The Warring States of NPF - View Single Post

DFM · 10-05-2008, 10:11 PM

It is quite peculiar the happenings I’ve been made to witness from my supernatural longevity. I’m thinking of one unfortunate phenomenon in particular, of unique interest to my station both as a professional and as a sufferer of this vampiric condition. It seems the stream of time has begun to erode the moorings of my chosen course of study, for the methodologies that gave birth to psychology are slowly disappearing. I find myself in an era that overlooks the physical component of psychological pathology time and again in favor of the sadistic practices of Freud. Chronology, Dactopintalism and the rest of the old guard have fallen by the wayside, its champions all silenced and dead with my unique exception. Would that I could make my voice heard again, although it may be suspicious should I return to popular medical discourse fifty years after my apparent death.

No, better that I continue my study into the psychosis in secret. One day, may I hold up my own cure as validation of the methods. I am confidant no cure for my condition or that of my beloved wife lies within our figurative minds, waiting to be unlocked by the correct combination of memories uncovered from our childhood and I am most certain it has nothing to do with the relationship between myself, my parents and my genitals, sorry, Sigmund. I choose to stay my course.

----

Another unfortunate casualty to tide of time; Insane Asylums. I lament their loss not only as brokerage houses for the breadth and depth of human psychosis, but also I shall mourn the disappearance of the peculiar environment present only in an insane asylum. That palpable atmosphere of blistered brains and churning bowels, the odiferous deluge of freely flowing bodily humors, that gently rolling cacophony of distant sobs and screams, the muttered cursing of perceived enemies and the blissful gurgling of the lobotomized. Like new born babe discovering the sky. Hmph. I shall still find test subjects as surely as I find bloody sustenance in the night, but this climate, I fear, may never be replicated.

----

Often I reflect with great regret on the missed opportunity that was my infector. Had I been conscious after the attack, I could have stopped the orderlies from locking her in the roaming pen. What I would give for just one interview, a few simple questions of the plague ridden woman who met her end that dawn. Of course there is no guarantee she would have been any more helpful than my current crop of test subjects, mewling wretches. Few could be called enthusiastic. Given the nature of the tests I cannot expect the same fervor from all of them but a modicum of cooperation would be appreciated. Animals. The one called John went so far as to gnaw off his arm to escape into the floorboards like some feral rodent. I still hear him scurrying about at night, making an atrocious mess.

----

My studies proceed at a languid pace. I’m mired in fowl concavity at my wife’s advancing illness. My subjects grow restless without proper supervision, but I cannot pull myself back from this black depression. How many nights I’ve wasted now, gazing from the tower walk, pondering the frailty of existence.

----

After decades of solitary study into this affliction, I have learned that it is by no means mine alone. Indeed, this city is home to an entire society of similarly afflicted individuals with whom I’ve only recently made contact. They are an understandably standoffish sort, by and large, but I have been able to confirm with them that the condition is indeed vampirism, which apparently comes in a multitude of strains, each with a spectacular set of symptoms such as invisibility and even a sort of lycanthropy. Through numerous official interactions with the governing body of this secret society, I have concluded that their fundamental understanding of the vampiric condition is woefully lacking and mired in suspicion and pseudo-religious dogma that would make a Turk balk for its scriptures. Indeed they seemed impressed with my studies and the eloquence with which I was able to present them. Apparently the typical sufferer of my particular strain of vampirism is far from the vanguard of the King’s English. So impressed were they that they even offered me an office in their government, a rather high office, by the sound of things. I believe I shall accept. If nothing else, it shall provide a lofty vantage point with which I may observe the breadth and epidemiology of the affliction so I may move more expeditiously towards a cure.

----

I have accepted the role of ‘Primogen’ for clan ‘Malkavian’, the dreadfully winsome label applied to the particular strain of vampirism I suffer. So named for some supposed vampire father figure of old. More poppycock grown from a backward culture that seems interminably drawn to children’s tales and the fiction of Victorian romance when it should concern itself with the science behind their suffering. No matter. I have taken this office for no greater reason than the advancement of my research. I must make mention, however, that even among my would be peers in this governing body of vampires, the level of paranoia and superstition is frightening. Their intelligence is not the question, no indeed, for as they courted me for this appointment I had to suspect that their overtures were hand tailored for what must be my obvious infatuation with reason, For the devil would to well to have such honey tongued tempters. Even so, I could not help but notice the dressing of language these vampire leaders chose for their siren song. Whether it is born of habit, from addressing their unwashed, ill educated subjects or from their own deep seeded beliefs, their linguistic flourishes belie a faith in superstition over the providence of empirical reason that must be an all pervasive theme in this society of darkest night.

Damn it all, now I’m doing it to.

----

As I expand my dealings with the vampire government, I have encountered a disturbing… new symptom of this affliction. Frequently in conversation, I will hear voices emanating from other vampires. Voices that are not their own but which seem to have insight into their lives beyond what I could gather from simple conversation. These voices seem to echo from deep within my fellow vampires and I cannot be certain if this symptom belongs to my strain of illness or theirs, for the voices are various and… inconsistent. I dare not mention this symptom to my vampiric peers for they have proven themselves predators, to whom I could be loathe to reveal any sign of weakness. Indeed, these voices have counciled me against confessing their presence and until I can confirm their source, I will listen. The information the voices have given me ranges from curious to frightening, the latter is especially true of one powerful vampire whose name I shall not commit to recording in the interest of… self preservation.

----

The voices have increased in frequency and direction, of late. They have begun to stay with me long after conversation has ceased and are serving as quite a distraction. I fear others are beginning to notice my preoccupation at the vampire gatherings. I am thinking again of the particular vampire of whom I spoke of previously, who I dare not name for my growing fear. If the voices are to be believed, then my caution is warranted for they speak of his blackest crimes both past and future. More than once I have seen the suspicion in his eyes and heard the distrust in his voice when speaking of me. The fear must register on my face for it is all I can do in these moments to keep from crying out in chorus with the voices.

----

I am no longer safe. I know it. The voices have proven themselves authentic and I have withdrawn from the vampire society entirely. My absence will no doubt draw attention, but I could no longer hold my fragile composure around the ravenous eyes of my vampire peers. Especially not around him. The voices compelled me to make what I fear is a Faustian bargain. But I had to, for their demands are constant and merciless. I have secluded myself within the mansion. I know he will strike out at me. He will go to any length to achieve his ambitions and he knows that I know. I have taken precautions to protect my beloved wife. The cure will have to wait until our immediate safety is guaranteed. The mansion was constructed with security in mind but at that time I was not privy to the full range of vampire capabilities. The voices echo in the twisted corridors of my psyche, dark whisperings of a macabre and formless menace, the approach of which portends an end, an end to all of this.

10-05-2008, 10:11 PM	#422
DFM Om Nom Nom Join Date: Sep 2005 Posts: 3,850	It is quite peculiar the happenings I’ve been made to witness from my supernatural longevity. I’m thinking of one unfortunate phenomenon in particular, of unique interest to my station both as a professional and as a sufferer of this vampiric condition. It seems the stream of time has begun to erode the moorings of my chosen course of study, for the methodologies that gave birth to psychology are slowly disappearing. I find myself in an era that overlooks the physical component of psychological pathology time and again in favor of the sadistic practices of Freud. Chronology, Dactopintalism and the rest of the old guard have fallen by the wayside, its champions all silenced and dead with my unique exception. Would that I could make my voice heard again, although it may be suspicious should I return to popular medical discourse fifty years after my apparent death. No, better that I continue my study into the psychosis in secret. One day, may I hold up my own cure as validation of the methods. I am confidant no cure for my condition or that of my beloved wife lies within our figurative minds, waiting to be unlocked by the correct combination of memories uncovered from our childhood and I am most certain it has nothing to do with the relationship between myself, my parents and my genitals, sorry, Sigmund. I choose to stay my course. ---- Another unfortunate casualty to tide of time; Insane Asylums. I lament their loss not only as brokerage houses for the breadth and depth of human psychosis, but also I shall mourn the disappearance of the peculiar environment present only in an insane asylum. That palpable atmosphere of blistered brains and churning bowels, the odiferous deluge of freely flowing bodily humors, that gently rolling cacophony of distant sobs and screams, the muttered cursing of perceived enemies and the blissful gurgling of the lobotomized. Like new born babe discovering the sky. Hmph. I shall still find test subjects as surely as I find bloody sustenance in the night, but this climate, I fear, may never be replicated. ---- Often I reflect with great regret on the missed opportunity that was my infector. Had I been conscious after the attack, I could have stopped the orderlies from locking her in the roaming pen. What I would give for just one interview, a few simple questions of the plague ridden woman who met her end that dawn. Of course there is no guarantee she would have been any more helpful than my current crop of test subjects, mewling wretches. Few could be called enthusiastic. Given the nature of the tests I cannot expect the same fervor from all of them but a modicum of cooperation would be appreciated. Animals. The one called John went so far as to gnaw off his arm to escape into the floorboards like some feral rodent. I still hear him scurrying about at night, making an atrocious mess. ---- My studies proceed at a languid pace. I’m mired in fowl concavity at my wife’s advancing illness. My subjects grow restless without proper supervision, but I cannot pull myself back from this black depression. How many nights I’ve wasted now, gazing from the tower walk, pondering the frailty of existence. ---- After decades of solitary study into this affliction, I have learned that it is by no means mine alone. Indeed, this city is home to an entire society of similarly afflicted individuals with whom I’ve only recently made contact. They are an understandably standoffish sort, by and large, but I have been able to confirm with them that the condition is indeed vampirism, which apparently comes in a multitude of strains, each with a spectacular set of symptoms such as invisibility and even a sort of lycanthropy. Through numerous official interactions with the governing body of this secret society, I have concluded that their fundamental understanding of the vampiric condition is woefully lacking and mired in suspicion and pseudo-religious dogma that would make a Turk balk for its scriptures. Indeed they seemed impressed with my studies and the eloquence with which I was able to present them. Apparently the typical sufferer of my particular strain of vampirism is far from the vanguard of the King’s English. So impressed were they that they even offered me an office in their government, a rather high office, by the sound of things. I believe I shall accept. If nothing else, it shall provide a lofty vantage point with which I may observe the breadth and epidemiology of the affliction so I may move more expeditiously towards a cure. ---- I have accepted the role of ‘Primogen’ for clan ‘Malkavian’, the dreadfully winsome label applied to the particular strain of vampirism I suffer. So named for some supposed vampire father figure of old. More poppycock grown from a backward culture that seems interminably drawn to children’s tales and the fiction of Victorian romance when it should concern itself with the science behind their suffering. No matter. I have taken this office for no greater reason than the advancement of my research. I must make mention, however, that even among my would be peers in this governing body of vampires, the level of paranoia and superstition is frightening. Their intelligence is not the question, no indeed, for as they courted me for this appointment I had to suspect that their overtures were hand tailored for what must be my obvious infatuation with reason, For the devil would to well to have such honey tongued tempters. Even so, I could not help but notice the dressing of language these vampire leaders chose for their siren song. Whether it is born of habit, from addressing their unwashed, ill educated subjects or from their own deep seeded beliefs, their linguistic flourishes belie a faith in superstition over the providence of empirical reason that must be an all pervasive theme in this society of darkest night. Damn it all, now I’m doing it to. ---- As I expand my dealings with the vampire government, I have encountered a disturbing… new symptom of this affliction. Frequently in conversation, I will hear voices emanating from other vampires. Voices that are not their own but which seem to have insight into their lives beyond what I could gather from simple conversation. These voices seem to echo from deep within my fellow vampires and I cannot be certain if this symptom belongs to my strain of illness or theirs, for the voices are various and… inconsistent. I dare not mention this symptom to my vampiric peers for they have proven themselves predators, to whom I could be loathe to reveal any sign of weakness. Indeed, these voices have counciled me against confessing their presence and until I can confirm their source, I will listen. The information the voices have given me ranges from curious to frightening, the latter is especially true of one powerful vampire whose name I shall not commit to recording in the interest of… self preservation. ---- The voices have increased in frequency and direction, of late. They have begun to stay with me long after conversation has ceased and are serving as quite a distraction. I fear others are beginning to notice my preoccupation at the vampire gatherings. I am thinking again of the particular vampire of whom I spoke of previously, who I dare not name for my growing fear. If the voices are to be believed, then my caution is warranted for they speak of his blackest crimes both past and future. More than once I have seen the suspicion in his eyes and heard the distrust in his voice when speaking of me. The fear must register on my face for it is all I can do in these moments to keep from crying out in chorus with the voices. ---- I am no longer safe. I know it. The voices have proven themselves authentic and I have withdrawn from the vampire society entirely. My absence will no doubt draw attention, but I could no longer hold my fragile composure around the ravenous eyes of my vampire peers. Especially not around him. The voices compelled me to make what I fear is a Faustian bargain. But I had to, for their demands are constant and merciless. I have secluded myself within the mansion. I know he will strike out at me. He will go to any length to achieve his ambitions and he knows that I know. I have taken precautions to protect my beloved wife. The cure will have to wait until our immediate safety is guaranteed. The mansion was constructed with security in mind but at that time I was not privy to the full range of vampire capabilities. The voices echo in the twisted corridors of my psyche, dark whisperings of a macabre and formless menace, the approach of which portends an end, an end to all of this. __________________ [14:26] ManoftheRus: YOU GODDAMN SNEAKY DEE Last edited by DFM; 10-06-2008 at 02:05 AM.