The Long Dark Night

 Snippets of character fiction from a D&D game I'm currently in...

The Long Dark Night

by Simon W. 

Esme stared into the middle distance while their traveling companions and the town of Haven slumbered around them. Well, all except the bard, but Esme was giving him space. He needed to come to terms with what he had become on his own, just like Esme had.

Esme didn't sleep, so it couldn't be said that they dreamed. But it was a bit less under their full control than thinking was. It was... remembering mostly. 

A lifetime ago, Esme had been Esmerelda Augusto, a druid in one of the sacred groves of the Green Man. It had been a good life. She'd had meaningful work, her family was nearby, and her faith was strong. She watched all of the cycles of the green world turn, over and over, in a dance as old as time. Her favorite cousin (but don't you DARE let him know that) had been selected as the chosen champion of the Green Man and she thought their faith was in good hands. 

It was more than just a good life, it was an excellent life. And then, the undead came. They came in the night and they were different than the normal shuffling zombies and skeletons Esmerelda had encountered before. They could think. They could plan. And they seemed to know exactly how to get into the grove and quickly incapacitate all of the druids there. 

As she was being carried off, trussed up like a chicken for a stewpot, all Esmerelda could think of was that someone had told these monsters how to find the druids.

What happened next is best not remembered, although that didn't stop Esme from doing so. Pain, so much pain. Esme had no idea exactly how long it lasted as eventually time lost any meaning in a sea of agony. But she did pray to the Green Man for release; for death. Eventually she got it and for a brief moment thought the worst was over. 

When Esme next became aware of themselves, they were in what appeared to be a sewer and they were no longer alive in any meaningful sense. Some experimentation proved that they could still move, walk, talk, think, and even feel pain. But there was no heartbeat, no breath, and no answer to their prayers to the Green Man. All of their ability to connect to the magic of the green world was gone. Esme wandered in despair for what seemed like a very long time, alone and angry. 

Unbidden, memories of the pain that had been inflicted upon them would rise along with the face of the being who seemed to be directing it. Pale, pointed ears, and a look of fanaticism upon their face; it was not a sight that Esme would forget any time soon. As they wandered somewhat aimlessly through what appeared to be an extremely ancient sewer, they grew angrier. 

At one point in their wanderings, there appeared a being of.... light? All Esme could see were thousands of eyes and flaming swords. It spoke to them inside their mind. "Be not afraid, for I mean you no harm." Maybe for moments, maybe for days, possibly for years, Esme and this strange being spoke. In the end Esme had brokered a deal. They would get a measure of power and a way out of this sewer; the being would get their soul... as soon as Esme found it.

The Esme who left the city of the undead was not the same as Esmerelda Augusto who had entered it. Esmerelda was a druid; Esme was a warlock. Esmerelda was contented with her life and wished only to serve a higher purpose; Esme's primary purpose now was twofold, find their soul to wrest it back from he who had stolen it and bring vengeance upon the person who was responsible for their not being properly dead. Esmerelda had faith; Esme was unsure if the Gods cared about people at all. 

When Esme did finally leave the city of the undead and found human habitation again, they were nearly halfway across the world from where they had started. And the first person they ran into was their cousin, Salazar. He had found himself on a quest to fight against the same person that Esme now bent all their will to destroy. It seemed like a very easy alliance to fall into.

Now, months later, Esme found themselves thinking of all of this while most of their companions slept. They were not sure what the future held. They were not really sure of much of anything at this point. 

Memory and Flame

 This is fan created fiction about a character in a Vampire: The Masquerade live action role playing game run by Modern Enigma Society. If you are a fellow player, please remember that anything you read here is considered out of character knowledge. If you are a lawyer, please don't sue me; I'm not making any money off of this and it's just for fun.

Memory and Flame

by Simon W

June 2012

"Maire thought you had such promise."

Aoife stared at the bonfire as it burned away the last physical remnants of Matheson's prophetic madness. She believed he had infused enough of his essence into the pages that she felt the grim satisfaction of killing a hated enemy. It didn't quite rouse her Beast in a way to give it greater control over her, but she could feel it in the back of her mind purring like a very large and dangerous cat. 

She pondered the words of the woman standing a little farther from the fire. She didn't know what strictures Anna followed, or what psychological gymnastics she had to contort herself into to keep her Beast at bay but if one of the things she needed to do was to cause pain, her Beast must we well pleased. Although, with the pathbound Lasombra it was difficult to tell. Maybe she thought she was being kind, after a fashion? 

Maire of the Sea! 

When Aoife first arrived in San Diego, over a century ago at this point, Maire had been Prince. And she was, to all public appearances, a Brujah of the Tower. Aoife was still uncertain where she fit into the new world of kindred and Beasts. She had two impulses driving her; one was to be in close proximity to Edmund for all she couldn't tell him this and the other was to prove that she was strong enough to be everything he thought she could be. She was hindered in this by both her own personality and the strictures of their clan. So she claimed a territory that was just outside of Camarilla held San Diego and growled and postured at him in public. 

Prince Maire accepted the fledging Unaligned Gangrel into her domain with grace. Aoife wasn't sure if Edmund had anything to do with that. She'd never asked him and he'd never told her. Over time, knowing her social position was precarious, Aoife set about seeing how she could be useful to the Court. It wasn't long before she was winging her way to and fro with messages and developed a reputation for both reliability and discreteness. 

What a strange relationship grows between a Prince and their favored messenger. What secrets get shared and what close contact they are sometimes thrown into. There were times when Aoife wondered if Maire truly needed to send as much correspondence as she did, or if she was simply looking for conversation with someone who made no demands upon her. Aoife's lack of political position made her neither threat nor advantage. 

It took less than a decade to realize that Maire had no mirrors. By that time Aoife's friendship with Deaglán had become comfortable enough so she understood the subtle signs. She never brought up Maire's true nature in conversation and, as far as she was concerned, it was a secret she would keep to her grave. 

They never declared themselves to one another. Sometimes Aoife even believed that Maire didn't know the depth of her feelings. Other times Aoife knew that was nothing more than a polite fiction. Maire knew and she didn't speak. Aoife left the area at the beginning of the 20th century to try and forget her. Two love affairs in quick succession only left her with the knowledge that as much as she did, truly, love both Gabriella and Teuta for themselves, she felt something much different and enduring for Maire. 

When Aoife returned, heartbroken over Teuta's death (or so she believed) she expected to find that the passage of nearly fifty years had changed things. It hadn't. She and Maire settled back into the same pattern of being polite and cordial in public and sharing conversations and secrets in private. All of that ended when Maire was killed as the Anarchs swept the area to take control.

There were some who were surprised that Aoife was willing to be messenger to the Anarchs like she had for the Tower for so many years. It was put out far and wide that the Anarchs had killed Maire when they seized power. But Aoife knew differently. She vividly remembered arriving as Maire started to fall to ashes. It wasn't an Anarch gang triumphantly standing over her, but a Tower Malkavian sidling out of the room as she entered. Aoife often wondered if her mistake that night wasn't that she didn't give chase right away. But at the time it was more important that she spend Maire's last seconds telling her, in Gaelic and in the hope that she didn't understand, that she loved her. 

Now, seventy five years later, Aoife was staring at a bonfire burning the last remnants of that same Tower Malkavian's essence. And Anna was standing behind her offering commentary. Her commentary revealed things Aoife hadn't known.

One, Maire was related to Deaglán and almost certainly had known Gaelic. Two, she had spoken of Aoife to others. So many puzzle pieces fell into place, niggling little loose ends that she just hadn't noticed before. But Aoife was much older now than the grieving woman she had been in 1945 so rather than turn and confront the Elder Lasombra she continued staring at the fire burning away the last of Matheson.

Aoife scooped up the ashes that remained of Matheson's book and then stared at the sea for a long time. Finally she said, "If you're going to stay in town and you want someone to talk to who won't make demands of you, look me up." 

Sometimes memory dies in flames; sometimes it ends up burning more brightly.