Path of the Vampire forum

Silence. Darkness. The rasp of a knurled steel wheel across formed, cylindrical flint. A spark, then flickering flame. Silence returns as the flame steadies, then touches wick. As the candles flame now grows, adding to the light, there is a sharp mechanical *SNAP* as the first flame is extinguished, the soft skittering of a calloused finger caressing the worn brass plating of an ancient Zippo. The flickering light illuminates a gaunt, stoic face of a necromancer. reaching out Jedediah lifted the candle by its barrel and stretched slightly, sinews crackling as he lit two more candles. Three flames push back the shadows, leaving the necromancer and a lock box centered in the dim golden light of the tapers. Slipping a Camel between his lips, Jedediah leaned into the center candle, inhaling firmly as its end flared, and grew into a glowing ember. Smoke spiraled lazily from his nostrils, drifting upwards in rings and loops until they reached the darkness of the ceiling and spread gently across its surface.

The Camel dangled loosely from the corner of slim dry lips as Jedediah reached out and ran his hands over the surface of the lockbox. So much had changed. So much had changed over the nights since he had fired that fateful shot. The shot that had anchored a treehugger to the floor of the wilderness to learn the true power of the wolves. The shot that had drawn a raging harpy to him. A harpy that had then and forevermore changed his life. Ended it, and given rebirth. A rebirth that had released the true hunter buried within him by generations of farmers. A rebirth that had tied him irrevocably to the treehugger. The treehugger that was now his. His in the way of the ancients, bound and collared.

Drawing his hands back slowly, Jedediah listened to the rasp of his calloused hands on the surface. All of his senses had become stronger, more acute, more attuned to his surroundings. The taste of delaney, the scent of delaney, were indelibly imprinted upon his memories. The soft smooth feel of her skin as his hardened callouses drifted over her curves, every inch, every curve, hill and vale, was committed into his mind, never to be forgotten, he would recognize her or her passing anywhere. His mind on the beauty that was now his, long nimble digits spun the dial as his ears picked up the accompanying clicks of the tumblers as they settled into place. A final spin to the left and the dial settled on forty two. How appropriate that the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything… was the final number needed to open this particular lock box. Lifting the lid the necromancer leaned forward, letting his eye rove the interior, settling here and there on the assorted books and items stored within. Removing the butter soft lambskin flogger Jedediah set it to the side before reaching back in. It was followed by an equestrian’s crop, and four leather cuffs fastened by two six inch chains linked to form a cross. Carefully the necromancer set the the silver and silk posture collar on top of the small pile before turning his attention back into the lower recesses of the trunk.

Gently, almost reverently long nimble finger danced over ancient spines of the tomes that he had grown and learned from, the foundation that he had built his morals upon. Forty. Forty worn paperbacks were carefully positioned in the base of the trunk. Forty spines adorned by the same name. The necromancer had never had any formal teachings, formal schools, formal education. He had been taught piecemeal by any that chose to spend the time feeding his voracious need for knowledge. Sometime during his twelfth year, Jedediah was gifted a worn paperback, a novel, a story. It’s spine was adorned with name John Norman, its cover had the words ‘Tarnsman of Gor’ sprawled across it. Many of the words he did not recognize, many of the concepts far surpassed the understanding of a young adolescent male. However the adventures, the hunting, those spoke to a young imagination. Carefully, cautiously, reverently, young hands had slowly turned page after page, time after time, till the adventures were worn into the young, fertile mind, as long ago, ruts had formed crossing the prairies, repetition driving them deep into the virgin fertile soil. Tarnsman was but the first, over time, one by one a young Jedediah had accumulated a large and growing collection. He had learned that there was no man known as ‘John Norman’. Instead that was a pen name, a pseudonym, for a man named Dr. John Frederick Lange, Jr. A professor of philosophy. A teacher. A learned man. Someone to learn from. As Jedediah aged, he found that he could not relate well to those that were raised in the city, civilized, modern. They did not believe in adventure, They knew nothing outside of their daily grind. A grind that ground them to meal beneath the stones of time, leaving nothing but dust behind. No legacy. No legend. No past, for the future to read and dream of.

Forty books, spines adorned with the name John Norman. Forty books written by a professor of philosophy. Forty books that taught the natural order of nature, not the diluted politically correct order, where all are equal, all must be rewarded, there is no winner, only participants, that was now forced upon mankind so that no feelings would be hurt. Forty books that had formed a young and growing mind. Forty books that had created a man that many thought of as a pariah, an outcast, a throwback to times best forgotten. Times when men were hunters, adventures, warriors. Times when men provided food, security, shelter, and structure. Times when women knew that they were women, and did not try to be what they were not. Times when women provide comfort, service, and obedience to their males. In this “Age”, women thought they were equal, entitled to all the rights of a male, to all the opportunities of a male, to the power of a male. Women thought they were the same, Jedediah knew they were not. Sugar and salt. Two white crystalline powders. They looked the same. They felt the same. Yet they are not the same. Each is useful, each is vital, each is different. For all their sameness, if salt is used in place sugar, or sugar as substitute for salt, the concoction being created, is ruined. For each has a role to play, and if they overstep the bounds of that role, pretend to be what they are not, only chaos and destruction can follow.

Long ago, very long ago, before man became a domesticated animal, there were Men. Men were hunters. They did not toil at meaningless jobs, they were not slaves to the earth, digging, turning, planting, kneeling, weeding, harvesting, unable to move about for fear of losing the pittance that grew from their endless labors. Men of that time were larger, stronger, and in their way, smarter. They did not know of the complex sciences and mathematics of this day, but, Men of that time, survived by pitting their skills and strategies, with knives, axes, and spears made of chipped flint against predators such as the twelve hundred pound cave bear. Cave lions that were half again the size of a modern lion, both were hunted as food, but also had to be defended against, as man was a natural prey for a felid such as them. Even herbivores such as mastodons and mammoths, some towering two to three times the height of a Man and weighing in at over twenty thousand pounds, could easily crush and kill those that hunted them, were taken down through skill, strategy, and those same crude stone weapons.

Jedediah snorted as he shook his head, the men of today were nothing. They could never survive alone under the conditions in which Men not only survived, but thrived. No, men of today were weaker, softer, less capable than the women of Men. In the time of Men, Men used their strength and intelligence to hunt, protect, shelter, and feed. Women of Men were subservient to Men, trading obedience and their skills in crafting, cooking, and childbearing for that which the strength of Men provided. In that time there was little illness, little warfare, thousands did not die, over delusions of megalomaniacs. It was not until a man somewhere, sometime, found that if he devoted his life, to scratching and scraping at the soil, he could cause to grow in some semblance of order, plants, that were...edible. Plants could not provide the proteins necessary for the muscle growth and development of a Man, but could feed a lesser being, a weaker being, one not strong enough or smart enough to hunt. One to weak to be a Man.

This seemingly innocent finding, was ironically the first seed, that when germinated, would bring about the end of Men, and the natural order of things, and usher in millennium of strife, illness, war, and death. With the pursuit of agriculture, land itself became important. Soon the battles began, pitting weak men against other weak men, over territory. Who had the right to scratch and dig on what piece of land. So began the first wars. Agriculture brought about the first illnesses. Men had learned to hide and bury their scat, much as the predatory felines dug and clawed to hide theirs. The purpose of the cats, and Men was so that prey did not smell it and become wary, and that predators did not smell it and come hunting. This served a greater purpose though unknown to Men at the time. By burying their wastes, exposure to many disease cause bacteria was limited. Coupling this with the nomadic nature of Men as they followed the herds of prey, spread out and diluted any exposure they did receive. The inverse was true of men, those that dug and scraped the earth. To reap any profit of their chosen lifestyle, meant that they had to settle, stay in one place. Combining this with the tendency of men to congregate in larger groups than Men, so that they could defend their now ‘owned’ land, meant that large groups of people lived in static areas. This concentrated the accumulation of large amounts of waste into areas closeby where they lived. As they no longer needed to hunt, they took less care of how such wastes was disposed of, and huge breeding pits of infectious bacteria began to surround the men's settlements. Illness was born.

Farmers. Vegetarians. These were the true enemy. Those that brought about the true fall of society. Destroyed the natural order of nature. No longer was there a role for Men, as women and children can scratch and dig as well as a man does. They did not have the strength, cunning, and instincts to hunt an apex predator and turn it into prey, food, clothing... but they could scratch the soil, claim dirt as there own, create war and pestilence. As more and more of these dirt diggers wives and children saw that they too could scratch the earth, they began to think that they were equal to men, and therefore equal to Men. They were focused more on trying to prove they could be something they were not, then to accept the role they were created to fulfill, the role of nurturer, mother, cook, and seamstress. They were deluded that they could fill the role of protector, provider, making decisions that could and would lead others, simply because they could scratch dirt like a man. Sugar and salt. Sugar and salt.

It is possible that these thoughts of deluded equality would be true if scratching dirt was a role for a Man. It was not. Men became outnumbered by men and the female abominations that they bed and attracted. Dirt digger colonies grew, forcing prey from the areas with their noise, stench, and destruction of prey foods. Men had to travel farther and farther in their quest for sustenance, their clans drew ever smaller as their weak, those that should have died to protect the health of the species instead became the strength of the failures, the weak, the farmers. True women stayed with their Men moving farther and farther in search of a free land filled with peace, health and prey, but more and more were drawn to the life of the abominations that filed the walled compounds of the men. Claiming ownership over things that belonged to the world, to all Mankind. How could one so insignificant as a man, or an abomination presume to actually own land?, own the earth?

In time it seemed that the diggers, the farmers, abominations, the weak ruled the world. Hunters had disappeared, Men were gone, women were gone. The great hunt had ended. Millennia passed with no sign of true Men, of hunters, of strong Males, and obedient females. Were they gone? extinct like the prey they had hunted? or were they merely asleep, waiting for a time of need. A time when the farmers, diggers, and abominations woke up to realize that there was danger amongst them. Danger they could neither face nor fight. Would true Men awaken? Would they fulfil their roles as Protector, Provider? Would true females, that understood the roles they were created for reappear? Obediently supporting and caring for their Men? Provide comfort and home for their Men?