that all-consuming abyss. Scratching his hairless head the man gave off an aura of fear, he was afraid, not shaking or shivering, but he was terrified, and his twitching eyes gave it away, it didn't matter how well he hid it, the thought of walking alone at night in those eerie streets filled him with dread. However the elder had much to do on such short nights and soon turned around, closing his tired eyes for a brief second merely to discover a young man with a crooked smile and a hungry gaze as he opened them once more. “W-what” simply muttered the old man, startled, as he stepped backwards. “Isn't it a bit too late for you to be walking out here?” uttered the man with a nigh teasing voice, approaching with light steps, that barely made any sound at all, it's smile seemingly growing larger.. there was something rotten about that man, unholy even, the elder couldn't tell what it was though. “Y-yes, was just heading home..” begun talking the ancient man, his voice hardly obfuscating the primordial fear deep within his soul. “No, you weren't, heading off to to find some whores to keep you company at night, weren't you? Thought nobody would see you, just your little secret, eh?” alleged the younger fellow whilst moving closer to the elder, his gaze seemingly staring straight into the old man's shame, he wouldn't stay around for such however, stumbling slightly he turned around just to barely make a step before feeling a pungent pain in his neck, that soon overwhelmed him. The old man collapsed on the ground, helpless, too weak to scream. His horrified eyes glared the young man, staring at the baseball in his hand, how could he have missed it before? He slowly stepped closer to him, gazing straight into his eyes. “P-please” pleaded the elder, tears forming in his eyes. “Beg” commanded the man, raising his baseball bat high above his head. “P-ple-..” he begun mumbling, however the man violently lowered his weapon straight into his face, and then again, and again, and again. “There you are, come on, heard there's a party downtown, big party” spoke a voice coming from behind the man, it sounded slightly raspy, yet it wasn't unpleasant. The man with the baseball bat turned around afterwards, nodding his head. It's the world we live in, a bloodcurdling abomination where we are born, we grow up, we love and we die. And why did they do such a thing to that poor old geezer? Well, this is the story of that man, no, not the old guy, the baseball bat guy. His name? Well-..
“Atwood!” shouted a fat man, wearing a cheap suit, as he walked inside a small, yet private, office. Inside there was a generic table, with a computer on top, behind the computer one could find a well groomed young man, with perfect slick hair and a two hundred dollar suit. The young man took off his headphones, peering over at that disgusting slob that was his superior. “The reports you filed yesterday, you sure those are fine?” he questioned Atwood while looking around his office, whom was decorated with all of diplomas and other merits Atwood had gained through school and university. “Is there a problem with them?” answered the man with a question, staring straight at him. “That's what I'm asking you, we're losing money, you sure you didn't fuck up?” spoke the obese businessman, meeting his stare. “I never fuck up, you know that, now fuck off” had spoken Atwood, well, maybe the last part, he didn't say out loud, but he certainly wanted to. “I'll send them to accounting, again, if I catch you somehow messed it up, your ass is on the line” uttered the man before walking out of the office. Atwood knew exactly what this was all about, that fat bastard was afraid of him, he knew his position wasn't secure as long as he was around, too ambitious, too smart, Atwood had it all.
The two walked in front of the club, that loud obnoxious music was festering from inside, drawing all sorts of degenerates to the place. However there was a bouncer in front of the doors, and he didn't seem very likely to allow anyone inside without a bit of greens. Atwood and the other one made their way past the line, ignoring remarks from the others, they slipped in some cash to the bouncer and stepped inside the club. With confident steps the two made their way to the bar, gazing around the club, which was full of all sorts of people, even though it was midnight. “What can I get you?” asked the bartender, a rough seeming guy with a goatee and cheap clothes, if they didn't know any better they would've certainly mistaken him for a Neet. “We'll have two cups of whiskey” answered the man next to Atwood. They waited for a few seconds before their oder arrived, inspecting their surroundings while drinking the two spotted what seemed to be a drunk girl heading into the bathroom, they exchanged a sight before pushing themselves away from the bar and making their way past the crowd. They eventually made their way to the restroom area, making sure nobody noticed them, the two entered the girl's restroom. The familiar sound of someone throwing up could be heard coming from one of the toilets. The two paced towards the sound standing in front of the door to the toilet, Atwood forcefully knocked a few times. “O-.. Occupied” muttered a drunken voice in between throwing up. “We're the staff, get out, now” demanded Atwood, while shifting his sight to the man next to him. “O-okay, just, wait a second” mumbled the voice from inside. Few seconds passed before the door finally opened, a surprised girl, no older than eighteen walked out, staring at the two with lost eyes. “Y-you're not-.. Staff” she muttered, while her sight met Atwood's. The two waited a few seconds, the girl wasn't quite sure what they were waiting for, in fact, they were waiting for the music in the club to hit it's loudest notes.
Atwood placed his headphones back on his ears, resting once more on his white-leathered chair, it had cost him a fortune, but it was worth it. He hadn't gotten to rest for a minute before hearing knocks at the door once more, he took off his headphones and wondered who could it be, the files getting re-checked would usually take about an hour, two with those idiots at accounting. However the door opened and it was none other than his boss, everyone's boss, with the exception of the owner of the company. “You'd like a promotion?” he bluntly asked, closing the door. “Sure” simply answered Atwood, unsure of where this was going. “Not in the company, something else, something greater” continued the boss, pacing towards Atwood's desk. “Go on” uttered Atwood, quite unsure of where all this was going, but very intrigued nonetheless. His boss smiled while leaning on his desk, gazing straight into the man's eyes.
Atwood fixed his tie, while staring at the foul mess that girl had become, he turned around, seeing his reflection on the mirror. It was happening again, the entire room shifted into something completely different, it was dark and defiled universe with green flying “things” up on the sky, the ceiling having cracked and broken down. The two walked out of the room into another hellish landscape, a festering hole filled with aberrations of all kinds. The man next to Atwood guided him along the way, as they passed through. Then everything went black for a while, when vision returned Atwood found himself far away, a small amount of blood was slowly falling from his nose, must have been the cocaine. He looked around, they were on a beach, it was still dark, or maybe an entire day had passed and he had been on a blackout. “Where are we going?” he asked his companion, quite confused. “Another party, of course. One of those beach parties full of horny teenagers, should be fun, hm?” answered the man, as they walked towards what seemed to be an out in the open party on the beach. That dreadful rave music was pounding into Atwood's head, he had heard enough of it. They made their way past all of the dancing folk to the bar, as usual, inspecting everyone around. That's when Atwood felt it, deep inside, a hatred for all of those people. He felt, superior, powerful. Before he knew it, he was growing a foot in height, fur everywhere and muscle. And then they all started screaming. And then they all started dying.
A month later, new work. Atwood had left his previous company and started working for a pentex owned company, whose exploits eventually reached a town in Red County, by the name of Palomino Creek, that's where Atwood was headed.
Nuwisha story, I hate this one
"What does it mean, to be a clown? Like, really, what does it mean?"
A few rays of light managed to sneak themselves into he room, it gave off a clear enough view of the place. All of the windows were boarded up, giving off an eerie vibe to the place, there weren't any clothing on the ground that would imply the person living there didn't care about person hygiene or such. The bed however wasn't done properly, which would also imply the one living there didn't care that much about everything being tightly organized, there was an average looking wardrobe, stripped bare of the niceness and beauty of life. Two doors led out of the apartment, one that gave space to the bathroom and another one outside, there was no kitchen to be seen anywhere. The most curious thing about the room, where the lights, the lighting in the main room was a combination between green, yellow and blue, the bathroom didn't seem to have any visible lights, however the light in the main room burrowed inside. A man was standing there, in the bathroom, looking straight into a mirror, as he apparently did his make-up, he covered his face with a white mask, painted his nose red, shaped a big crimson smile, a black dot around his right eye and he was done. He simply stared at himself in the mirror afterwards, as the lighting clashed in the background. Looking straight into his eyes, as if trying to look into his own soul, he smiled afterwards, heading into the main room. He grabbed a purple coat, wore his trusty lime green pants, put on his large red shoes and walked outside, closing the lights before doing so. He paced down the stairs, thinking about the up-coming day. "Ah, yes, a birthday, little Dean, huh? Yep", he muttered stepping out of the apartment complex, greeted by a grey looking area, albeit he didn't live in the city, the town in which the man made his home had a small apartment area, only place he could afford. "Ah, the joy of life", he muttered to himself walking up to a parked van, sprayed in many colors, memories assaulted the man, remembering the cheerful days he had when he begun his job as a clown, painting the van, finding suitable clothing, he sighed feeling somewhat nostalgic. He opened the van's door, carefully getting inside, with smooth hand movements he closed the door. The man proceeded grabbing a music tape from the seat on his right and placing it inside the radio. What could only be described as 80s disco music begun to play, the clown nodded his head to the music, starting the vehicle's engine. The man drove the van out of the apartment area, into the cordial streets filled with both old and decayed houses and brightly colored expensive nigh-mansions. The clown nodding his head to the music, simply travelled through the streets in search of Dean's house, he passed by it a few times, without noticing. Eventually he parked in front of it, looking out of his window to the old yet joyful seeming home. The clown ran his hand through his long hair, breathing in. The man remembered nearly loosing all passion for his job at one point, "never again", he muttered, grabbing a small box in the back of the van before heading out, he strolled towards the house, with extremely stylized walking. He chuckled to himself before, ringing the bell, placing something in his hand. The door opened and a middle aged woman, appeared at the door-step, "Oh, mister Chambers, I mean-.. Cheery, Cheery the clown, why you arrived a bit early, don't you think?" she muttered, still standing in the door-way. Cheery blinked a few times, then silently extended his hand towards the woman, implying a hand-shake. "You were told to come here at nine, it's seven, why-.. Ah!", she quickly screamed as her hand touched the clown's, she took a few steps backwards, clearly not expecting to get shocked, the clown chuckled stepping inside the house. The woman merely stared at him as he did so, "Alright, won't be invited here ever again, better make the most out of it", he thought. He walked around the house until he found Dean, eating breakfast in the kitchen, the kid, no older than seven, stared at him without saying a word. "Ah, there you are, it's your birthday huh?", said Cheery walking closer to the kid. "Y-yes, but weren't you supposed to be here at nine..? When th-..", he didn't get to finish speaking as Cheery leaned very close to the kid, looking straight into his eyes, "Ah, but you see, life is full of unexpected turns and wiggles, you can't plan life, trust me", the kid gulped as he listened to the clown. "Ah, but worry not, I came here with many things to make you happy and laugh, you want to laugh right? Of course you do! Everyone wants to laugh, alright here's a joke, mummy and daddy are feeling pretty sick, so they decide to go to the hospital, the doctors ask them, what seems to be the problem? They both vomit on the ground, clearly feeling sick. The mother says, I think I'm pregnant, the doctor then looks at the father, he says, I've been out of town for two months", after finishing the joke the clown merely stares at the child with a smile shaped on his face, he then takes out a bicycle horn from his toolbox, and presses his hands against it, producing the iconic honking sound. The kid merely looks at the clown, confused. "What, you don't like dark humor? O-okay, I'll think of something else", spoke the clown smirking. He turned around, scratching his chin, and then violently turned around clacking his fingers, "A-ha!". He grabbed a pack of cards from his tool-box, mixing them up, he then grabbed five random cards from the mix placing them in front of the kid, the back facing the clown. "Grab whichever you please", he spoke patiently awaiting. The kid moved his hand towards one of the cards, but touched the joy buzzer in the process, "Uh-oh", muttered Cheery as the kid begun to cry. The mother soon came inside the room, told the joyful clown to get out and that was that. He stepped inside his van, merely staring at the road in front of him, Cheery put on his favorite disco music and drove off. He was feeling awfully low, what had happened? He used to be the best there ever was, what went wrong? He couldn't say for certain, it just seemed like-.. He lost it. The clown shook his head, "No", he spoke in a clear voice. "Never."
"Take the greatest of men, strip them of their purpose, and what remains?"
Standing in the darkness, in that oh so familiar room was an oh so familiar man. He thought he was safe in there, safe from the stone monoliths outside, he liked to fantasize he lived in the most mystical places, in a ship stranded in subterranean waters, in hell, safe from the infernal denizens outside and a myriad of other places. Ah, but today, he saw reality, he knew he was in a shitty apartment, he knew there was nothing outside but grey buildings, even though there were nice houses not so far away, they didn't seem to interest him today. He was bored out of his mind. "No, fuck it, I'm not going down like this", he dressed himself with a green jacket, normal pants and a cap, proceeding by headed outside. It was dark out there, probably around ten. He grabbed his tool box from inside his van, and begun to walk around the streets, and so a night of mindless pranks begun. Everything went mostly fine, having to run a lot from time to time from angry people who can't take a joke, until something happened. Targets were becoming scarcer and scarcer as time passed, since it was getting pretty late, but he found a few people standing in front of the local club. "Perfect", he muttered to himself, he sneaked by one of the club's walls, inspecting the people in front of the club, he saw a rough looking fellow whom was kissing a girl, a perfect mark. He also saw another guy, sitting on a bench in between him and the guy, even better, he'd surely be blamed for it. Chambers opened his tool-box, looking at it's contents, most of the armament had been used already, except for one pie. He smiled grabbing the pie, with a constant smirk in face, and a heart beating unsteadily, he leaned outside of the wall and threw the pie at the guy, perfect score. It hit both the man and the girl, covering their faces in delicious cream, he sneaked back in his original position, placing a hand over his mouth, muffling the chuckles. He begun hearing a heated argument, he clearly thought that guy had thrown the pie, Chambers barely held his laughter. Then he heard a gunshot, most people would've stopped chuckling at that point, a terrified expression shaping their face, not Chambers. He begun to laugh out loud, unable to hold it in anymore, his hands hitting the club's wall as he laughed uncontrollably. Who needed to tell bad jokes to kids when you could have so much more fun this way? Then, something changed, a realization, the last piece of the puzzle. He saw himself become something else before his very eyes, fur growing everywhere, growing in size, a muzzle appearing on his face. And he laughed. He laughed as he run away into the dark, he laughed as he knew he wasn't human anymore, he laughed because it was the best joke he had ever heard.
The obnoxious buzzing softly creeped it's way into his ears, vibrating slowly through the boy's psyche. Although wearing a bee veil, the teenager didn't feel at ease, and kept his head down in a defeated manner, it wasn't necessarily due to the small holes on the veil, or the fact he was wearing shorts, leaving much skin defenseless. What truly bothered him, was the sound. The infernal buzzing. “Is it ready? Can I begin?” asked the boy, eyes locked on the bee boxes, a voice came from behind him.
Ratkin story, s'alright
“One thing you can't hide - is when you're crippled inside.” -John Lennon
A mediocre ray of light penetrated the stygian darkness that swarmed the room, which allowed one to see the state in which said room was. Clothes lying everywhere, remains of garbage food all over the stained ground. The paint on the wall slowly dripping down, making the cracks on the wall quite evident to the naked eye. Whoever dared to walk inside that disgusting den of misery would soon find himself nauseated. But not the one whom lived there. A young man, whose wrinkles had yet appeared on his visage, was lying on a blemish bed. Only wearing what seemed to be white boxers, which left the grand majority of his pale-white skin at view, one could tell from the color of his skin that the man didn't get much sunlight. He slowly stood up, his very long hair waving back and forward from the movement. The man stumbled towards a wall, leaning against it for a few seconds, his vision fizzled with all too familiar colors. He walked towards the window, inspecting the dirty curtains in front of him, he sighed and moved them aside. Outside, as he expected, was an overly illuminated light, which would always be there, in that tenebrous dark, the light inspired both hope, a vague feeling of security and annoyance. The peculiar man strolled towards one of the clothing items on the ground, bending down with surprising dexterity and picking it up with skillful hand movements. An ordinary black hoodie with food stains and some casual jeans. He looked around, with inquisitive eyes, until he found what he was looking for, a casual white t-shirt, albeit it had been worn so much by the man that the color could be mistaken by pale yellow. With a sight he wore the t-shirt, a sickening feeling on his epidermis. Shaking his head he proceeded to drag the dark blue jeans up his skinny legs. The young man grabbed the cellphone that had been laying on his bed, with a quick hand movement he pressed the middle button that turned the cellphone on. The screen emitted a soft light and a few numbers symbolizing the time could be seen, 22:13. With quick, nimble movements he got dressed with the hoodie, and placed on his shoes. He stumbled out of the apartment, which was just that one room and walked down a pitch-black corridor, he proceeded to turn left, opened the door and he was outside. He breathed in the cold air of the night, it felt good, then he begun coughing. He had been coughing a lot the last last night, but this time it was a lot more violent, the man held his chest with his right hand, it hurt like hell. He waited a few seconds and begun to walk into the cold streets. “Fuck, maybe it has something to do with that rat that bit me last night”, he said out-loud. He passed by an alleyway, the man simply couldn't help but to gaze into it's depth, but there was nothing but darkness. He gulped as his pace fastened for no reason, he grabbed his phone and checked the time once more, he wasn't gonna be late, not that he really cared. Passing next to a park he saw a homeless man sleeping on a bench, a mixed feeling of pity and disgust inundated his mind. He turned his face from him, sighing, and continued walking. He placed his hand on his forehead, he had a fever and a splitting headache at that. “Why am I even going to work today? I really should go to a doctor, who knows what diseases that fucking rat had”, he said out-loud once more. He heard a voice coming from the park, telling him to “shut up”. He gulped and continued walking. He shook his head, the whispers were back, it had been a month since he hadn't heard one, but there they were, he was pretty sure he wasn't schizophrenic, but he really had no idea why did he hear whispers in his head, he told her mother once and she nearly had him beaten, they were hardly making by, having to deal with an insane son wasn't something she was willing to deal with. He sighed, he hated her mother, but really, for a single mother with a shitty job she did the best she could. He arrived to his workplace, a washed out 24/7. He opened the door and saw his boss and the guy that did the day cycle, whom promptly stood up, saluted the long haired man and walked out. “I'm sick”, said the man to his boss. “You either do the job or you don't, Jack, this ain't no luxury jobs”, said his boss. He hated that guy, a lot. He sat on his chair behind the counter bitting his tongue. His boss, soon opened a door and walked upstairs to his home. Jack, held his hands on his head, it was getting worse, he really needed that job tho. The door to the 24/7 opened and a young girl and what Jack assumed was his boyfriend came in, he hated both of them, there really wasn't a reason, but he despised them both. “What do you want babe?”, asked the guy to his girlfriend, “couldn't they have done this shit before coming in?” thought Jack. “Just something to drink, soda”, she said. “Yeah, some soda”. Jack coughed a few times and squinted his eyes, he then pointed behind them where the drinks were kept. “Oh, right”, said the man as they opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of sprunk. Jack told them the price, they paid and they left. Jack felt lonely. Empty. Sick. An hour later, he couldn't really take it anymore. “Screw this, I'm not dying for this shitty job” he said to himself. He grabbed a water bottle and walked out the door, he opened it and begun drinking from it as he begun pacing towards the nearest hospital which was.. “Fuck”. “Where the fuck was the hospital? I knew this, come on brain, don't do this”, he thought as he begun walking in a random direction. He passed by an alleyway and as he usually did he looked inside of it, but instead of darkness he saw a massive swarm of red eyed rats. He froze for a second before taking a run, after a few streets he stopped holding his right hand over his chest. His heart ache, his head ache, his lungs ache, he needed a doctor. He blinked a few times, he then looked back, seeing in the middle of the road a stop sign. He scratched his head, “that's not supposed to be there”. It begun moving towards him, he could only gaze terrified as the stop sign unnaturally moved towards him. “May-..Maybe I have schizophrenia afterall and it's getting severe now? Fuck”, he said as he turned around and begun to quickly walk away from the stop sign. He tripped after a few steps, he usually wasn't this clumsy. He stood up, his headache was getting horrible. He really needed to sit down right now, the park had benches. Strangely enough, even thought he was in a part of the city he didn't know he knew exactly where to go to get to the park. Jack begun walking towards the park, always feeling as if somebody was watching him, the few times he had the courage to turn around he saw a figure staring at him. Unsure if it was a hallucination or reality, he sped his pace. A few minutes later he was at the park, the homeless man nowhere to be seen, which only fed his paranoia. He sat on a bench holding his head, “I can't die, not yet”, he muttered to himself. His head fell backwards as he fell unconscious. He woke up in a tunnel, everything should be dark, although he could see perfectly well. He begun to move, he soon noticed he was moving on four feet. Then it struck him, he was a rat. Panicking he begun to sprint for the end of the tunnel, only then noticing there was something behind him, he didn't know what it was, but he could hear it's footsteps. He run, hoping to find the end soon. Just what had happened? Then he saw it, a light at the end of the tunnel. He sprinted for it and traversed it. He opened his eyes violently, he was at the park, it was still dark. He sighed in relief, his headache and fever were gone. But he wasn't safe yet, he still felt as if someone or something was looking at him. He stood up and walked out of the park, paranoia filling his mind. “Hey”, he heard a voice from behind him. He stopped in his steps, his heart bursting out of his chest. He slowly turned around and looked behind him, a shady man, with dirty clothing was looking at him, it wasn't the homeless man from before. “Yeah?”, asked Jack. “Jack, right? I know it's a lot to take in, but I know what happened to you, it's something we all go through, to be honest I didn't think you'd make it, but here you are, you're one of us now, come with me alright? Just trust me”, said the man. Usually Jack would have just run away, but there was something compelling about the man. They both walked into a tenebrous alleyway.
“Great, another job huh?” said Jack to what one could describe as a rat-man hybrid. The rat-man nodded, grasping a strange looking dagger with skill. Behind the two there was another man and two women. It was a pack, alright. But little did they know that their adventures would be short and gruesome. They were preparing for another job, given to them by the elders of their nest. Burning down a laboratory. They packed the things they would need and headed out of their nest to the laboratory. As they arrived, they gazed the area from an alleyway. “Who are those guys?”, asked one of the females. The man, whom was a rat-man hybrid before, gazed at the men standing in front of the laboratory. “Don't know, but they clearly work there, we should kill them as well”. He was the pack leader, there was no point in trying to argue. “Runt, go there and distract them”. The runt, whom was the lowliest position one could have in the pack, sighed and walked out of the alley towards them. “Alright, get ready, when I give the command we attack, should be eas-”, he stopped talking as he heard a gunshot. The leader peeked out and saw the runt on the ground, blood everywhere on the floor. At that point it was too late, the leader had lost himself to the rage and was already charging towards them as he shapeshifted, that strange knife in hand, the others followed, only Jack staid behind, he figured out what had happened and knew charging was suicide, there was a mole in the nest and it most likely was in a position of power. “Can't trust anyone, it seems”, he said as he peeked out of the alley, he saw all of his friends dead, “silver bullets”. He vanished into the dark afterwards. He knew the truth, remaining in that city would be suicide, sure he should warn the elders, but which one was good and which one wasn't? Maybe they were all wyrm tainted bastards. He had to leave, didn't know where, but he had to leave. He grabbed the first bus out of the city and ended up in a town named Palomino Creek. It was still dark and he was a bit tired, he rented a motel and slept for the night.
Some Lasombra stuff I'm working on at the moment
In that stygian impenetrable abyss I found liberation. My body felt weightless and relaxed, my mind at ease and my soul felt alive once again. I opened my eyes, seeing nothing but pitch blackness ahead and I felt safe, at home, knowing that the light of the sun had never touched those darkened waters. I begun to aimlessly swim around those depths, euphoric. Fools, were those who denied the impressive power found in those watery depths. Catching a fish in between my fangs, I sucked whatever little blood it had and carried on swimming. Whenever the sun came up, I had gone underwater for safety, eventually though, I begun truly appreciating the fluid underworld and spent most of my nights below as well. Who am I? A jailed jailor. A prisoner in my very domain. Perhaps I should start from the beginning, it's not as though I have anything else to do and I've time until I lose my mind to the eternal hunger that plagues us all.
Reserved. Feel free to bash on any of these as hard as you want, if you wanna read em. I like criticism. I've got more, but decided not to post the others for one reason or another. Anyway.
Lazy to read but I think it's gonna be.. fine.
Jk good job.
Toooooooooooooooooooooo long..Yeah it's not like 1 story, its a lot of different ones. So you can just start anywhere if you want to read something, ain't forcing you tho, there's many better things to read out there. I wish I could write this much with a single concept, but I lose inspiration and will after 2-3k words lmao
Lazy to read but I think it's gonna be.. fine.
Jk good job.
Omg loser no life lololol
I have no life so who am I to judge, I havent read yet all
That's how I felt after spending 7 hours in the werewolf application. . XD
Toooooooooooooooooooooo long..Yeah it's not like 1 story, its a lot of different ones. So you can just start anywhere if you want to read something, ain't forcing you tho, there's many better things to read out there. I wish I could write this much with a single concept, but I lose inspiration and will after 2-3k words lmao
Lazy to read but I think it's gonna be.. fine.
Jk good job.
Omg loser no life lolololOh okay 👌
I have no life so who am I to judge, I havent read yet all
"in my free time", as if you're not a Malkavian, locked away in some dungeon writing these stories
That's right, lurker clearly states this in the middle of one of the stories. Read them for yourselves.
"in my free time", as if you're not a Malkavian, locked away in some dungeon writing these storiesOh, you!
That's right, lurker clearly states this in the middle of one of the stories. Read them for yourselves.
Fresh off the boat from a DM server, kid? Heh, I remember when I was just like you. Braindead. Lemme give you a tip so you can make it in this cyber sanctuary: never write stories like that. You got no reputation here, you got no name, you got jackshit here. It's survival of the fittest and you ain't gonna survive long in VWHRP by writing shitty stories that your little hugbox cuntsucking DM server friends and Kafka would approve. None of that here. This ain't a DM server, kid. This is VWHRP. We have REAL roleplay here. We have REAL intellectually intelligent characters and vampires here, something I don't think you're all that familiar with. You don't like it, you can hit the bricks on over to LSRP, you Fishmalkavian aspie. I hope you don't tho. I hope you stay here and learn our ways. Things are different here, unlike any other place that the shadow of degenerative roleplay is cast. You can be anything here. Me? heh, I'm a judge.. this place.... this place has a lot to offer... heh you'll see, kid . . . that is if you can handle it... Now, try again...
Fresh off the boat from a DM server, kid? Heh, I remember when I was just like you. Braindead. Lemme give you a tip so you can make it in this cyber sanctuary: never write stories like that. You got no reputation here, you got no name, you got jackshit here. It's survival of the fittest and you ain't gonna survive long in VWHRP by writing shitty stories that your little hugbox cuntsucking DM server friends and Kafka would approve. None of that here. This ain't a DM server, kid. This is VWHRP. We have REAL roleplay here. We have REAL intellectually intelligent characters and vampires here, something I don't think you're all that familiar with. You don't like it, you can hit the bricks on over to LSRP, you Fishmalkavian aspie. I hope you don't tho. I hope you stay here and learn our ways. Things are different here, unlike any other place that the shadow of degenerative roleplay is cast. You can be anything here. Me? heh, I'm a judge.. this place.... this place has a lot to offer... heh you'll see, kid . . . that is if you can handle it... Now, try again...Okay sir.
I feel like Lurker is trolling himself.
I feel like Lurker is trolling himself.Nah, i'm not so shallow.