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?

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."

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 ...