Open to all vampires who participated in the By the Sword sub-plot. Please note that these posts are a collection of journal entries, monologues, or otherwise solo sentiments which may not be used as in character knowledge save for at the direction of the one who made the post. Have fun!
I have this recurring dream where I am standing on a building’s ledge, one of those old constructs that is made of stone and stands out like a gargoyle next to the reflective and smoothe, modern sky scrapers. I feel as if I am standing upon the nail of god, pressed up against the solid granite behind me. I don’t want to look down, not because I’m scared, but because I hear it’s easy to get dizzy looking on from high up. So my eyes remain pinned to the moon, which I can see hanging low and heavy with its face mocking my situation. No matter how far I carefully slide to one side or the other, I can never seem to find a window, or something I can use to get inside. I ask myself how I got here. My world is like looking through the wrong end of a telescope – everything is so small, fixed on one little point. Like everything that I ever was and ever could be has been reduced to this perpetual moment.
I tell myself that it’s useless, that I will always be trapped right here. I tell myself that I will turn to stone or ash before I ever have a chance to make it off of this singular hell. And then realization hits me. I’m so busy focused on trying not to be afraid that I don’t even realize all of my hesitation, all of my reluctance is just that. Fear of being afraid. Fear of looking down into what might be fathomless nothing. I jerk my head down sharply so that my eyes can drink in the sight. There it is, that vertigo, the double vision. But instead of clinging to the rock’s edge, I launch myself off. I soar through the air.
No fear.
When news of the hunters first came to light, I made the choice not to emotionally invest. A man has a choice in his life. He can focus on those who do him wrong, keep a list of every little thing that has ever happened to him, and go after those people aggressively. Or. He can let his concerns fall elsewhere. I chose to care about things closer to home, like Tytonidae, Nix, and the other Altaire. I never deluded myself into thinking that I would play some sort of instrumental role in bringing down Ezequiel or his minions, because that’s not who I am; I am a soldier.
Less than a month into vampirism, I got my first bounty kill. I can’t even describe how that felt, and the adrenaline rush that came with helping to slay the hunters was similar for me. But that rush was entirely physical, the splatter of blood, the way that my gun recoiled in my hand, as bullets sprayed the targets. Because I had no attachment, no hatred, no anger – my sentiments were almost pale by comparison to what they should have been. Even in life, when I killed a man, I felt something.
Duty. That’s the closest thing I can conjure in my mind to why I do what I do. Oh. That’s not to say that I waiver for even a moment in my resolve. I enjoy watching the life leave a body. I’m not a particularly spiritual man, but there has always been something inside of a person. I call it the soul. And the soul is what gives a person their animation, their spark, that individuality which sets them apart from every other person in the world. I never noticed it before I died, but if one were to watch very closely, they could see the soul leave the body. Then it’s nothing but a hunk of meat. Or a pile of ashes. Or black smoke.
But even if I did not like the thrill of the kill, I would be tied to my sense of loyalty to Tytonidae and my sense of responsibility to my ‘family’. I don’t honestly give a **** about most of the people in this city. On the few occasions I have ventured onto CrowNet, I’ve come to find that the people who post there are nothing but caricatures. As if they have been put through some sort of cosmic sand sifter, they only retain the most basic aspects of their human personalities. Maybe it’s just my inability to find depth itself, but they seem to lack it.
They are things to me. Words on a screen.
Of course, that just leaves me with my friends. I’m not sure how to describe the way I feel about Tytonidae. When I was a human, I worked as a lieutenant in a gang because I needed money, and I needed a lot of it despite my minimal education. Even though I just worked with those people, they were still like family to me because I was always working with them. I spent more time with my co-workers than I did with my brother or my sister before she passed. I compare it to that. I would miss certain members if they were to just vanish one day and never return, but I doubt I would feel anything if I were put in a position where one needed to die for the others.
I think they are just the people who occupy the vacancy of my soul. Just like that spark I enjoy watching fizzle in a target, they give me a sense of individuality and purpose. But I often feel like I’m just playing at a game, trying to live the way I did before I was turned. Sometimes I think I will just black out one day and not care about anyone at all. That worries me some. Maybe I have just been clinging to the past. There are times, like when I am with Nix - that I feel much like my old self. Others, when I feel as if I have no humanity left.
When we went after the hunters the second time, I felt in my bones that we would finally get Ezequiel. I was there when the first was taken down – took a proximity mine burn to the chest for that one. Then when we went after the second, I was there as well. Some sort of divine humor must have inspired me t arrive literally just about ten minutes late for the kill on the big boss man himself.
Oh well. There’s always going to be someone that needs to die.
No fear.
I tell myself that it’s useless, that I will always be trapped right here. I tell myself that I will turn to stone or ash before I ever have a chance to make it off of this singular hell. And then realization hits me. I’m so busy focused on trying not to be afraid that I don’t even realize all of my hesitation, all of my reluctance is just that. Fear of being afraid. Fear of looking down into what might be fathomless nothing. I jerk my head down sharply so that my eyes can drink in the sight. There it is, that vertigo, the double vision. But instead of clinging to the rock’s edge, I launch myself off. I soar through the air.
No fear.
When news of the hunters first came to light, I made the choice not to emotionally invest. A man has a choice in his life. He can focus on those who do him wrong, keep a list of every little thing that has ever happened to him, and go after those people aggressively. Or. He can let his concerns fall elsewhere. I chose to care about things closer to home, like Tytonidae, Nix, and the other Altaire. I never deluded myself into thinking that I would play some sort of instrumental role in bringing down Ezequiel or his minions, because that’s not who I am; I am a soldier.
Less than a month into vampirism, I got my first bounty kill. I can’t even describe how that felt, and the adrenaline rush that came with helping to slay the hunters was similar for me. But that rush was entirely physical, the splatter of blood, the way that my gun recoiled in my hand, as bullets sprayed the targets. Because I had no attachment, no hatred, no anger – my sentiments were almost pale by comparison to what they should have been. Even in life, when I killed a man, I felt something.
Duty. That’s the closest thing I can conjure in my mind to why I do what I do. Oh. That’s not to say that I waiver for even a moment in my resolve. I enjoy watching the life leave a body. I’m not a particularly spiritual man, but there has always been something inside of a person. I call it the soul. And the soul is what gives a person their animation, their spark, that individuality which sets them apart from every other person in the world. I never noticed it before I died, but if one were to watch very closely, they could see the soul leave the body. Then it’s nothing but a hunk of meat. Or a pile of ashes. Or black smoke.
But even if I did not like the thrill of the kill, I would be tied to my sense of loyalty to Tytonidae and my sense of responsibility to my ‘family’. I don’t honestly give a **** about most of the people in this city. On the few occasions I have ventured onto CrowNet, I’ve come to find that the people who post there are nothing but caricatures. As if they have been put through some sort of cosmic sand sifter, they only retain the most basic aspects of their human personalities. Maybe it’s just my inability to find depth itself, but they seem to lack it.
They are things to me. Words on a screen.
Of course, that just leaves me with my friends. I’m not sure how to describe the way I feel about Tytonidae. When I was a human, I worked as a lieutenant in a gang because I needed money, and I needed a lot of it despite my minimal education. Even though I just worked with those people, they were still like family to me because I was always working with them. I spent more time with my co-workers than I did with my brother or my sister before she passed. I compare it to that. I would miss certain members if they were to just vanish one day and never return, but I doubt I would feel anything if I were put in a position where one needed to die for the others.
I think they are just the people who occupy the vacancy of my soul. Just like that spark I enjoy watching fizzle in a target, they give me a sense of individuality and purpose. But I often feel like I’m just playing at a game, trying to live the way I did before I was turned. Sometimes I think I will just black out one day and not care about anyone at all. That worries me some. Maybe I have just been clinging to the past. There are times, like when I am with Nix - that I feel much like my old self. Others, when I feel as if I have no humanity left.
When we went after the hunters the second time, I felt in my bones that we would finally get Ezequiel. I was there when the first was taken down – took a proximity mine burn to the chest for that one. Then when we went after the second, I was there as well. Some sort of divine humor must have inspired me t arrive literally just about ten minutes late for the kill on the big boss man himself.
Oh well. There’s always going to be someone that needs to die.
No fear.
