Greetings to thee, the one person who is a loyal and constant reader. Yes, I'm just talking to you. And if you believe that i have a bridge to sell you. In any case I finally have my new computer up and (more or less) running. Thus I hope to once more start all sorts of postings and reviews and grab bag giveaways...well, one two of three isn't bad. This is just a small sampling of a selection of stries and posts that shall stream from some of my on-line adventures. Please enjoy, review, and send thoughts and or comments to me at arcanloth@hotmail.com.
The Eye, I?: A Tale of Savannah
Dramatis Personae:
Patrick Creon: Pack ductus of Eye and a stern and disciplined templar to the Bishop.
Rick Elyts: Pack enforcer for Eye, a violent wild man who loves guns, bikes, guns, violence, and guns.
Pat Janus: Most despised and useless member of Eye, no one is quite sure what he's good for.
Adam Minim: Malkavian antitribu mathamatician. He seeks answers through his formulas.
Cosa "The Horror": Bishop of Savannah, this ancient Sabbat has fleshcrafted himself into a bolbus mass of a creature with everything from horns on its head to gleaming eyes and claws. He lurks in its pond of blood beneath the Sabbat havens and offers prophecies and advice.
Patricia March: The composer of these journals and a member of Eye. A Tzimisce who has truly become one with the madness seeping at the core of the local Sabbat.
Patricia's Journal, night 489 since the night of arrival in Savannah
"You said there'd be candy." The young girl steps into the room. Web? Dungeon? Who can be sure really. I think she's upset. Blood flows to her face in a pretty red wash. Not outside but inside. It is what's inside that counts. It always is and always shall be. She glares at me. Such pretty eyes, even angry. "There's no candy!"
Her voice squeals a little bit. It grates on my nerves now. Not so pretty. It was prettier before. When she had held out her hand and asked for some money. I had given her some from Patrick's wallet. Patrick? Yes. Wallet in purse. Wallet in purse? How amusing is that? Two in one to protect a one. One…one dollar…one hand…one life. One for one, a fair exchange.
"I don't like it here! It's creepy! There's no candy! I wanna leave now!" One hand….one door…one way out…one lock. One for one, there is no escape. Adam would be annoyed, one for one. He wouldn't think it right. But his math hurts my head. Too much thinking when thinking is to be done with feelings, not the head and logic. Logic for thinking logically? What a thought. "Let me out! Why's it locked! I want out!"
"You told me you were pretty. I said you were, you said I was. I can still smell Wuffles here sometimes. It makes me cry. You make so much noise. Noisy outside, not pretty. Pretty inside quiet?
I test the theory.
Adam would laugh.
She is still screaming, but all you have to do is twist that part right below the tongue and it doesn't matter. I search and I search. It must be for hours. Search and search. But still there's no prettiness inside. No one with inner beauty to match outer beauty. I know, I've looked. I even went through the entire lower intestine to see if it had gotten caught down there.
It hadn't.
There was no beauty. I leave the mess. I'll make Pat clean it up. Patrick will be annoyed. I wonder why I still have food in Wuffles' bowl? It's not like he eats it. But it's one chore to do for him to make him happy once more. One chore for one dog.
One for one.
I'll look for something pretty again tomorrow.
The Eye, I?: A Tale of Savannah
Dramatis Personae:
Patrick Creon: Pack ductus of Eye and a stern and disciplined templar to the Bishop.
Rick Elyts: Pack enforcer for Eye, a violent wild man who loves guns, bikes, guns, violence, and guns.
Pat Janus: Most despised and useless member of Eye, no one is quite sure what he's good for.
Adam Minim: Malkavian antitribu mathamatician. He seeks answers through his formulas.
Cosa "The Horror": Bishop of Savannah, this ancient Sabbat has fleshcrafted himself into a bolbus mass of a creature with everything from horns on its head to gleaming eyes and claws. He lurks in its pond of blood beneath the Sabbat havens and offers prophecies and advice.
Patricia March: The composer of these journals and a member of Eye. A Tzimisce who has truly become one with the madness seeping at the core of the local Sabbat.
Patricia's Journal, night 489 since the night of arrival in Savannah
"You said there'd be candy." The young girl steps into the room. Web? Dungeon? Who can be sure really. I think she's upset. Blood flows to her face in a pretty red wash. Not outside but inside. It is what's inside that counts. It always is and always shall be. She glares at me. Such pretty eyes, even angry. "There's no candy!"
Her voice squeals a little bit. It grates on my nerves now. Not so pretty. It was prettier before. When she had held out her hand and asked for some money. I had given her some from Patrick's wallet. Patrick? Yes. Wallet in purse. Wallet in purse? How amusing is that? Two in one to protect a one. One…one dollar…one hand…one life. One for one, a fair exchange.
"I don't like it here! It's creepy! There's no candy! I wanna leave now!" One hand….one door…one way out…one lock. One for one, there is no escape. Adam would be annoyed, one for one. He wouldn't think it right. But his math hurts my head. Too much thinking when thinking is to be done with feelings, not the head and logic. Logic for thinking logically? What a thought. "Let me out! Why's it locked! I want out!"
"You told me you were pretty. I said you were, you said I was. I can still smell Wuffles here sometimes. It makes me cry. You make so much noise. Noisy outside, not pretty. Pretty inside quiet?
I test the theory.
Adam would laugh.
She is still screaming, but all you have to do is twist that part right below the tongue and it doesn't matter. I search and I search. It must be for hours. Search and search. But still there's no prettiness inside. No one with inner beauty to match outer beauty. I know, I've looked. I even went through the entire lower intestine to see if it had gotten caught down there.
It hadn't.
There was no beauty. I leave the mess. I'll make Pat clean it up. Patrick will be annoyed. I wonder why I still have food in Wuffles' bowl? It's not like he eats it. But it's one chore to do for him to make him happy once more. One chore for one dog.
One for one.
I'll look for something pretty again tomorrow.