This is the sixth part of my playthrough of Tim Hutchings’ Thousand Year Old Vampire. To see my overview of the game, click HERE, and to see the cast of characters and the origin of Nathaniel Morrison, vampire, click HERE. Click the tags to see all of the posts pertaining to this game.
THE JOURNAL OF NATHANIEL MORRISON, ADVISOR TO THE ESTATE OF THE LATE DUKE RUTHERFORD
January 22, 15xx
A month has passed, and yet I still do not see the black abyss that others see in my eyes. Of all the…symptoms of my affliction–the bloodlust, the sleeplessness, the waning of my abilities in the light of day–my own inability to see what others see vexes me the most. What does it mean? Are some people more sensitive to the unnatural? Do I project something onto them that makes them see this darkness?
At least my dearest Lady Fousburry seems unaware of my affliction.
It was my fear that she may eventually become aware of my vampyric nature, either through an awakening of her senses or through the words of others who see me for what I am, that led me to take a measure that I may come to regret.
Last night, I resolved to repeat the ritual that summoned the fiend that calls himself Tzciti. Though the ritual is demonic in nature, I am sure that this foul creature is no demon. I drew my circles in chalk, lit my candles, and stood at my altar, crying out to Tzciti to appear to me, fair in form and without malice. I strained my will to its limits, shouting into the void as loudly as I could without drawing attention.
Exhausted, I collapsed to the floor. What did I do wrong? Or was my failure no fault of my own? Had the fiend merely been passing by last time, and, overhearing my cries, come to me?
I rose to my knees, and, perhaps out of mere frustration, perhaps out of a need for self destruction, I thrust my ritual dagger into my chest.
The pain was excruciating. It was as if lightning flowed through my veins, my body jerking as spasming as my senses were set aflame. Quickly, I pulled my dagger from my chest and threw it, and that’s when I saw it.
Seemingly stick to the dagger was a shadow. I looked down at the wound that was rapidly closing, and saw that the shadowy aura that I had to conceal with my cloaks was gone. Quickly, I sprang up and ran to my hermetic supplies. Taking a golden pot that I had prepared for trapping spirits, I carefully forced the dagger’s blade into the vessel and scraping it against the rim, dislodged the shadow. I sealed the vessel and stowed safely away.
So, through ritual, I can remove the dark tells of my curse. This is terrific news, but as of now, I find myself unwilling to repeat this procedure on my eyes.
Chapter six postmortem.
Mechanical considerations and my updated character sheet appear on the next page.