The Ravenblack Grimoire

Madeye walks into the Ravenblack Alleyway hall, fire in his eyes and a dark expression on his face. He pushes his way through the throng, making his way to the bar.

In a clear, powerful voice that carries to the edges of the large room he addresses the crowd: "CLAN ARCHANGEL AND LADY TEJAS, I WANT A WORD". He pauses, waiting for the decibel level to drop a little.

"My original intention was to walk in here, drop my trousers, curl a steaming turd on the bar and walk out. This would have been an appropriate reaction to your behaviour yesterday. But on sober reflection, I realised that my actions would contribute NOTHING to the debate.

Not for the first time in the last few days, Madeye is on the phone. His ear is burning and his shoulder is stiff as a board, yet he persists in cradling the diminutive device in the crook of his neck while leafing through a sheaf of papers.

"So you can do it?" he asks, a smile in his voice. "Excellent. I am really pleased. I will send you more details shortly. Good day". He tosses the phone onto his desk and drops into the large but worn swivel chair.

If you don't ask, you don't get, he muses, the mischief dancing in his eyes. He has found a columnist for the Grimoire, someone high profile and controversial. He pours himself a whiskey, sipping it slowly. After a few moments his brow furrows, forming a frown. The question of balance, of journalistic integrity, now troubles Madeye. He will have to find someone else, someone of equal stature, to retain an independent outlook for the paper. But who?

Madeye is staring intently into space, his cellphone pressed up against his ear. A slight frown furrows his brow. The office still has a thick layer of dust for the most part, but a metre square patch has been cleaned. A computer has been set up, and a desk lamp. It is clear that electricity has been fully restored from the light drifting in from the foyer.

Suddenly Madeye's face explodes into life, the knuckles gripping the phone whitening. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'D RATHER EAT YOUR OWN MOTHERS ROTTING CARCASS THAN ...". His voice trails off, resigned. "Well, if that is your attitude, madam, I bid you good day".

Madeye stands before the derelict building at the cheap end of the commercial district, somewhere in the lower Despairs. Looking up, he notes that many of the windows have been smashed since his last visit. A pang of guilt stabs him in the gut: for a period of time this building was his life, his soul, his raison d'etre.

As with a mistress spurned, he smiles at the memories, before burning with the neglect, his neglect, etched in the features of his old love. He absent mindedly traces the outline of the salamander in the dirt on the sign next to the shuttered door.

He takes a deep breath and pulls up the metal shutter. Pressing the key into the door lock, he makes his way into the foyer. Finding the lights inoperative, he presses on, moving swiftly to his office at the back.

Madeye sits alone in his office in quiet contemplation, palms folded, pose relaxed. He calmly plays through the events of the last week. Although analytical by nature, he often defers a final reading of events until such a time as the passion has drained from a situation.

As his mind thumbs nimbly through his recent memory, he finds himself wondering "why is it that letting go of something is so hard?" When all good sense and valued advice says to slacken the jaws, to release the pit bull grip he finds it so difficult to do. Is it the fear of falling that drives it, the fear that he will plunge into the pit and to death?

Night falls again as I climb down the tower a single man. The Voice is no longer in control. It is no longer within me. It is me.

For some strange reason, a modern song plays in my head. The song says "Love is a battlefield." No, I think, life is a battlefield, love is a weapon.

In the moon light, I search the rocks at the foot of the tower. Hours pass and my search becomes more and more desparate. Not only did I come here to remember, I came here to take something back with me, so I never forget.

I find it. A red glint at the base of two rocks. I reach in and grab the heart. It's just as beautiful as I remember it. "You stole my heart too," I say out loud, smiling "but I have yours."

We traveled at night and slept during the day. We kept off the main roads and avoided major settlements. But this did not stop rumors from reaching our ears. People talked about a vampire who poisoned and kidnapped a hunter. My father was too ashamed to tell the truth. Once we stopped hearing the rumors, we knew we were far enough away from him and closer to the city of Ravenblack. But the real challenge was yet to come.

We reached the Desert Edge, a fortress that once guarded the living from anything that was able to cross the wasteland. We climbed the tower to the top where she pointed to the east. "There! About thirty miles away is the black carriage," she said. She then turned to face me. "Only I can ride that carriage, Marco."

There is a point when the line becomes so blurred that you no longer see it. You need the passing of time, a time to reflect, a moment to step back to catch your breath, and then you'll see that line again. I see the line. Tears escape my tightly shut eyes... I see the line.

The first thing I remember, clear as day, is my mother. I see her beautiful, light brown hair blowing in the wind. I see her smile, bright and warm. And her eyes, as green as the hills behind her. I smile at this memory. I remember her passing. I was young when she told me to run, hard and fast. I did and I never looked back as they tore her to pieces. I hid in the woods for days until my father and his men found me. My father vowed that day that he would honor my mother and never let me out of his sight.

The carriage stops and the horses let out a high pitch yelp. End of the line. We get out, we stretch, we breath in deeply. The horses pull the carriage to the stone structure, identical to the structure on the other side of the desert, hundreds of miles away. And as the carriage enters, the blue flames on either side of the threshold flicker and die out.

We look to the sky. The moon is full, bright as the sun, a sun we do not remember. The wind carries a cool breeze, brushing across our body, past the desert boundry where it will vaporize into nothingness. We have a few hours before the sun will rise and there's nothing but flat land as far as the eye can see. We need to find cover, quickly.

We sit here now, in the dark. Our hands, bloody and bruised. The bruises are ours but the blood belongs to another. Many others. And I am indifferent. Hell, I was a killer, but I had purpose. It has no purpose. It kills for sport. It kills for kicks. It kills for the sake of killing something. No purpose there. I know it's wrong, yet I remain indifferent. Perhaps it's because there's nothing I can do about it. It has control now. It guides my hands. It speaks in my voice.

It wasn't too long ago that it was once that tiny voice in the back of my mind. It would snicker at my attempts at leading a decent life and laugh out loud when I failed. It, The Voice, would mock me every chance it had, broke my spirits and lowered me to a helpless being. This was its intent and it was successful. The Voice told me of how great I once was. It said I was a cold-blooded killer, a souless creature that harvested no love, no mercy. That doesn't sound so great to me. Of course, I never believed it, despite having no memory of who I once was. But everyday, I found myself doing things I normally would not do. Terrible things. And I would smile. And I would love it.

I would like to take this opportunity to repeat my earlier pronouncement in Ravenblack's City so that it may be kept for posterity

"So shall it be!". Madeye had real trouble supressing a grin, savouring the knowledge that for the second time today, he may shortly have the full and undivided attention of the assembled company. He stands up, absorbed in his own thoughts for a moment or two. A few notice this, and crane their necks for sight of a wolf, but on this occasion there is none.

He takes a deep breath, pauses briefly then addresses the assembly:

"My lords, ladies and gentlemen, vampires of high birth or low. I would like to announce the creation of a new accolade, christened Anjana's Mark, in commemoration of the lady who first posed the question of how lowly a vampire could be and still warrant the hostility of a powerful lord. See post #4196 This distinction shall be conferred on any vampire of at least 5,000BP who manages to zero (or almost zero) a pire more lowly than the previous mark."

Why do I have one polite and good son, that helps me out around the place, takes care of things while the boys' father is gone, and one rowdy, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-bloody-mouth childe? I'm certain that Damin's rough-housing with his cousin Azrael XII will be the death of me at least once...*sigh* I honestly don't know how dear Majica has the patience to put up with those two causing trouble in her household.

Although, in a way I must be proud of my son for attempting to cheer up his poor cousin in this difficult time..maiming oneself for love would be quite hard to overcome. With all hope, my husband will be out of his slumber soon, I dearly miss him with only my extended family and our wolfhound for company. But we all do what we have to, I am quite happy to let him be until he is ready.

It has been an interesting week for me in Ravenblack's city. It started with an endless quest for money to get Thievery 3. I had been robbing for weeks and it was getting tedious.

Then I struck on the idea of exchanging real-life goods and services for Ravenblack coins - the model has been tried the other way. Ravenblack routinely charges large sums of real dollars for possessions in-game, but as far a I know no one has tried it the other way.

So, I approached a clan who I provide *ahem* services to, but their business model doesn't support donations A few days later, I was talking to one of the leaders of an evil clan. Bingo! They needed a forum. Hallefuckinglujah! They stumped up the whole of the coins for T3. I'd love to name them, but they'd probably kill me ...