StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Posted: **2006-01-13 05:00pm**

Part 1: Lies to Children
((Loosely based on WoD:Vampire, as well as AOL/Antagonist's ChatRPG BlackBayou. Characters used with permission.))

My dearest daughter, if you are reading this then you are now 25 years of age, and full control of your trust fund has been handed over to you along with the lockbox containing this journal. If all my plans have gone smoothly, then you have grown into an intelligent, beautiful, successful young woman, on the edge of something far more.

I do not plan to be with you when you receive this, for this is something far too personal, far too private. This you must be alone to read, for now, in recognition of your adulthood I will reveal everything that I will have held back from you all these years. It has always been my plan to tell you as much of the truth as you could understand at the time, yet some things need the open eyes and mature mind of an adult in order to make sense. I can only hope that after you read this, you will be strong enough to forgive me for all I have done and will do as your mother.

Please forgive the odd grammar. As I write the first page of this journal, you are curled in your favorite place, the deep leather chair in my office, with your kitten straddling the chair arm with all four legs, her tail draping gently onto your curly blonde hair. It is January of 2006, and I have just today sent off the paperwork to enroll you in kindergarten for the coming fall. You look so peaceful in your sleep, although the den is scattered with crayons and papers where moments before you had strown them. So much energy in such a small body, so active despite the flaw in your heart. Do you blame me for wanting to protect you as I watch you grow?

If I have remained true to myself and to you, the knowledge that you are not my child by birth should come as no surprise to you; I plan to explain your birth mother was ill and she left you at a hospital shortly after your birth. That is where I and Lazlo found you, and how we came to adopt you as our own. If I find you strong enough, or if the question is pressed, I may admit more: your mother's illness was of the mind, not of the body, and she left you out of fear for your life. In this journal I will tell you all I know of her, and if I have raised you as I hoped, you will be strong enough to hear and understand why I kept silent until now.

I do hope you remember Lazlo. You loved to play with him, and he with you. You would smile, grabbing handfuls of his long, silky white hair as it blew in the wind. He would laugh, and toss you high into the air, always catching you in his strong, gentle hands to give you a kiss on the cheek. Your first word was to name him 'Daaaa!'.

Yes, I pray you remember him, for pictures alone must do now that he is gone. Poor Lazlo ... finally he has found peace, yet he left us two alone not a year past. Forgive him for dying so young, child. You may have been the only joy he had in his life. Since this journal is meant to reveal all final truths, I will speak more of him later on, so that you can know and judge his life for yourself. As you read, know this much is true: whatever happened to him before, he loved you as if you were his own blood, just as I do and will for all the nights I have you.

Nights, yes. We hopefully will spend many nights together. Even now, not yet five years of age, you are asking piercing questions about why I do not join you in the daylight. So far, you have accepted my answer of a disease that prevents me from going outside, a malady where the slightest sunlight will burn me worse than the sunburn you received last summer when your nanny lost track of the time. What will I tell you when you are older, I am not sure at this time. Perhaps I will make it a joke, calling myself 'your mother, the Vampire'.

It will not be the first time I have used dry humor to cover the truth within those words. It will likely not be the last, as my life stretches on, for the best lies are those that carry the truth. I am your mother, though I did not, could never, birth you. I am a Vampire ... and by the time you read this I will have been dead yet alive for a full century.

I, Jasmina Esau-Zand, was born Jasmina Fatima bint Esau in 1901. My father, Harim bin Esau, was from what was then the Ottoman Empire in Turkey. He was a doctor, educated in England where he met my mother Elizabeth Fanning, and together they had sailed to America. In Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania my father set out his shingle, doctoring the millworkers that were the source of wealth for the city.

I have been a vampire since 1920, when my sire kidnapped me and made me thus. I escaped him, and found my first love in a city built by lumber and coal. In the 30s I was partners in a riverboat that traveled the Mississippi, bilking Civilian Corp boys out of their pay. In the 40s I shipped supplies to New Orleans for the boys overseas. I could go on... but I have said to tell all. Let me turn the page, and I will tell you of my life before I knew you.

Posted: **2006-01-13 06:25pm**

I like it. Though the 'revel to be a Vampire' is a bit awkward. The last few paragraphs don't flow well either. But I like the content.

Edit: Is this V:TM?

Posted: **2006-01-13 06:57pm**

Knife wrote:I like it. Though the 'revel to be a Vampire' is a bit awkward. The last few paragraphs don't flow well either. But I like the content.

I was at work, and it was closing time when I edited the last passage.

Edit: Is this V:TM?

Partly based on it, since the character was originally a LARPed Caitiff of mine. Expected her to die within three months. She survived the whole chronicle, and was re-vamped for the AOL chat RPG. Hopefully she's not too much of a MarySue.

Posted: **2006-01-13 07:04pm**

LadyTevar wrote:
Knife wrote:I like it. Though the 'revel to be a Vampire' is a bit awkward. The last few paragraphs don't flow well either. But I like the content.
I was at work, and it was closing time when I edited the last passage.
Edit: Is this V:TM?
Partly based on it, since the character was originally a LARPed Caitiff of mine. Expected her to die within three months. She survived the whole chronicle, and was re-vamped for the AOL chat RPG. Hopefully she's not too much of a MarySue.

Not a huge V:TM dude, but I understand 'Catiff', though not LARPed.

I look forward to an expansion and more story.

Posted: **2006-01-13 07:08pm**

Knife wrote: Not a huge V:TM dude, but I understand 'Catiff', though not LARPed.

I look forward to an expansion and more story.

Live Action Role Play. LARP. She wasn't a table-top character, she was me, dressed up and out on the lawn of the State Capitol every Saturday night, playing out how she grew from a shy wallflower into one of the more powerful Cainites in the city.

Posted: **2006-01-13 07:14pm**

LadyTevar wrote:
Knife wrote: Not a huge V:TM dude, but I understand 'Catiff', though not LARPed.

I look forward to an expansion and more story.
Live Action Role Play. LARP. She wasn't a table-top character, she was me, dressed up and out on the lawn of the State Capitol every Saturday night, playing out how she grew from a shy wallflower into one of the more powerful Cainites in the city.

Cool. So she is a Marry Sue.

Posted: **2006-01-13 09:10pm**

Part 2: When the Bough Breaks
((Try to imagine the italics as hand-writing with an old-fashioned fountain pen))

Amusingly enough, you were the reason for the abrupt ending of the last page. You had woken, and wanted to know what I was doing. It is amusing to wonder if you would remember doing so, when you are finally of age to read this. I will try to keep your childhood as my own was, fulled with happy memories of time spent with my parents. I feel it is one reason why I am as I am today, a survivor of all that has been cast upon me.

I was my parents only child, even as you are growing up to be. We lived in a brownstone on one of the better streets of Pittsburgh, at the time. The neighborhood has since been condemned and redeveloped for businesses, as time forced the city to grow. Perhaps it is better that way. Now my memories of my youth are mine alone, forever untouchable by time, just as I am now.

Father was a doctor for the steelmill workers, because he was 'of color' as I heard it said once. He was not negro, but his skin was too dark for the elite of the city to accept him amongst them. I myself had been described as mulatto, before the long years without sunlight bleached my skin to a light cafe au lait. I have watched racism's descent from a tradition to the dirty little secret in the closet, and I do not miss its passing.

Yet even in those days of seperate but equal, I was given a good education, and after much discussion with my parents I was given permission to begin taking classes as a nurse. I started just as America entered the Great War, now called the First World War. My first patients were victims of the Influenza epidemic that swept across the world. Children and the elderly were the worst hit, their bodies unable to cope with the fever and diarrhea. They died of it, nearly one of every three I treated. I myself caught it, and I credit my mother's care for keeping me alive.

Now, I look back and I ponder how things could have been different. You will find yourself doing this, child, as you yourself age. So many places where my live could have changed, taken my path a different way, kept me from missing the trolley after my shift at the hospital, from waiting there in the rain until He grabbed me. (inkblot)

Forgive me. Perhaps this part of my history should not be told, not while you are still only 5 years old to my mind. This is not a tale for children, nor even for the 25yr old woman I know you will be when you read this. The man who grabbed me, who Sired me as a Vampire, would be called a psychopathic serial killer now. A man who enjoyed kidnapping young women and slowly torturing them until both mind and body broke. Only then would he drain them completely of blood and let them die, moving to a new city for his next victim.

Unfortunately, I did not break. I do not know how I did it, and he spent many hours trying to find my limits. Something, my mind or my spirit, bent under the pressure but would not, could not snap. I like was the palmetto tree swaying in the hurricane, bending with the winds in order to save myself from breaking. It only made him desire me more. I will not speak of the things he did, and I hope that you never have a chance to even imagine the methods he used to try to break me. I was his pet for 2 years before he went too far.

Death by that point was not something I feared. It was a welcome feeling, drawing me down into dark silkiness. I had came close to it many times during his games, but his skill kept me alive. Yet even he could make mistakes, and I felt myself floating free of him, of the latest affront to my body and mind. Then there was a metallic taste in my mouth, and I swallowed it down. It was his blood, from a cut he'd made in his arm. I think now that he was desperate, faced with losing his favorite playtoy he did the one thing he had never done with any other, and made me a Vampire like himself.

Yes, daughter. The tonic that you would see me drink of nights was not my medication, mixed with tomatos. I wonder how long I can carry that farce with you. Perhaps the revelation of my Vampire state is not news to you, as you forced my confession years before. That is the conundrum of writing a letter to the future; it will never be quite the way you imagined it would be. After all, 1984 passed without becoming the Orwellian distopia, and unless things change by 2026, there will be no flying cars and household robots as promised by the writers of pulp fiction from the 30s and 40s.

Yet a Vampire I am, all because my mind would not break like the other girls my Sire had captured throughout his existence. Once a Vampire, he no longer had to be as careful, since I could not die as easily as a mortal woman, and a sip of blood would heal most wounds. But it also brought new tortures, denying me blood, threatening me with the bright burning Sunlight. Yet even these became routine and tiresome to him.

That is when he returned me to my parents house, late at night, after the housekeeper had gone home. The parlour where I had played in the floor, and later on the piano with my mother, became a charnal house as he hung them from the ceiling and used his best skills on them. I was chained to a chair, already starved of blood, as he delicately cut their skin, minimizing bloodloss to make the torment and his enjoyment last. Just before dawn, he retreated to the basement, I thought, leaving me in the parlour with my still-living parents.

I do not remember what happened next. I can not be sure if it was even the same day. I came to myself licking my parents blood from the carpet, for they had been mauled as if by an animal ... or a Vampire desperate for blood. I do not remember leaving the house, but I have fractured memories of running along a riverbank, following it away from that place. I know now that I followed the Ohio River downstream, then when I could not cross the Kanawha I followed it up into the hills from which it sprang. I hid in the hollows around Charleston for the winter, emerging finally to find that my sire was not the only Vampire in this world. Yet that part of my life must wait for another night.

A postscript: I did later search the news of the time, to find what had happened when my parents were found. A newspaper of the time spoke of a great tragedy that happened the morning I fled. The housekeeper came to the back gate as usual, but found it barred shut. Unable to get inside, she started to walk down the alley so she could attempt to gain the servants entrance from the front yard.
It was then that the house exploded into flame with such force that the brick fence bowed outwards and all windows on the block shattered. The flames were fed by the gaslines into the house, burning with such ferocity that nearby houses caught and nearly burnt themselves. By the time the gas was shut off and the flames died out, the house had collapsed into the basement. My parents remains were charred skulls, causing the medical examiner of the time to wistfully suggest that they may have still been upstairs in their bedroom at the time, perhaps dead of the gas fumes long before whatever spark struck the explosion.

I do not know if this was my doing or not. It may have been my vain attempt to murder my Sire, thinking him hidden in the basement. It may have been as simple as he had seen me break, and like all his other playthings, he was discarding me to go find a new toy. Either way, my parents were buried with the whole neighborhood mourning their loss, on top of the tragedy of their daughter, missing 5 long years. I believe they have found peace, even as Lazlo has found peace, for it comforts me to think so of my loved ones. One day, I hope you too will find peace and acceptance in these revelations I am writing, for I believe you too are strong enough to bend yet never break.

Posted: **2006-01-13 09:51pm**

Very nice. I like the way that you write it as a journal that is being read. The dark tones inherrent in most WoD stuff is also very nice.

Posted: **2006-01-13 09:57pm**

Knife wrote:
LadyTevar wrote:
Knife wrote: Not a huge V:TM dude, but I understand 'Catiff', though not LARPed.

I look forward to an expansion and more story.
Live Action Role Play. LARP. She wasn't a table-top character, she was me, dressed up and out on the lawn of the State Capitol every Saturday night, playing out how she grew from a shy wallflower into one of the more powerful Cainites in the city.
Cool. So she is a Marry Sue.

It's MarySue... and no, she's not. At least I don't think she is, and never planned for her to be one. She grew from the interaction of my fellow LARPers, in ways I had not planned, and once moved to the AOL-based RPG, she again grew based on the RP, not my desires alone. A true MarySue does not change unless the creator decides she needs more power.

Posted: **2006-01-13 09:59pm**

Captain Cyran wrote:Very nice. I like the way that you write it as a journal that is being read. The dark tones inherrent in most WoD stuff is also very nice.

The darkness will wax and wane as the story progresses. The next chapter of her life is a bit brighter.

Posted: **2006-01-15 12:10pm**

I like it so far. But then, I'm a bit of a sucker for first-person vampire stories.

I think it's too soon to throw around the Mary Sue label yet. I'm mean, if she couldn't survive the torture and whatnot, there wouldn't be much of a story.

Posted: **2006-01-16 09:31pm**

Part Three: Gifts from a Friend

I should tell you of my years in West Virginia, I feel. It is from there much of my fortune came, and how I have managed to provide for your future, my dearest Leena. It is there that I healed from my Sire's abuse, and it is there that I learned more of living as a Vampire than my Sire ever thought to teach me.
After all, why teach skills to one you wish totally dependent upon you? Now you see why even as a child I push you to learn for yourself. Let no one attempt to dominate you, my daughter. Not even myself, now that you are grown.

Charleston, West Virginia, was a rapidly growing boom town in the mid 1920s. The state's natural resources of timber, coal, and gas drew investors, and the need for loggers and miners drew immigrants from the north and displaced negros from the south in droves. The state was just completing a fantastical Capitol Building, topped with gold leaf, the marble halls inside decorated with murals of Greek gods and motifs of local flora. It is still a lovely building, should you wish to see it. It would be amusing to know if any still meet there by night....

I am getting ahead of myself. Forgive me. The large influx of negros allowed me to blend into the population, which up to that point had been entirely Caucasian. For the first year, I lived like a shadow, afraid of every man who drew near, trying to survive on animal blood, and when I couldn't deny myself any longer, killing brutally for the blood I needed. My mind shut out the memories of the last five years, although they filled my nightmares as the sun passed over my hiding place. Some call it PostTraumatic Stress Disorder now, but then it was termed simply 'shellshock'. It is simply the mind trying to protect itself from what it had witnessed, and some of the soldiers from the Great War who suffered it were considered insane. Perhaps I was as well.

I do not know how long I was watched before I was confronted by Desdemona, but she was the first Vampiress I ever met. I do not know now why she was so patient with me, but I am ever grateful to her for it. She mothered me in a way, finding me shelter, showing me how to take blood without killing, and bringing me painfully back into a more normal existence. She is the one that introduced me to Vampire Society, such as it was in Charleston.

I am tempted to list the names of those who were there, but there is no real reason for you to know them. Some of them met a True Death during those years. Those that did not have gone their own ways, and I have not heard of them in decades. Let us simply say that some were bullies and braggarts, intent on changing the world through revolution and unionization of the mines. They were led by one who hated weakness, and who found my shy, timid ways an affront to him. Even Desdemona could not protect me fully from this gang of bullies. But someone else did.

He went by the name of Roger. He was a Gypsy by birth, a conman by trade, and no friend of the bullies. He and his companion James made a living from the SteamBoat Willie, a sternwheeler that by day pushed barges and by night held illegal games of chance. Roger had an arrangement with the lawmen, several judges and politicians were frequent visitors to the Willie. James was Roger's strongarm.
They were not nice men, Leena. They cheated men out of their hard-earned income regularly. James himself was a made man, one who often took assignments to make sure people vanished. Yet they sheltered me from the bullies, Roger's easy teasing friendship drawing me out of my fear of men, and James' sure strength sheltering me.

It was only a year before I and James were inseperable. He was my first love, my first kiss. Memories of my Sire still haunted my dreams, but James was there when I woke to comfort me. I lived with him onboard the Willie. I re-learned confidence, encouraged by Roger and James, and my exotic appearance earned me a place greeting guests to the Willie. I was soon a part-owner, and wisely put my money into investments that still aid me to this day.

So many things happened in the five years I was in Charleston. Packs of Werewolves attacked us often, for there is a long-standing feud between their kind and Vampires. Desdemona was a victim of the wolves that first year. Dark hunters tried to kill all supernaturals in the valley one summer, stalking us one by one. Roger fell to one of those hunters, and James rarely laughed again. With some of the better fighters, he tracked down the hunters and left not one alive. Roger's death recalled the buried memories of my parents' deaths, and I finally faced what I had done. James held me that whole night, never leaving my side. The next night, he was less generous, bluntly asking if I would spend the rest of my nights in mourning. It was our first major fight, as I recall, and his words and insults enraged me to the point I left the Willie and did not return until the next night. Yet, as I feel now James knew would happen, I brooded over his words until I realized he was right. I could do nothing for my parents then or now, but I could live to spite my Sire after all he did to me.

Then came the Crash of '29. James and I lost half the money we had in stocks, and the gamblers who had kept the Willie afloat vanished. The Depression of the 1930s was very real, people without homes, without jobs, without hope. Those that came to gamble were now the very desperate, wanting to believe in the 'big win' that would restore their fortunes to past glory. James and I took the money of those fools and parted without pity.

It seems callous now, for some of those men were hoping to rebuild lives and feed their families with their winnings. Some took their lives after losing all that was left. Others lost their lives trying to take it back. James showed no mercy when he was protecting those on the Willie, and he taught me well how to defend myself. Now that I can look back, I can feel pity and sorrow towards those we ruined. At the time, I was merely doing what it took to survive and prosper.

By 1935, James had decided it was time to leave Charleston. Sternwheelers were already becoming overshadowed by the prop-driven tugboats, so the Willie was becoming a liabilty. Charleston's rapid boom was busted, as the last timber was cut and the early mines played out or closed after the Crash. Minecamps and towns emptied, even the self-proclaimed City of Millionaires, Bramwell, faded away as quickly as it was born, leaving the mansions of the rich empty and hollow.

James managed to finance a new tugboat, reinforcing it to serve our needs. The money was surely blood money, for neither of us had Roger's skill at chicanery. How many bodies it took I do not know, but among certain circles he was very well known for always completing his assignment and worth every penny he charged for his skill. Again, I can look back at this time and wonder why it does not bother me knowing whence the money came. Again, I can only say that it was what we did to survive and prosper.

Our new ship James named the Jasmina, and we followed the Kanawha to the Ohio, and down the Ohio to where it joined the great Mississippi. Again, our servents on the tug found work by day, and by night we fleeced dockworkers and Civilian Corpsmen out of their hard-earned pay. The country slowly recovered, and we heard the news of Japan's invasion of China, and of the new leader in Germany. It passed us by, as it did many folk at the time, for we had our own concerns worrying at us.

James was getting bored. It had been a slowly growing rift between us at first, a cooling of our passion for one another. I was no longer the timid mouse in need of his protection, but had gained much of the skills that I use even now in my business dealings. He and Roger had taught me how to pick a mark and how to pick a lock. James taught me how to kill, Roger when to bluff or when to shock. I was tired of being known as James' kept woman, since it was I who handled the financial end of the Jasmina's business, legal and not. The arguments grew, until one night he gathered his belongings and walked off into the night.

I do not know where he went. I do not know if he lives still. I have tried occassionally to search for him, yet James was the only name I knew him by, and it was certainly not his own. His profession was murder, obscuring himself so thoroughly he passed unnoticed, wrapping his victim in silence so none could hear the last breath. He taught me how to react quickly and kill rapidly. He encouraged me to explore my own talents, endurance, healing, and the ability to see and hear what others miss. He helped me build a fortune twice.

He gave me back my life, showing me that I could love and find a touch of happiness despite the curse of Vampirism. He gave me hope for the future. He gave me strength and courage to make my own life and live it as I chose. He was James ... and I loved him.

Posted: **2006-01-17 08:38pm**

A fascinating tale... I want to know more.

Posted: **2006-01-17 09:46pm**

Lady T, since you were so gracious as to volunteer to read my weak fics before I posted them...

If you need pre-readers, you've only to send it. I love it. Keep this one coming, please.

Posted: **2006-01-18 12:02pm**

Mr. Coffee wrote:Lady T, since you were so gracious as to volunteer to read my weak fics before I posted them...

If you need pre-readers, you've only to send it. I love it. Keep this one coming, please.

Sorry, Coffee, Jasmina whispers to my mind and I write as it comes, straight to SDnet. What you see here is the uneditted flow of her words in my mind. The bbs code's kicked me out for inactivity on all of the chapters so far... so it's a good thing I think to ctrl-c every once in a while, isn't it?

Posted: **2006-01-18 02:04pm**

Still remains interesting. Not enthralling but it has a quiet draw to it that causes me to be intrigued.

Posted: **2006-02-02 11:07pm**

Part Four: War and Peace

Now we come to World War Two, fought by those now called the 'Greatest Generation'. It is true that the Americans at least went from men searching desperately for a living wage, to hardened soldiers, to college educated pillars of society raising a booming generation of children. Yet for one such as I, who remember clearly the 'Great War' that is now called World War One... the only difference is how the veterans were treated upon their homecoming.

In the 1920's, the veterans had been promised compensation from the US government after they returned from Europe. Yet the government never paid them. The veterans finally marched on Washington DC, setting up a shantytown not far from the Capitol itself. To rid themselves of the problem, the government sent these men south to Florida, to build railroads and infrastructure to the Florida Keys.

A hurricane hit the town and removed it from the map, along with nearly every man, woman, and child living there.

You can see why the government of the late 40s found it better to offer free college tuition to the returning veterans. Not only did it stagger the amount of able-bodied men returning to work, it produced a better educated workforce, some of whom were the first of their family to even conceive of achieving higher education. It was a brilliant plan, and the full success behind these men called the "Greatest".

Do you wonder why I speak of what happened before, and what happened after, yet not of the war itself, my daughter? Truly, there is nothing much to be said of those times otherwise. The war meant that my ship was needed to transport men and materials to where they were needed for the war effort. It meant that the long Depression was over, as money poured into the War Effort as millions bought Bonds as countless movie stars and war heros urged us to do. It meant I could afford another tugboat, larger and better suited for my special needs, and sell the 'Jasmina' to those whom remained of Roger and James' original crew.

Why sell to them? Because they had served us all well over the years. In the gothic novels you may hear them called 'ghouls' or 'vampiric servents', loyal followers who protect vampires by day and do our bidding always. In exchange for a sip of vampiric blood once a month, they do not age and are granted strength and abilities that make them more than human. The blood even allows them to survive wounds that would kill a normal man.

Thus, these men who looked only in their mid-thirties were nearly seventy years of age by the time World War Two broke out. I managed to get them deferals from the draft, since their skills on the Mississippi tugs like the 'Jasmina' were just as important to the War Effort as the men building the Liberty Ships or those on the front lines. I feared what would happen if they were without vampiric blood for too long -- I did not know if they would suddenly age to their true years, or simply continue smoothly from the point they had been frozen.

Joel became my test subject. He was the youngest of the servents, having been a foot soldier in the first World War, joining Roger's crew not five years before I met them in West Virginia. Perhaps his former life is what made him so determined to join the fight again, going to Europe to 'teach Germany never to rise again'. Perhaps he took it as a personal insult that the land he'd fought and bled in was once again trampled by the 'Kaiser's Men'. Perhaps it was simply the patriotic fever that gripped the nation as a whole....

Whatever the reason, he begged me to allow him to enlist. My reasons for him to stay were brushed aside, my worries about the lack of vampiric blood fell on deaf ears. Finally, I made him a deal: stay on through the winter, with no blood of mine touching his lips, and if he still wished to leave when spring came he was free to go.

My fears were put to rest. Without the blood, he was irritable for the first month, like a man left too long without morphine. He admitted the temptation to give in and beg for a taste, and one long night he had to be locked inside the crew cabin after attacking me out of the sheer desire for it. Yet, like the same man freed of the addiction of morphine, he emerged cleansed of the need for another taste, with no signs of unwarranted aging. He joined the Army that spring, and was sent to Europe not long afterwards. We heard from him occassionally, and the 'Jasmina' flew a silver star until a letter came addressed to me as his 'closest kin', telling me that he died in what became known as the Battle of the Bulge.

As Berlin was split between the new world powers and FatBoy fell on Hiroshima, I was finalizing the sale of the 'Jasmina' and the newer "Roger James" to the crew and setting them free of the bloodbond that had held them for so long. The rapid economic growth spurred by the War Effort had filled my coffers again, leaving me more wealthy than Roger and James had ever been. At last, I left the river behind me, no longer needing the safety and support Roger had inadvertantly left for me.

The 'Jasmina' and her crew worked the river for another ten years before the ship hit a snag and had to be scuttled. The crew went each their own way, each with enough money to make themselves a comfortable retirement. Only one of them, Prada, whom had been with Roger from the start, suffered from the lack of vampiric blood. He was the only one to age unnaturally, greying and growing feeble of body and mind within five years. I paid for his funeral, and but was unable to attend the mid-day service. I still pay for flowers to be placed upon his grave, and probably still do as you read this nearly 20 years later. One day I may be doing the same for you, unless I give in to the urge to once again feed you my blood.

...... Perhaps that was not the best way to say such things. You may be angry now, or wondering why I would feed you my blood to begin with. But this is the end of the page, so your answers will have to wait until I write again.

Posted: **2006-02-03 11:59pm**

Bravo! Bravo!

Posted: **2006-02-04 04:17pm**

Part Five: Ancient History
((Many thanks to the original Zand and Ryu, whose roleplay built this story together with my own characters.))

There is an old saying, that those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. In order for me to explain, I will have to go far to the past indeed, for the sole reason you were even born, my dear Leena, is based upon this long ago past. It is the story of your family and of Lazlo's family. What I tell you here I heard from two sides: Lazlo's, before you were born, and from your birth father himself.

In the times of the Shogun, before the Portugese and English traders had been kicked out of Japan, two young Samurai took service with the same lord. Being young, they soon became good friends as they trained together in the arts of both war and peace. They became as close as brothers, and served their lord well until they were both highly placed in his retinue.

The Lord had a ward, a young female relative whom had joined his household. She was intelligent and lovely, and both Samurai were soon smitten with her beauty and grace. Her status was equal to theirs, making her an excellent prospect for marriage, and give the new husband a strong tie to the Lord's family.

The young Samurai became rivals for her attentions. They fought first with the courtly arts, music, poetry, calligraphy. Each tried to outdo the other and woo the maid for himself, yet she could not, would not favor either over the other.

Thus, I myself believe she holds some blame for what happened next. The young Samurai soon turned their rivalry to the more martial arts. Where they once sparred together as friends, now their blows were serious, each striving to prove the other weaker and himself the better fighter and man. Finally the Lord himself declared that they were not to spar, for fear of losing one or the other of them to injury. The Lord tried to remind them of the brotherhood they once shared, but it was to no avail.

Finally, the Lord decided that a duel should determine whom would marry the young maid, or so one account claims. The other claimed the Samurai went off on their own to settle the matter by themselves. Either way, they met near sundown at a crossroads outside the village to settle the matter with steel.

The fight lasted past sunset, until the fireflies under the trees shown like lanterns in the dark. The battle was to First-Blood, an honourable ending, yet when one finally struck a telling blow, honour was broken. The wounded man refused to accept his defeat, and attacked his former friend with intense fury. In the night, one man was struck down by a killing blow, and the other left him there at the crossroads to die.

The stories I heard differ here. One claimed the dying man was the true winner, betrayed by his former friend and left to die. The other claims the dishonourable man got his rightful punishment, left to die as the dog he was. Either way, the dying man was still desperate to see his rival fall. He called out for revenge, swearing to whomever would hear him to grant his last dying wish.

Be cautious of what you wish for is a saying amongst the Japanese as well, my child. A demon answered the dying man. A pact was made between the two, that the demon would save the man's life, and in return would help him kill his rival down to the last of his bloodline, if that is what it took.

But then as now, Leena, demons are crafty. They will keep the word of their pact, but in their own way and in their own time. The young Samurai lived, but his hair was turned white as snow, growing as long as a woman's and as heavy and fine. Does this sound familar to you, my daughter? It should, for the Samurai then took a new name, calling himself Zand.

At the demon's urging, he did not attack his rival straight away, but went to one of his former Lord's enemies and killed him. He took the lands, the army, and even the wife of the dead lord, forming them into a great warband that would destroy not only his rival, but his former lord as well. It took over a year before the demon agreed he was ready... which was oddly enough just after the wife and more than one of her maids had given birth to children, each with a white streak in their hair.

The demon-Zand rode out to war, killing the Lord's armies as he marched upon his rival's lands, for the rival had married the maiden, and had been granted land by the Lord. By luck or the demon's craft, when Zand reached the keep, his rival was out scouring the countryside for Zand. This did not mean that the dwelling was unprotected ... Zand's men fought hard to breach the walls and get to the central house.

Zand stalked into the women's chambers, where his former love sat proudly in her best robes, a child laying in her lap. Words were exchanged, threats against the child made ... but oddly enough the demon warned Zand not to kill it.

Demons are crafty, Leena. I will repeat this often. Zand recalled the words of the pact, that if needed the demon would keep the feud going as long as there were descendants to fight. Back at Zand's keep were several young babes of his own blood, touched by the demon as shown by the white streak of hair. Here was his rival's boy-child. Of course the demon did not want him killed! Thus Zand drew his sword and stabbed downward ... and his former love threw herself between the child and the blade. Enraged, he picked up the child and dashed its head into the wooden pillar, killing it just as his Rival stormed into the room.

Zand had ordered that his blade alone be the one to kill his Rival, and so his army had let him pass while killing his escort so each stood alone over the bodies of their love and the child. Zand taunted his rival, even allowed him to touch the bodies of his wife and child one last time before he'd join them himself.

His rival, upon touching the child, laughed in Zand's face. The wife had fooled Zand, for this was not his son. His wife had blessed him with twin children, a boy and a girl... and Zand had just killed the girl. The boy-child had been spirited away by the wife under Zand's very nose.

Zand attacked his rival, and they fought with such fierceness the keep began to fall apart around them. The fight lasted until sunset, when the rival taunted Zand with the memory of what happened before. The fight went on, so ferociously that both armies could only watch in awe. As the final rays of the sun vanished into twilight, both men sturck a final blow... and Zand fell dead in front of his severely wounded rival.

The demon rose out of the body of Zand, laughing in triumph. As per the pact, as long as the bloodline survived, he would be able to stay in the mortal lands. He thanked the rival for his skill and courage, and told him the fight would continue until the bloodlines died, or until the Son of Heaven himself came and destroyed the demon. Then he vanished into the night, his laughter fading into the wind.

The next day, Zand's wife watched her son's hair turn snow-white. Far away, the rival's boy-child cried in his nursemaid's arms as a mark like a dragon appeared on his right shoulder. For the mark, he was named Ryu ... and both descendents are named variations of Zand and Ryu to this day.

The cycle has continued for hundreds of generations, Leena. The demon picks a child of Zand and possesses him to resume the fight against the children of Ryu. A child of Ryu eventually kills the Demon-Zand, yet looses all in doing so. It has happened before. It will happen again ... but the last cycle something happened that will break it at last. The last cycle, the mother vanished, yet may still be alive. The daughter did not die, by Zand's hand or by her own premature birth. The demon was defeated, yet Lazlo Zand did not die with him.

That is the story of your birth, Leena, and the answer of all the questions you have about yourself and how I came to adopt you. You are the Daughter of Ryu... and somewhere out there is both your twin brother Ryou, your half-sister Jhelian, and Alexander Zand, the next and hopefully last generation in this ancient feud. I will speak more of this later, for it is nearly dawn and I now must sleep. Tomorrow is another page.

Posted: **2006-02-06 04:30pm**

Very interesting LadyT, I like the concept your working with in this story, keep up the good work

Posted: **2006-02-06 08:50pm**

Mmm... plot... it smells like candy.

Posted: **2006-02-07 03:52pm**

Singular Quartet wrote:Mmm... plot... it smells like candy.

Here's hoping I can do justice to it <weg>

Posted: **2006-02-07 05:20pm**

Given how you've done so far, you can.

Posted: **2006-02-08 10:38pm**

Part Six: Dark Beginnings
((Many thanks to the original Zand and Ryu, whose roleplay built this story together with my own characters in Voletta's BlackBayou.))

What I tell you now, my daughter, is again things I discovered second-hand, long after they occurred. I myself was involved in other endeavors, including attending night classes at various colleges. Some Vampires lock themselves away from the world around them, and they are fools. Eventually their own lack of modern skills leads hunters to their very door. I refuse to fall into that trap. Thus, I continue taking college courses whenever I am able. Moreso, I have kept current under various aliases as a Registered Nurse, as that has always been my one true desire.

But I digress ... this is not my story, this is the story of Lazlo Zand.

Lazlo was born in Japan just after WorldWar II. He was the oldest son in the Zand lineage, and thus bore the single white stripe in his dark hair. He was a quiet, scholarly, gentle man, knowing nothing of the darkness inherent in his bloodline; but haunted as all Japanese were then by the horrors of the war just ended. Hopefully you remember him, my daughter, for as he was in the beginning, so he was near the end. Even with your brightness and my love, the shadows of his youth and of what he had become were far more than he could bear.

The Demon-Zand took possession of him upon his twentieth birthday, turning his hair pure silvery white, and then began his plan to destroy the bloodline of Ryu. Even demons grow tired of their games, my child. At that point it was barely thirty years until the new millenium, which would also be an anniversary of sorts for the Pact itself. I do not know what occassion it would portend, but the Demon saw it as very inauspicious, since all signs told him this battle would go beyond the borders of Japan. This change worried him and he decided to end the game as quickly as he could.

Unfortunately, due to the chaos of the war, the Son of Ryu had scattered amongst the refugees; the Daughter was a victim of the American firebombs. It took many years to find the whereabouts of the Son of Ryu, time which the Demon-Zand used to build himself a financial empire by means both legal and not. Oddly enough, the very man he was searching for came to work for him to support his family, and that is where Demon-Zand became very afraid indeed.

The cycle was seemingly fragmenting. The Son of Ryu had wed and bore children, but not twins. Instead, there were a boy aged six and a daughter aged three. The grown Son was trained in martial arts, but considered it more of a relaxing hobby than with the dedication of the generations before. Compared to the generations before, he was weak, a man who had seen war and wished to never see fighting again. In short, the Demon-Zand found him unworthy of his time and effort. Thus, Leena, your grandfather and grandmother were assassinated by mere hired thugs who set fire to their dwelling afterwards.

Yet the cycle was not completely broken. Your true father, Hisahoru Ryu, escaped both the fire and the thugs, leading his young sister out to safety. Recognizing the inevitable, Demon-Zand let them live, although he used his contacts to seperate the children. Lina, the daughter, he placed with a trusted employee, where she could be watched and used if needed in future plans. Ryu was never to be adopted, but guided by the demon to find his own path to adulthood.

Truly, the demon enjoyed manipulating events in your father's life, insuring that Ryu never forgot that someone had murdered his parents, had stolen away his sister. As your father grew stronger, passing every obstacle placed in his way, the demon started to look forward to the fight to come. He was a worthy opponent ... it would be a joy to crush him totally.

Does that confuse you, my child? The Demon-Zand had been so deeply disappointed by your grandfather, he pushed your father into becoming one of the strongest opponents the demon would ever face, and rejoiced in the knowledge. The demon thought it would be the final battle at the time. He wanted the fight to be worth all that came before, to have it shake the very heavens above and the earth below.
He got his wish, when the time came....

Your father endured the remainder of his childhood, escaping to the life of a Yakuza hitman. Why? Because the demon closed all other paths in his manipulations. Your father, like my own James, became very good at what he did, and used the influence he gained to continue searching for the murderers of his parents and whereabouts of his sister. Finally, Demon-Zand allowed him to discover some of the truth.

As predicted, your father killed the thugs, now high in the Yakuza. It led him to the knowledge that they had been hired by someone else, and a little deeper digging revealed Zand's name. Ryu attempted to confront his parents' killer, as the demon knew he would. As planned, Ryu failed and was forced to flee to America.

For a time, your father wandered America, hiding as best he could as he made his plans to kill Zand. In truth, Zand knew where Ryu dwelt at all times, watching from afar and manipulating situations when needed. The Millenium was but two years away when Ryu was drawn to Voletta, Louisiana, a small island amongst the black bayous growing where the Mississippi met the Gulf.

There is far too much to tell of Voletta for me to write now, especially since your younger self has crawled out of your bed and is even now sneaking towards the den.

No, you never fooled me, child. One of the vampiric gifts I received was very acute senses, which allowed me to hear you breathing in your room, and warned me when you approached. Yet, what would be the fun if you could not surprise me? So, I will end this here, and take up a book to 'read' while you sneak inside the den. I will allow you to stay up only an hour ... but I hope that you are able to recall that hour, or others like it, as your grown self reads these very words.

Posted: **2006-02-08 11:18pm**

Bravo, bravo!

StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Revelations from a Certain Point of View

Revelations from a Certain Point of View