Sir Victor Orsei von Tressard

From an established Avalonian family that moved to the Duchy of Tressard, Sir Victor has established himself as something of dilettante in Eisen's noble society.

Current Location

Novandria

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Age

Date of Birth

1852

Children

Gender

Male

Eyes

Grey

Hair

Black

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Pale

Height

5' 8"

Weight

180

Related Plots

Scene: Mechanics Test 1

An Evening in Hell

I am surrounded by weakness and insanity. The hunger rode high in him, stalking along his skin with pinprick needle-feet. It had been rising, of late, as he all but drowned himself in cow's blood and had resorted back to the occasional rat when it became too much. It rode high along his skin, lighting his nerves on fire and the moment the door slammed shut behind them, it tried to wrap its barbed hooks into his mind. He could feel the assault from the place, upon his senses, upon his mind. He could feel the very psychic pressure of the place washing against him like wave as high tide. But he was Nevermore. He was the thing that hunted the monsters, and he would be right good and damned if he let his own monstrousness give sway. He could feel the pressure of the place - to speak, to feed, to hunt. It was in every drop of blood he saw dripping from Nel's undead maw, every drop that was so casually flicked in his direction by Bella. Cardinal's presence, a rock and anchor - and blessedly peace giving magic - removed the worst of it. And yet somehow, it was the people that was the actual weight upon his mind. He had lived most of his adult life with the urge to be a monster inside him. Had walked, day after jaw-grinding day, with the urge to gorge his fill, to hunt, to rend, and to tear. He had surrounded himself with the people he thought were the heroes, the ones who, like him, would stand against the dark no matter the cost. And then he watched them, one by one, and to almost the man, fail. The rooms had become a blur and he could feel the creak of his jaw as he clamped down on every hateful thought, every bitter drop of poison that wanted to fall from his tongue. In the exact same way that he locked his life behind masks and secrets, he locked his tongue behind the iron will of long practice. They needed to survive. They needed to endure. And though his lips wanted to curse their weakness and their recklessness with every breath, he refused. His tongue bled from the effort of stilling it and he was momentarily thankful that the taste of his own, half-dead, blood never incited the Hunger inside him. But as he worked the locks, as he bodily pushed Nel from room to room despite her incessant need to swallow every bit of flesh in sight, as he waited while madness, rage, and insanity took almost all of them, one single though anchored itself in his mind - a scar that would last long after the deep gouges that the lich had torn into his chest. And somehow, even under the psychic assault of the place and his own hunger, he knew those words should never leave his lips. Most of you would not have lasted a single night under the curse I bear. Because you are too weak to bear it.

Journal Entry - April 1884

I will kill him. The truth has now been revealed - the circumstances of my birth which have plunged me into the vagaries of the shadow is no mere coincidence. Perhaps it is fate, the hand of Kalesta, moving across my life which has placed the Monster and my family within orbits of each other. I do not know why we have been fated to intertwine, only that such has occurred for far, far, too long. I am uncertain if I am relieved or horrified to discover that the matter of my birth was more liken to a cooking incident than some grand tragedy. The moment which caused my birth has shaped every day of my life and every night within it, forever changing the course of my fates and futures. Those circumstances of birth have shifted the stars in the firmament with such permanence that I cannot wholly fathom what live looks like beyond it. Once it is done, once the monster slain, will I set down the armor of this crusade? Can I live some normal life once it is done, or will the hunger that haunts me every night be my companion for the rest of my days? Waking up to the sound Sirens screaming aloud So disoriented how’d this happen These buildings are crumbling down Hear everyone panic This monsters gone manic Pray somethin can to turn this around My life is in ruins I’m feeling so useless Can’t even get off the ground I can feel it again. I can feel phantom claws along my back and driving themselves into my mind. To hunt. To kill. To feed. As much as I know the monster I hunt, how long until the monster is me? How long until they see me for the charlatan I am, wearing a mask made of faces during every day? I try to distract it through the fighting, the scant bits of... food... I give it. In music and joy and the touch of skin, but it is like a vessel with a hole in the bottom that I can never fill. I write, to try and focus myself, penning words that no one will ever see and lyrics I doubt I would ever give to Cardinal to sing. I’m calling all heroes Legends and stars Anyone listening just open your heart I’ve got to do something I wish I were strong enough to see A hero in me

Control

When it came upon him, that flash of insight, it struck him like lightning with all the rage and fury of nature's full measure of wrath. He staggered, leaning a hand against the desk down in the caves underneath the manor, what they had begun to call the Twilight Manse. Memories and lives never lived crossed over him, and the feeling of his heart, pounding in his chest as somehow, through some strange confluence of fate and time, he and his war timeline self suddenly became aware of each other - and for the barest of moments, were each other. The beat hammered in his chest like some insane orchestral drum and he was passingly aware of the strange dulling of his senses as the weight of the alcohol hit him, mixed with the all too familiar fear that he recalled from his first nights as his other self became aware of his deathless nature. Was this all he was? A disaster? Until I should die, until I should break Not a god, not a devil my soul shall take If I should lie to betray myself Then I would damn myself, and my soul forsake In an instant, he knew what he was looking for and he found it in the barest fragment of whiskey soaked memories: His mother's voice. Singing lullabies, birthday songs, scolding and gentle and warm. He'd never heard his mother's voice and if there was one thing he wished to keep from the timeline filled with death and destruction, it was that. His mind - their mind - raced over each others lives in growing horror; his over the Detectives because of the sheer absurdity of it - his mother was alive, his family well. He bore no curse and was not provoked to stalk the Novandrian rooftops like some gargoyle come to life. And the Detective, on seeing his life, recoiled in horror from the monster he had become, seeing only the rigid control during the entire trip to Marketh. The close quarters, the hightened emotions - and underrunning all of it, his gnawing desire to feed. I don't want fifteen minutes want a whole lot more Don't want to suffer the fools and the spoils of war I don't want fifteen minutes, or a reason why I want a stainless steel road stretching off to the sky I don't need sentiment, want, or hate on my mind No crimes of passion or obsessions in kind No walls, restraints, or momentary thrill No blood on my hands, no time to kill Two voices joined together in one anguished cry. Was this all he was? Man or monster, was his fate to wallow in darker climes and to always be apart from the rest of them? The man, separated from family and loves by war and whiskey, and the Monster, separated from the common live by the hunger which drove him. In a moment of blind rage, he threw the goblet - thankful it only yet had ice in it and was neither filled with whiskey or blood which would be hard to explain - and watched as it crashed against the wall, shattered like so many pieces of himself. Why couldn't he just be normal? Was there no fate, no timeline, no place in this world where he was just allowed to be happy? I want more body, I want more soul Flick the switch to automatic, I want control I want control I want control I want control In his blind fury, he wasn't sure which god he was cursing. He wasn't sure if it was Kallias and the fact that even those second chances had saved his mother but not him or if it went deeper than that. Some part of him latched onto the fate that seemed to be woven into his very bones regardless of his time, and blind, ignorant, anger rolled through him like a living thing; born of both his own powerful rage and the urgings of his hunger. His oath and curse had neither words nor sound, only a target. Only the gods that had writ the world like this, and whichever one had writ his fate to follow such darker threads. He railed against whatever curse lay upon him and the hand of fate that moved all his lives towards the silent and inevitable dark of shadows. If I should give in, if I should turn away Not a god, not a devil my soul could save I want more body, I want more soul Flick the switch to automatic, I want control

Old Company

He could feel it again. He could feel the thing crawling along his mind as he walked silently through the manor. It was late - almost time for his meditations - and the house was quiet. The servants slept. Arinelle slept. But he, of course, did not. And neither did the hunger that prowled along his spine with half a hundred tiny pin-pricks of feeling. Glacier claws wrapped around a heart which did not beat and fetid breath upon the back of his mind like a some creation from a madman's nightmare along his back. He was hungry. He'd meditated. He'd fought. He'd hide it behind the smiles and joy and care for everyone else - but it was there, waiting for him, in the dark. Tonight the monsters in my head Are screaming so damn loud But I built walls so high So they never even make a sound It's a mask, it's a lie It's the only home I've ever known 'Cause being who I really am Has only left me more alone He drained another glass of the cow's blood before setting another kettle on the stove as silently as possible. It would do nothing to rouse the house, not to mention the risk of rousing the staff. If Old Ms. May saw him cooking, let alone cooking blood to drink - warm and raw from a thick mug - there would be hell to pay. With a small snap, he turned the stove off, pouring one last glass, and desperately hoping that everyone would stop smelling like food any night now. I am not okay And I need you to see it I have so much to say And no one to hear it Never strong enough. Not strong enough to resist the thing that had taken and used him like a suit. Not strong enough to fight off the voice in the back of his mind that wanted nothing else but to revel in blood. Us, he'd said to Arinelle. Always, he'd said to Cardinal and Maelie. Together or not at all, he'd said to Nel - one part sad that she walked the same nights he did and one part utterly, utterly, envious of the freedom of her undeath without the hunger clawing at every waking moment. But there was no facing this monster together. There was always some time when he was alone. How to face a monster together, when that monster was himself? With so much at stake I always feel like a burden, let it silence me You'll never understand Why it's so hard to say I'm not okay He slowly prowled back to his bedroom, hiding the evidence of his late night glass, and tried to ignore how much the house smelled like a feast hall.

Scars Unseen and Unsaid

Eventually, they had to return home. To their lives, to their homes - Cardinal and Maelie to their manor, Kevan to his home with Hayden, and Arinelle to her Temple. Even Miranda went to her books, turning to the puzzles in an effort to recover her footing. And then he was alone - in the night that was usually his safety and his haven. Alone as he rested, as much as he did anyways, with the silence of the night around him and nothing but the company of his own mind. Lately I've been feeling so ashamed By these thoughts I'm hiding in my brain 'Cause I've been holding them down but they twist me violently I'm hanging by a thread tonight, but this time I don't wanna be saved So let me fall, let me break Under everything unsaid Just let me die 'cause I can't take Living with what's in my head If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me Will it set me free? It had taken him and used him. He had not been strong enough to fight it, not strong enough to control it, and not even strong enough to keep it from rifling through his memories like an errant file. He could feel it, in a way, like a film over his mind. Not over his skull nor his head nor his skin, but a... residue... of sorts left on him. This thing had left its mark on him in a way no one would ever see. It had made him watch as it had moved his body, spoke with his words, and carried on with his life. And all his training, all his focus, and all his dedication.. and he'd been powerless to stop it. What's the point of holding on like this? When no one seems to care if I exist There is no agony like being strong when no one knows you're sick So sick of hearing, I should stay when I know I would never be missed So let me fall, let me break Under everything unsaid Just let me die 'cause I can't take Living with what's in my head If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me He'd let them down, some part of him whispered. It it his hunger, murmuring evil into his ear? Was it the mental presence that had laid over him with psychic suffocation? Or was it simply his own voice, for once, realizing that perhaps he was not nearly so clever as he thought. That perhaps it did not matter how many sessions he took with Nel or how he meditated to be one with the shadows that birthed him. It did not matter what magical knick-knacks he had acquired or how well he could see in the dark or even blind. He'd failed. He'd almost failed his mission, his loves, his mother - everyone. He'd simply failed. And some monstrous thing had walked away with his body, his voice, and his life. And even though it was dead now, a stain upon the carpet that would be already be gone... Some part of it was still here. If you could see under my skin You'd realize why I hold it in Why it's a fight I don't wanna win Why it's a fight I don't wanna win If you could see all my abuse And spend a day inside my shoes You'd realize why I just wanna lose You'd realize why I just wanna lose Will anyone believe the hell of being me Before I decide to be the dying proof? His mind warred against itself - he wanted to be strong. He wanted to be strong enough to save them all - to keep them safe, to be the stable place of security for each of them. And, certainly, he knew they were the same for him - and yet. How could he be strong enough for them when he wasn't even strong enough for himself? The body didn't move - in these meditations it might as well have been a corpse in truth; and yet he could feel his arms and limbs moving under someone, no, something else's control. He could feel the casual disregard and negligence that creature had held for him - he wasn't a person, he wasn't even an enemy - for this creature, he was a vehicle. A thing to be used until it no longer suited. And in the dark and stillness of the night - the night which was his by birthright, blood, and shadow - he felt the psychic slime of the thing still upon him. So let me fall, let me break Under everything unsaid Just let me die 'cause I can't take Living with what's in my head If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me Will it set me free?

...

Days marched on. Tonight the monsters in my head Are screaming so damn loud But I built walls so high So they never even make a sound It's a mask, it's a lie It's the only home I've ever known 'Cause being who I really am Has only left me more alone He could feel more and more of himself slipping away under the... presence... of the thing. It didn't have a name, not really. If it did, the closest would've been Victor, after all. But in a way, he was used to wearing his ... life... as Victor as a mask. For the longest time, perhaps even since his birth, he hadn't been Victor... not really, anyways. Not in the ways that mattered. Victor was the young man who lost his mother. Victor was the young man with the distant father. The young man who hadn't been in time to save his sister. He just never had a name. Not until Vodacce. Not until the masks. And then he'd found a name - a way - a purpose. I am not okay And I need you to see it I have so much to say And no one to hear it The reason I keep quiet With so much at stake I always feel like a burden, let it silence me You'll never understand Why it's so hard to say I'm not okay He couldn't control the thing, not really. Not in any large or obvious manner - but the connection between them was just that - a connection. A word here. A word there. A psychic foot out to trip the thing at just the right time. Anything he could do to fight it, subvert it, and hang on. For once, it was not his mother that drove him, but the image of his friends and loved ones - seen through eyes like a window. Distant and just out-of-reach. They needed him. And not, some errant remnant of his thoughts mused, for what he could do but who he was. Maelie needed him to feel safe and Cardinal to feel seen. Arinelle needed him to smile and Kevan needed him to be able to trust the darkness inside the other man wouldn't swallow him. Alex needed him to see herself as more than a courtesan and Peg needed another person to walk in dark shadows with. Nel needed him to be her hope - that things would be better, and above all, as he fixed her face in his mind, Miranda needed him. As the being lept from his mind, leaving a strange and echoing hollowness in him, he fixed himself upon one single, simple, idea. Whatever gods might come, he knew one thing for certain. She needed her big brother. He'd failed her once. He would not fail her again.

...

Hours turned to days. What's the point of holding on like this? When no one seems to care if I exist There is no agony like being strong when no one knows you're sick So sick of hearing, I should stay when I know I would never be missed So let me fall, let me break Under everything unsaid Just let me die 'cause I can't take Living with what's in my head If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me

...

Minutes turned to hours. Lately I've been feeling so ashamed By these thoughts I'm hiding in my brain 'Cause I've been holding them down but they twist me violently I'm hanging by a thread tonight, but this time I don't wanna be saved (saved) So let me fall, let me break Under everything unsaid Just let me die 'cause I can't take Living with what's in my head If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me If I surrender, surrender To the monsters in me Will it set me free?

A Fall of Sorts

The intellect devourer died with a satisfying squelch. That should have been his first clue. The strange thrill that rode through him at the sound, at the feeling of finally winning; at the feeling of being the hunter instead of the hunted. He'd led them a merry chase throughout the city, using his speed and agility to evade the monsters that chased him - the intellect devourer, Addison, and their minions. Something in him exhulted in it, in being able to all but dance in between them - and when he'd felt the monster die, his mind had soared. With it dead, he'd be able to escape, he reasoned. It had been the devourer which had been able to sense him, sense his presence. Or, some part of him reasoned, this was his chance. His chance to take control of this mess - to hunt, instead of skulk. To hunt, instead of hide. To hunt instead of run. Bolt after bolt landed into him, despite the cloak of displacement, the shadows, and the smoke. Poison after poison burned in his skin, even through his unbeating heart. As the darkness that wasn't born of his shadowed soul began to close in, he realized his mistake. He had become so used to his hunger, the beast and demon in his mind, roaring that he had never noticed its whispers. Its whispers that he was strong enough, skilled enough, to take on three other people by himself. The whispers that told him to finally hunt. And it was those whispers that betrayed him. Before the darkness came, he wondered only if he would wake in light or perpetual shadow - and, insanely, if they would be proud of him, those brilliant people who stood within the light.

Two lives

( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8y4Sz8_Oq1M ) The rooftops flew under his feet as he gave chase. His investigations of the Red Lion were beginning to bear fruit – slowly and arduously, of course, but how else should it go? He was peeling back the layers of an onion that had untold and perhaps even unknowable depths – but he was determined to peel back those layers, one by one until he’d found the black and monstrous thing at the core. I'm sending the raven Black bird in the sky Sending a signal that I'm here Some sign of life I'm sending a message Of feathers and bone Just let me know I'm not forgotten out here alone The air is cold The night is long I feel like I might fade into the dawn Fade until I'm gone Cardinal had told him about her dying to save her mentor – a night of terror and heartache… three weeks prior. He couldn’t even be upset at her – he knew where he had been for the past three weeks, ducking between his nighttime patrols, maintain the vague pretenses of his life as Sir Victor Orsei, and doing the odd jobs as Khelan Weber out of the Lion in order to maintain his cover. He hadn’t called on her, nor she on him, and he’d barely even seen the inside of the Skybound in over a month. And besides, she would have gone home – her home with Maelie. Of course she would not need him to protect her from that, she had her own life she was beginning to build there. And hell, he mused further as he swung out into the night, he’d missed her journeyer party because of being on a job as Khelan that evening. Oh, I'm so far from home I'm so far from home So far from home Oh, not where I belong Not where I belong Oh, I'm so far from home I'm so far from home So far from home I'm sending a raven With blood on its wings Hoping it reaches you in time And you know what it means 'Cause out here in the darkness And out of the light If you get to me too late Just know that I tried Kevan was beginning to build his life with Peg, he thought distracted as he landed on the fleeing cart, rising slowly to let the long shadows add to the terror he knew he was instilling in the driver. The white lenses shone softly in the low light as he advanced on the driver. He couldn’t even think of her as “The Woman” anymore, or even “Lady Disdain”. He had never intended to get to know her; her reactions to his persona as Victor only helped to solidify his alibis and reputation. But when she had needed help, he could not stop himself from coming to her aid. And now, she was being courted by Kevan, and against his will, he had begun to feel a kinship with her. They both carried a strange and otherworldly darkness inside of them and struggled to maintain some kind of normal life. He wanted to dislike her, but found that she had grown on him all the same. Oh, I'm so far from home So far from home Oh, not where I belong Not where I belong Not where I belong Oh, I'm so far from home So far from home So far The air is cold The night is long I feel like I might fade into the dawn Fade until I'm gone He’d promised Arinelle he would be there for her, but when was the last time they had spent any time together outside of the emergencies of adventuring? How was he supposed to help her understand the truth about her life and prophecy when he barely knew his own destiny and where it lead past… Fists were flying around him as he moved, before standing over the his quarry for the night. It was far better to focus on this than on the future. Some part of his mind noted that he felt like he was being torn in two – along one train of thought was life and marriage. Perhaps Arinelle would move in with him? She had wanted her own place, however. Oh, I'm so far from home So far from home Oh, not where I belong Not where I belong Oh, I'm so far from home So far from home Oh, not where I belong Not where I belong Along the other train of thought was the Fall. It waited there for him like a patient lover, inviting and in the darkness of dim light. As he leapt back into the night, he tried to put those thoughts behind him, and desperately tried to shake the feeling that he was lying to all of them. So far from home Not where I belong I'm so far from home

Hanging in the balance

The quiet was peaceful. There was no hunger here, no fears, and no troubles. It was soft and silky smooth as the deepest midnight. Some distant part of him knew he was dying – the life force that maintained his body in its strange half-stasis slowly withering away. He couldn’t feel his blood running away from him; after all, it only moved if he willed it to move. All the same, that last moment as the ghosts wail had buffeted him, he could feel himself losing all the same. Please, please forgive me But I won't be home again Maybe someday you'll look up And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one Isn't something missing? He could sense, more than see, that his soul hung in some sort of balance. One part of him called to the darkness and the other to the light. How fitting, he mused in the maddeningly long moments before death would take him. How fitting that even in death he should be torn between two extremes; in life, he was torn between love and his hunger, between the violence that he secretly enjoyed and the altruistic goal to protect people, and between the human parts of him and the monstrous half. You won't cry for my absence, I know You forgot me long ago Am I that unimportant? Am I so insignificant? Isn't something missing? Isn't someone missing me? The quiet was peaceful and some part of him longed for it; he knew this was what was waiting for him at the end of the Fall. After all, it was why he had contemplated that fall for six months now; once he had found all the monsters and ended them, he would be the last one left. Find the monsters. Kill the monsters. And who was more monstrous than himself? He could feel the grasping pull of the dark trying to drag him down into the burning shadows. Secrets wrapped in secrets wrapped in casual violence – he deserved that darkness, after all – he had hurt Maelie by keeping his secrets and it was only a matter of time until he hurt the rest of them, those bright and shining souls that trusted him without ever knowing what he really was. Even though I'm the sacrifice You won't try for me, not now Though I'd die to know you love me I'm all alone Isn't someone missing me? “No.” The word echoed in the resounding emptiness of the vast Nothing where his soul hung between two extremes. “No,” he repeated into the void, looking not towards the darkness or the light, but back. He could feel the last vestiges of his essence fading away under the banshee’s wail. He could feel the warping essence that ravaged over his body, tearing away flesh and skin. A single thought echoed in his mind like a churchbell – he’d promised. He’d promised his mother, the mother he had never met, that he would find the thing which had attacked her, which had cursed him, and which had caused him to kill her in childbirth. That monster yet walked the world and he would be damned if he let himself die with his mission incomplete. He'd promised those bright and shining souls that he would be there in the tomorrows-to-come. To hold them and protect them and walk the darker paths so they did not need to. Please, please forgive me But I won't be home again I know what- The quiet was peaceful. Living was difficult, painful, and filled with every challenge in creation. That was just fine, some part of him mused. He was used to pain. With an effort of will he turned away from that calm, quiet, peaceful silence and reached for the raucous world above….

Unmasked

Something was wrong. His senses, normally so entirely sharp and disciplined, could do nothing but try to cope with the over-abundance of input and stimuli. His glove creaked, the leather slowly bending under the force of his clenched fist. His mind latched onto that one, first - and the smell of blood on his gauntlets. Whose blood was that, some part of him asked - he felt like he should know. One does not get blood on his hands without cause, his slowly awakening mind informed him with almost absurd simplicity. Would anyone care, would anyone cry If I finally stepped off of this ledge tonight? Would anything change, would you all be just fine? Someone was saying his name. It didn't sound like his name. And yet, his mind slowly managed to drag the focal point of his vision towards what was in front of him; and for a long moment, it yet made no sense. Even as he recognized the shapes and images in front of him, they were devoid of meaning - one more abstract painting upon some canvas. His mind, normally so adept at drawing meaning from the smallest details, struggled to determine even the shape of the thing in front of him. In the ages and eternities of his mind, it slowly resolved into form - a mask. A.. fox... mask. Would anyone want me If they knew what was inside my head? Would anyone see me For the person that I really am? The world smelled like blood. The blood of the murdered confidantes. The blood on his gauntlet - whose blood was that? The blood of his murdered friends, loves, and companions. Slowly, in those ageless moments of his mind, he began to set those thoughts and images to rights like some errant butler straightening out a room after the evening's revels had ended. Someone was saying his name. Someone was saying his name in Elvish. Someone with a familiar voice was saying his name in Elvish. Someone...in a fox mask. His mind finally clicked back into focus as he lowered the arm that was covered in Maelie's blood and felt a chill roll through veins that didn't need to beat and a heart that he desperately hoped didn't need to feel. I won't lie So hard to hide I've never felt worthy of love I would give up Everything I have Just to feel good enough

Untitled

Hunt. Feed. Kill. Hunt. Feed. Kill. In some way, he’d never left the abattoir that was the butcher’s shop. The mass and mess of bodies lived inside his mind and as he raced through the night, hunting the Fox, it was what lurked at the back of his thoughts. The strong copper scent coiled through his nose as if he was standing there, but what drove him onwards was the images his Hunger provided him. Hunt. Feed. Kill. Hunt. Feed. Kill. The bodies were not nameless confidantes. Each bloodied bit was some part his recognized; Cardinal’s delicate fingers and Kevan’s rougher ones. The curve of Arinelle’s shoulder or the edge of Miranda’s smile. A foot – Mae’s he somehow knew, alongside Nel’s white and speckled red paw and laid over Alex's back. And hovering over all of them, the masked fox seeming to leer and jeer at him, taunting him onwards. The plan had been simple – find the monsters and kill them; and yet, he’d learned in the last few months that some of the worst monsters were plain and simple people who chose to do evil in their lives. Like the Fox. Hunt. Feed. Kill. Hunt. Feed. Kill. Hunt. Feed. Kill. Hunt. Feed. Kill. Hunt. Feed. Kill. Hunt. Feed. Kill. He never felt the bullet enter his shoulder, impacting dead flesh and hardened bone; he barely felt pain, regardless, and even then it was a dull and muted sensation. Not unlike joy, or perhaps peace, some part of him mused. Some part of him tried to rally the idea that he did not kill, that he knew killing would only feed the hunger more and more until there was nothing left but killing – But then she had threatened to steal them away and all he could see was the blood red slaughterhouse of the prior night; all he could smell was the sharp and acrid scent of blood. And all he could hear was the pounding of her heart. And then the fight was on in earnest.

Animal

The flowers were just beginning to droop in his hand as he entered Orsei Manor. He’d tried to find Maelie at her place, even at her room in the Skybound in order to apologize. He… well he wasn’t even sure what he would be apologizing for, but Cardinal had said that when partners argued, it was best to apologize and bring flowers; so he had intended to do just that. Her butler had turned him away, saying the lady was not at home and so, ill at ease and discomforted, home he went. Every instinct in him warned him that she was dangerous, that there was something he was missing. It wasn’t anything she did, no, but in the way she carried herself, the way she moved, it was teasingly familiar and yet alien at the same time. “Sir?” Bastian asked him as he entered, the tone in the elderly half-elf’s voice setting him on alarm. I can't escape this hell So many times I've tried But I'm still caged inside Somebody get me through this nightmare I can't control myself So what if you can see the darkest side of me? No one would ever change this animal I have become Help me believe it's not the real me Somebody help me tame this animal (This animal, this animal) His eyes roamed over the room slowly as the cold, logical, side of him took over, despite the prowling of the hunger in the back of his mind. It had been a few days since he’d broken down and hunted some stray rats to keep the maddening and endlessly gnawing feeling at bay – and as a result, some part of him prowled and paced behind iron bars of will. Something was wrong. Bastian had brought him into the bedroom and while nothing seemed to be amiss at first glance, his eyes tracked to the small details – things others might have missed; the way the curtains on the window sills were disturbed, the way the valences on the bed had shifted from the wind, and most damming of all the small, metal, lockpick which the butler handed him. It was not altogether different than his own, save for the fact that it was pulled from the lock on the windows. Someone had been here. I can't escape myself (I can't escape myself) So many times I've lied (So many times I've lied) But there's still rage inside Somebody get me through this nightmare I can't control myself So what if you can see the darkest side of me? No one would ever change this animal I have become Help me believe it's not the real me Somebody help me tame this animal I have become Help me believe it's not the real me Somebody help me tame this animal There was only one person who would have broken in here – only one criminal brazen enough to have tried. Either it meant the Fox knew who he was – or had been perilously close to finding out. Something inside him snapped. The hunger overcame him and he felt his fangs descend in his mouth, despite the thin press of his lips together. His jaw began to ache as he clamped it shut in sudden, desperate, effort. “Sir?” Bastian asked softly, and when Victor looked at him the elder half-elf frowned. “Leave me,” he said quietly through tight lips. He could tell something was wrong – something not normal, something dangerous. The butler did not need to be told twice. Somebody help me through this nightmare I can't control myself Somebody wake me from this nightmare I can't escape this hell The shadows around him became a living thing as he moved through the passages of the Manor and down into the cave. He’d always been comfortable in the dark – he had been born in darkness after all, but something in it called to him tonight. If the Fox discovered who he was, she could hurt the ones he cared for – and he knew without a single doubt that Maelie and Cardinal would be first; especially with their brand new home and lavish keepings. He paused to look down at his hand as he dressed, frowning as the shadows moved and coiled around his fingers like some serpentine spirit. He could feel it, moving inside him, and the roiling burning hatred that was his hunger burning in his skin. It had never been this bad before, some rational part of him noted, even as the hunger fed him images of Cardinal and Maelie’s bloodied bodies, the masked thief standing over them. Images of Alex and the monster hunting confidantes, of Arinelle being laid open by some demon or Kevan gored on the horns of a formless and nameless beast – all because if he was unmasked, revealed, exposed, he could not protect them. And so for the first time since the curse had manifested… he let the hunger overtake him. So what if you can see the darkest side of me? No one will ever change this animal I have become Help me believe it's not the real me Somebody help me tame this animal I have become Help me believe it's not the real me Somebody help me tame this animal (This animal I have become) Victor might not be able to tell Maelie everything she wanted to know, but Nevermore could keep her safe. And perhaps that was all that mattered. Somewhere out there, a Fox was hunting, he thought as the mask settled over his face, and never more would she be able to harm those he loved.

Heroes

The first time I heard it Didn't know what it was I listened to it over and over I couldn't get enough I knew every syllable And the space in between And I wondered What my own song would be The rooftops flew underneath his feet as he leapt from building the building as if running towards, or away, some unknown monster. Somewhere, out in the night, a monster hunted the innocent - the one that he was seeking and a hundred hundreds of other smaller evils; true monsters in the shadows of the night and the ones that walked the world in human skin. And of course, the purely simple people and their common, everyday, evils. Compared to that, what was he? I thought I understood what the words meant I thought I knew the meaning behind I memorized the sounds and the rhythms And wondered about the stories inside I thought I understood what the words meant I thought that they were written for me A message spelled out in a language That only those who have been there Been there can read The conversation with Violet stuck in his mind like a splinter. Despite everything he'd accomplished so far, all the skills he was learning and all the things he was beginning to do - the change, the difference that he was hoping to make - in the end he was still just running. They were all so much... better. It almost didn't matter which of them came to his mind - heroes lit against the backlights of the world with their armor and their weapons and their truth. A thousand images of them flickered through his mind like the images of a lighten-lantern- Violet in her armor, Cardinal with her lute. Maelie with her guns or Kevan with his sword. His sister, blazing with the lights of knowledge and arcane fire dancing across her fingertips like living stars. Over and over his mind painted the heroes image of them He could see Arinelle standing with her shield before her like dawn meeting the dark. Even Karstadt, bent over her desk with some new tinkering device that would unfold to some hero's help, or the lumbering giant form of Nel as she shepherded children across a busy street. Gentle Muse and wise Nita. Brave Violet and charming Dona. Over and over his mind painted the heroes image of them The first time I heard it Didn't know what it was It was foreign and angry and brilliant I couldn't get enough But the story behind it You revealed it to me And I realized You had lived through what I had never seen They were just so... good. And he was... well, himself. Time was coming soon he'd need to do another round of courting gifts, his mind pointed out to him helpfully as he landed on a roof, perching at the edge and overlooking the market square. His conversation with Miranda came back to him in stark relief - what did he want? Where was he going with this? Some part of him called to that light he had not known, to send courting gifts and social invites and all the rest. And some part of him knew that the fall awaited him - that he was making promises he could not keep and, knowing so, was all the more the monster for it. I wish I didn't know what the words meant Or understand the meaning behind I memorized the sounds and the rhythms And now I know the stories inside I wish I didn't know what the words meant That they were written for me A message spelled out in a language That only those who have been there Been there can read The mission was simple, after all. Find the monsters. Kill the monsters. White lenses regarded the shadows of the marketplace where some other monster lurked. For now, perhaps, maybe that would be enough. Into the darkening shadows of the night, he leapt.

Fire

The tactics were sound, he mused, as he watched the clanking, armored, men turn towards the doorway. A classic hammer and anvil moment where they would turn towards the rest of the group, and he would strike from behind. But even at this range, with his sharpened senses, he could tell how thick that armor was - and moreover, could tell the warm glow at the end of the rods. He'd heard of fireballs and fire spells before, of course, and he knew that many non magical people used eletech to recreate some of the more... amazing... powers of the arcane - so it was no great leap of logic to determine the meaning of the great glowing wands and the tanks connected to the backs of the armored men. If this is to end in fire Then we should all burn together Watch the flames climb high into the night He could see it play out in his mind - he on one side, and the rest on the other - Maelie and the two others. They'd only met briefly, but he knew both were spellcasters - which meant that if both those armored monstrosities layered their fire down the hallway.... A plan bloomed in his mind and he tried to ignore the rampage of terror that seemed to roll through the back of his mind. Whatever curse his Hunger came from, it didn't want him dead. Now I see fire Inside the mountain And I see fire Burning the trees And I see fire Hollowing souls And I see fire Blood in the breeze And I hope that you remember me The plan, such as it was, worked. The first washes of flame crashed over him and him alone. He could feel the screaming, raving, terror that he was not entirely certain was his, his Hunger's, or both. He could feel bits of his clothing burning to his skin, bits of his skin burning away, the metallic mask heating on his face. He could feel the dull clunks of his gauntlets landing on the heavy armor and was, somewhere, distantly aware of the spellcasters peppering the same targets to aid him; somewhere distantly aware of the sound of gunfire and a strange wash of energy which propped him up. But he did not know how many more times he would stand in that fire - could they fire once? Twice? Often? He knew at least once more from the second armored figure. And if the night is burning I will cover my eyes For if the dark returns Then my brothers will die And as the sky is falling down It crashed into this lonely town And with that shadow upon the ground I hear my people screaming out He was only distantly aware of the feral-rage growing in him until he saw the broken and pulped helmet of the first armored man. Some distant part of him was glad for their darkened armor because he could not see any of the blood coming out from what was, perhaps obviously, a crushed skull. He knew he was strong, with his magical gauntlets, but he'd always held back, always reserved himself. He did not want to kill. And then the second wash of fire consumed him. All he knew was that he was still standing, moment's later, staring down at the bodies of the two dead men. He lived. They didn't. His hunger roared inside his head, uselessly, to rend, to tear, to break. To rip the armor from them and tear them into parts and pieces. He wasn't even sure he could say why, save that he could feel how weak he was, how close he was to dropping, and something in him wanted to drive him on in feral rage. Slowly, breath by aching breath, he wrestled that fury back into the corners of his mind, turning towards the now obviously ticking bomb - what use that rage if he was bathed in fire a third time in the night. Summoning every bit of control, he moved, hoping the cloak and clothes would hide the worst of it. Now I see fire Inside the mountains I see fire Burning the trees I see fire Hollowing souls I see fire Blood in the breeze I see fire Oh you know I saw a city burning out (fire) And I see fire Feel the heat upon my skin, yeah (fire) And I see fire (fire)

Untitled - Brief

The words rolled around his mind like some living serpent as he slipped, silently, back into the streets. He needed the mask. He needed to feel the world racing under him as he flew from rooftop to rooftop. He needed to feel the now comfortable weight of the equipement. "I appreciate you", Arinelle's voice echoed in the back of his mind as he slipped back towards the manor. "I don't need anyone!" he heard Cardinal's voice in the echo of his footsteps. He needed the mask. He needed to feel the weight of it over his face, to know that the coiling and uncoiling hunger within him could be locked behind the metal of it. "My heart is safe with you," Maelie had written. "See beyond your nobility", The Woman had said. Nick after nick after nick within the armor of his mind until he was left - as some part of him knew he would be, alone in the shadows of the night moving as silent as a ghost. He needed the mask. He needed to feel like something he would do could be worthy enough - but all he kept coming up with was failure. Failure to help Riley. Failure to help Alex. Failure to be good enough for any of them. He needed the mask because he needed to not be Victor tonight.

The Hunger

It's feeding time in the jungle, jungle The cold streets, ya, they come alive Ain't a time to be humble, humble 'Cause only the strong survive The nights, out here I'm starving just to feel inspired The fights, my fears Tonight I won't be denied Can you feel the hunger, the hunger? Can you feel the hunger, the hunger? The market square flew under his feet as he raced, rooftop to rooftop. The monsters were here and so was he; except that he was late, always late. Five bodies on the floor. Five innocents, dead. All because he had failed. Failed to find the monsters. Failed to kill them. That was the mission, and he was failing that mission. The voice in the back of his mind, formless, shapeless, and wordless fed his mind with that repeated urge which his waking mind then turned to words. Failure. It echoed in his mind like some alarm bell. Never-ever satisfied Gotta feed this appetite Before it pulls me under (Can you feel the—) I ain't waiting for this I'm breaking out of my cage I'm howling, can you hear the sound? It's the call of the wild, wild I'm an animal you can't hold down He'd smelled the blood on the air the last time and he'd still been too late. It had taken everything in him to not sense the heat still lingering in the Confidante's veins. Taken everything to not fall on the next living thing he saw, but instead think clearly, slowly, and rationally. He'd found a clue, perhaps, but still, his mind echoed the word over and over again. Another rooftop flew past him, the flow of his hands and feet as he vaulted over bricks, concrete, and open air. Lungs that didn't need to breathe burned with phantom pain and limbs that barely felt the cold burned with phantom exertion. It was like his brain was one fire, some rational part of him mused as he dropped into the alley, desperate to find some clue, some hint, some... anything. The nights, out here I'm starving just to feel inspired The fights, my fears Tonight I won't be denied Can you feel the hunger, the hunger? Can you feel the hunger, the hunger? His vision was slowly tunneling, hazing over red. It was hard to think. Harder to feel. Something... anger... something in him was angry. But... he felt strong, he felt powerful. He could hear a thrumming, but somehow he knew it was not his heart. His heart didn't beat. He could hear them out there, out in the streets and alleys, and could feel the pulsing throbbing call. No. Something... anger. Something in him raged. Something in him pull-No. He was hungry, he realized. Starving, really. Everything smelt like fo-NO. With an effort of will he turned back towards the darkness of the alley. He could hear the small thing's heartbeat - or at least he thought he could - and so he flung himself onto it as the hunger roared inside his mind. Tilting the mask up briefly, he sunk his fangs into the matted fur and felt the warm splash of blood soak his mouth. And so he drank, like a drowning man might gasp for air, unless the slender squeaking thing stopped moving and the roar inside his mind finally subsided, satisfied, if however barely, with this small indulgence. Never-ever satisfied Gotta feed this appetite Before it pulls me under Can you feel the hunger, the hunger? Can you feel the hunger, the hunger? And so he took to the rooftops and ran. From what, however, he was not quite sure.

Perfectly un/happy

CW: Implied thoughts of Suicide https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5gyANphz_Kk The plan had been simple. Vodacce and the people there had set him on the path with the skills he would need to hunt from the shadows. The monster that laid the curse on him was out there in the shadows somewhere and the monster that killed his mother lived inside him. The plan had been simple. Find the monsters... and kill them. Would anyone notice If tonight I disappeared? Would anyone chase me And say the words that I need to hear? That I'm no burden Not so worthless Bent so much that I just might break All-consuming So confusing The questions that keep me awake The lights of his city shone out from the rooftop of the Parliament building; it was one of his favorite places. High enough to watch the city and the people moving about it - calm, cool, and quiet. He'd brought Arinelle here, once, out of a mad and careless desire to simply find some way, some reason, some pretense to spend more time with her. He'd told her one truth - he'd peeled away one layer of the masks he wore and, to his surprise, she had not turned away. He could still remember the feel of his lips on hers and that momentary blinding brilliance of their kiss that silenced even the hunger in the back of his mind. His eyes shifted from the brilliance of the lights to the shadows at the base of the Parliament building. Would anyone care, would anyone cry If I finally stepped off of this ledge tonight? Would anything change, would you all be just fine? 'Cause I need a reason to not throw the fight It just might save my life Would anyone want me If they knew what was inside my head? Would anyone see me For the person that I really am? The near relief on Cardinal's face lived burned into his mind if for no other reason than he did not understand it. There was much of her, like himself, still cloaked and shrouded, still hidden and kept locked away. She understood that some stories moved at different paces, but like the rest of him he could see all too well the look of horror and shock that could live there if they knew the whole truth. And yet... And yet his fingers remembered the sense of her skin under his fingertips and the way she curled against him, soft, and warm, and trusting. To earn her trust was no mean feat, he knew. And yet he knew he was lying to her - even as he told her there were secrets yet unsaid. The plan had been simple. Find the monsters. Kill the monsters. I won't lie So hard to hide I've never felt worthy of love I would give up Everything I have Just to feel good enough He would need to tell Maelie, he mused as he contemplated the fall. What had started as mere passion, the drivings-on of the Hunger, had become something more. She saw the good in him, wanted to see something for a future he did not himself see. Trust, and the depth of emotions he did not quite understand how to express, had bloomed where passion and connection had sparked. It would be only right to tell her - and would allow him to at least explain the differences that her perceptiveness had already begun to pick up. Would anyone care, would anyone cry If I finally stepped off of this ledge tonight? Would anything change, would you all be just fine? 'Cause I need a reason to not throw the fight It just might save my life He'd told Miranda almost everything. And yet she did not understand the depth of what drove him or the Hunger that lurked behind his eyes. How could he explain the rising tide of fury, rage, and animalistic response in the middle of their argument. She'd realized, clever one she was, that his actions had been to try and force their father to disown him - and they had argued. He regarded the stories long drop slowly. It would be the simplest thing to step into the air and simply fly. Would anyone notice If tonight I disappeared? Would anyone chase me And say the words that I need to hear? The plan had been simple. Find the monsters. Kill the monsters. The plan had not allowed for Alex to discover who he was and love him regardless. The plan had not allowed for passionate nights that turned to tender mornings with Maelie. The plan had not allowed for how Arinelle's contrast, her light to his shadows, would call to him like a moth to a flame. The plan had not allowed for Cardinal's simple kindness to cut through every layer of armor he'd wrapped himself in. The plan had not allowed for Miranda to suddenly be a woman of poise, intellect, purpose, and courage where a young girl had once been. He slowly stepped back from the ledge, looking out over the city. Somewhere, in the darkest shadows of the deepest pits, that monster was there. And all the others he would find and drag into the light along the way. The shadows of the long fall would wait for another night - there was work to be done, still. But what right did he have to be happy? To feel peace? When so many monsters still walked the face of the world and the image of his mother, taken from a locket he'd hidden as a child, still burned brightly in his mind. Would anyone care, would anyone cry If I finally stepped off of this ledge tonight? Would anything change, would you all be just fine? 'Cause I need a reason to not throw the fight It just might save my life Would anyone want me If they knew what was inside my head? Would anyone see me For the person that I really am?

Easier to Run towards the Ashes

It's easier to run Replacing this pain with something numb It's so much easier to go Than face all this pain here all alone Dona was charming, skilled, and social. Of course she would find him. The words, themselves, were benign - the lady had made an impact, he'd said, but it was the smirk. The smirk which caused the hunger inside his mind to roar to life, to declare his territory, his property, to see this other man driven before him like prey. It made no sense, of course - he himself was slowly falling in love with a handful of people, but the comparison is where his mind stuck him. Something has been taken from deep inside of me A secret I've kept locked away No one can ever see Wounds so deep they never show They never go away Like moving pictures in my head For years and years they've played Dona wasn't broken. He wasn't compelled to don a mask and armor and fly into the night hunting the monsters within the darkest of shadows. He could... simply... be himself. He could adventure and court and be social, knowing there was some kind of future. Dona was warm and charming and his smiles reached his eyes. And his own was not. His smiles were a mask over the hunger that he was forcing back into the corners of his mind. His prey was about, somewhere in the darkness, and he forced his mind to realize it was not, in fact, this man sitting across from him who simply had the poor luck to be a better man than he. You, who isolates yourself within despair Reflecting only poisoned roots and gnarled branches twisting Allowing vines to wrap your mind and lay it bare With all your hope abandoned to this fiction you are living You, who only sees a barren path ahead No peaceful shade to offer only rended branches swaying The quiet that you sought now suffocates instead Forcing you to hear the very heart that you are breaking "... she is in love with Cardinal, after all." Of course she is. Even though the smiling man opposite him doesn't say it, something in his tone says he is too. They deserve each other, he mused, these creatures of the light. Warm and kind and noble - the three of them would be happy together, once it was done. You, a shadow of the life that you project Your withered leaves bely this lonely visage you protect And carved upon this vessel are the scars that you collect A gallery of truths that would be better to forget But you, a cinder of the fire that's yet to come Will you just sit and mourn this fragile thing that you've become The night called to him as it did not call to them. No matter the lies, no matter the false smiles and facades, they came from different worlds and they belonged together in a way he never would. Unbidden, the spires of Parliament came to his mind - and the many nights he sat atop them, pondering the darkness of the distance to the ground. It waited for him, that final leap into the shadows of his life, and it would be there once his mission was done. Could the lies that you believe Be a fear of the unknown If you don't know who you are Then who is it you hate All the lies that swallow you whole Don't even know your name Hey Hey Hey Who is it you hate Hey Hey Hey Who is it you hate

Mother

"I hope whoever she is is proud of you, that person you lost." In an instant he was not the wild vagabond, leaping from roof to roof and swinging down into danger at a single moment's notice. He was a small boy in a mask, doing as all small boys do - Pretending. You, who isolates yourself within despair Reflecting only poisoned roots and gnarled branches twisting Allowing vines to wrap your mind and lay it bare With all your hope abandoned to this fiction you are living You, who only sees a barren path ahead No peaceful shade to offer only rended branches swaying The quiet that you sought now suffocates instead Forcing you to hear the very heart that you are breaking What whispered words do you hear In a voice you do not know Could the lies that you believe Be a fear of the unknown If you don't know who you are Then who is it you hate All the lies that swallow you whole Don't even know your name Hey Hey Hey Who is it you hate Hey Hey Hey Who is it you hate Mercy is the name for Mother on the hearts and minds of children. It is to a mother of mercy one turns when the world becomes too hard; it is the guiding hand of that motherhood which steers the rudder of one's life. It is to a mother that the first pains of life are brought - broken bones and skinned knees, first crushes and first heartbreaks. In a mother's arms that a child finds rest, comfort, and certainty amid the uncertain world around them as they grow and explore, learn and question, and ultimately take those first brave steps out on their own. You, the seed within a heart that reaches out To satisfy a thirst you've never known before existed But you're too far from any source to end your drought No wellspring to call upon No rivers to descend in So you, who dwells upon horizons out of view The ground that you were sown upon is desolate and wilting An empty pattern that is mirroring your truth That no matter what you have you'll only dream of what you're missing What whispered words do you hear In a voice you do not know Could the lies that you believe Be a fear of the unknown If you don't know who you are Then who is it you hate All the lies that swallow you whole Don't even know your name Hey Hey Hey Who is it you hate Hey Hey Hey Who is it you hate Some part of him knew he was staring, frozen, at the Woman. How could she know - though the train of logic in the back of his mind connected the dots easily; the sister had spoken of what he'd told her. It made sense, of course - she would return to the light of her normal life and share her brief moment within the shadows. Mother is the name for Mercy on the hearts and minds of all children. You, a shadow of the life that you project Your withered leaves bely this lonely visage you protect And carved upon this vessel are the scars that you collect A gallery of truths that would be better to forget But you, a cinder of the fire that's yet to come Will you just sit and mourn this fragile thing that you've become Or instead will you consume the very things you can't outrun Until you finally see all of the strength that you draw from What whispered words do you hear In a voice you do not know He'd murdered his mother to enter the world, carrying a curse through her blood that now grew night by night within him. The hunger was a living thing which nightly gnawed upon the narrows of his mind. Each drink, each feigned bit of amusement, not only failed to quell the beast but seemed to egg it onwards all the more. Each night flying upon the rooftops of the poor and destitute, hunting the monster which he somehow knew was out there, only drove him more into that hunger as a predator among prey, seeking other predators for the ultimate hunt. Mother was the name for mercy on the hearts and minds of all children. But there was no mercy left for him. Only revenge and the long, dark, night that lay beyond. Could the lies that you believe Be a fear of the unknown If you don't know who you are Then who is it you hate All the lies that swallow you whole Don't even know your name

Promises I can't Keep

The city was quiet as he moved from rooftop to rooftop. It was a peaceful quiet in the hours before dawn would rise and for the moment, he was thankful for that silence that would allow his mind to try and sort through the strange conflicting feelings that crawled up his spine and took roost inside his thoughts. What's the difference between a man and a monster Is it somewhere between I can and I want to Is it somewhere between the promises I made And the fact I couldn't see something getting in the way It should have been simple. Hunt the wicked. Hunt the monsters. Find them within the dark shadows of their lives, walk into the very dens of darkness they thought were safe, and show them how unsafe they truly were. Hunt and search and fight until he found the monster he was looking for in the longest shadows of the deepest hole. And then people had happened. I used to think that I know what I want Never saw it coming unglued I used to think that I know what I want Now it's time to see if it's true I had so much certainty 'Til that moment I lost control And I've tried but it never was up to me I've got no worse enemy Than the fear of what's still unknown And the time's come to realize there will be Promises I can't keep He should have never told her he loved her. When the confidante had first started seeing him, he’d begun to develop feelings there, he mused, but he’d thrown them into the back of his mind. They were supposed to make people feel like that and he knew it was nothing more than an illusion. And then when Alexandra realized who he was, and promised to stand by him, to help him. She was peace for him. And he’d ruined by admitting to her his love only for her to feel she was unworthy of it. What's the difference between a loss and a forfeit I tried to make it better, but I made it more sick I tried to make it right, now awake at night I know reality was getting in the was I used to think that I knew who I was Never saw it coming unglued I used to think that I knew who I was Now it's time to see if it's true He shouldn’t have lost control. There was something in the way Maelie moved, the way she lived, that he was drawn to. Her passion was a fire and, like a moth, he was compelled even as he knew it was a distraction from the mission. It opened him up to risk and to danger and to being caught again. There was no way, he mused, as he leapt across the rooftops, that he would be fortunate enough again should he be discovered. Every bit closer she got was simply more danger. She was passion for him. A place to revel in the fire of connection and not be as lonely. And he’d been forced to ruin it because there was no way to truly tell her his dreams. She wouldn’t have understood. I had so much certainty Til that moment I lost control And I've tried but it never was up to me I've got no worse enemy Than the fear of what's still unknown And the time's come to realize there will be Promises I can't keep He shouldn’t have touched her. The cleric was his opposite and contrast. Where he was darkness and shadows she was brilliance and light. How could he -not- be attracted to her quiet determination and resolution? How could he not find her utterly charming in her complete straightforward innocence? She wanted to know who he was under the mask and while she never pressured him for it, he knew it was a gulf between them. But if she knew, truly knew, what he was how could she not judge him? How could she not hate him if she eventually found the truth? She was determination for him. A place to feel confident in the mission and task he’d set himself, the impossible quest that had become the focus of his life. And there was no way to cross the gulf between them – no matter how much he wanted to see affection in her golden eyes. I had so much certainty Til that moment I lost control And I've tried but it never was up to me I've got no worse enemy Than the fear of what's still unknown And the time's come to realize there will be He never should have grown attached. The bard was happy, he saw. Happy with Maelie – the care between them was evident even if they did not say a word. In a way, he was glad; he could not be the thing which brought either of them that happiness. He had too many secrets. He was simply too fucked up. After all, wasn’t he already the joke of the city? He’d set out to hunt his personal monsters and somewhere along the line the mission had become muddled with whatever it was this city needed. And it had felt good to be thought a hero for a time. Except they did not see him as one – either a villain, a monster, or simply a joke. She was inspiration for him. A place to feel like he could tackle this impossible task he’d set himself on. He’d come from everything and so starting his quest had been an almost simple matter. Money was its own magic of sorts and it allowed for time, training, supplies, and all the rest. Sareena had nothing. Every copper she owned she’d worked and saved for. She’d come from the lowest pits of poverty and had refused to let it make her uncaring or unkind. And she was happier with someone else. Promises I can't keep Promises I can't keep

A Dance Macabre

Something told him he belonged here. Around and around the dancers turned in graceful and elegant movements. Around and around the dancers moved with that inhuman grace of which he could only borrow a mere thimbleful - or else risk drowning in the endless blood of his curse. Some dark and shadowed part of him called for it, longed for it, to just... give in. To give up. It would have been so simple to give up and relax the mental muscle that was always tensed. How simple, some part of him mused, as he watched the vampires descend on their fallen comrade. How simple, his body informed him as he felt his fangs descend in his mouth, to simply take. And then they were on him and any illusion he had of being the predator, being the hunter of those monsters, fled in a panic he could feel running through him like an electric current. He was insane, he was foolish, he was deluded to think that he alone could fight the darkness. Under a swarm of fangs and claws and limbs he felt the bite and sting of every one as if simply to prove that he was weak, powerless, and would simply be better served by giving in. The air of the hallway was stifling, even as his deathless lungs never moved. The phantom impressions of a pulse in his veins thundered in his ears even as he knew it was false. There was one door remaining, and how could it possibly be worse than seeing the horrors of his own self image preying upon himself? And then, somehow, it was worse. The food, his mind noted, looked amazing. Food and he had a strange relationship since he was never particularly hungry, though he did enjoy the process of eating and the taste of good food and better ales and yet... The Hunger roared to life with enough strength to knock him from his feet, staggering him. The food looked amazing. His companions looked better. For the second time in as many minutes he felt his fangs descend and with an effort of will clamped his jaws shut. Step by aching step he took past the feasting table which instilled in his mind vivid images of lovemaking with Alex as his fangs buried into her neck, of tearing the cleric's clothes away and splashing vibrant red blood against pristine white skin, of chasing Schatzi through the hallways of the house, one more bit of prey to be felled, drank, and left as a corpse. Step by aching step he had walked past that table, his mind filling with images of how easy it would be to hunt in this city, in the warrens - after all, wasn't he already practicing that? It would be so easy to take the mask off and simply feed each night instead of this constant aching emptiness inside him. Eventually, the doors opened and closed, and the night air greeted them again, but that pressing Hunger remained behind visions of red eyes, dancing, and enough blood that he might never be hungry again.... I'm turning into a monster You better run and hide Turning into a monster Right before your eyes

The Hunt

“Why do you do it?” The Woman had asked. Nevermore regarded the training dummy as he stepped into it, the posts sticking out at odd angles to indicate lines of attack in a hand to hand fight. The manuals were clear on the process for arm positions, blocking, moves and counter moves – and so he began to move, slowly. If there was one concept he understood intuitively it was that speed came from time – slow became smooth and then smooth became fast. As his elbows, hands, shoulders, slowly thudded against the wooden training dummy, the words rolled around his mind. He was present in the moment, in the practice, because it could save his life, but there was still the corner of his mind that wrestled with that single question. What in the name of all the Gods was he doing? His hands hurt. His arms hurt. His shoulders hurt. His legs hurt. Everything hurt and protested over and again as they impacted the hardened and treated wood of the dummy. What was he doing? Sure, he had certain advantages because of the curse, but each night he put on that mask and went out into the darkness was a night where he was risking loosing control and giving into the Hunger which gnawed at his mind like a feral beast. For not the first time, he was thankful he’d asked Bastion to design a full face mask so that he was protected as much as restrained from hurting – truly hurting – anyone else. He could feel the blood beginning to appear on his skin – that strange slow seep that wasn’t quite true bleeding. The wood was tearing his skin and one part of him spun off into pondering what lie he would spin to cover it this time. Finally, he came to a stop, eyeing the stoic and silent training dummy that had the faint crimson marks on the various extensions. He wasn’t breathless because he didn’t need to breathe. He wasn’t bloodied because he didn’t need to bleed. Monster or man, he pondered slowly. Hunter or hunted? Lies within lies within masks – that was what his life was now if he was to pursue the mission he had given himself – if he was to pursue the Hunt. Somewhere, out in those Novandrian Nights, was the monster he was hunting. Somewhere, out in those Novandrian Nights, he would find it and it would die under the white and shining lenses of his eyes.

Sentinel

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAUHTchi8lY The gym equipment was almost absurdly easy to acquire, and since he’d given it a space of time since having the underground of the mansion hollowed out by some perhaps less than reputable earth-workers, there was plenty of space for it. I know you're tired Of fighting and feeling you're losing ground I know your desires To shape your own fate and let peace abound At the moment, the cave under the manor looked bare and sparse – he’d planned for later growth but at the moment he didn’t know what he didn’t know – and didn’t know what he would need. A lone desk sat to one side, covered with broadsheets, and in front of a wide board of his clippings and notes. I see you're weary With the ghosts of a life that is haunting your bones Your spirit is angry Howling defiance to all the unknowns They thought he fought crime – in truth, he mused as he walked past the desk, he didn’t particularly care about crime. He cared about the fact that predators hunted the innocent – and somewhere, among those predators, was the monster he was hunting. The monster that had attacked his mother, that had passed this curse down to him. He could hear that curse, a voiceless and nameless hunger in the back of his mind at all times save perhaps in the midst of the fight itself. So when you ask who will ride before you Who will bring your banner to bear Who will answer the carnage calling us Send me forth, I will always be there He passed the small cot he put down here that was as yet unused. With Mira in the house, she’d notice if he was gone that much and while the featherdown bed was too comfortable, too soft, and too large for him to feel comfortable in it, there were appearances that to be maintained. Nevermore turned instead towards the exercise equipment which had originally drawn him here. He couldn’t go find a teacher – that would’ve been far too obvious; instead, he would do things the hard way. I know the sorrow In the words that you whisper out into thе dark The fears of tomorrow Cold as the grave, they refuse to depart I see what this takes And the iron will forcing your feet to move on And left in your wake WIll be a trial of the victories you've won As so he closed his eyes, searching for some kind of focus and balance inside himself, and began to move through the exercises he’d researched – punches and kicks, shifting and moving to turn one fluid movement into the next. If he was going to go fight the monsters in the night with nothing but his bare hands, then it was time to begin mastering them in truth. And as he fought, that gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind became blessedly silent. So when you ask who will ride before you Who will bring your banner to bear Who will answer the carnage calling us Send me forth, I will always be there

Sir Victor Orsei Playlist

Early Life What I've Done - Linkin Park Born for this - The Score Save Me - Skillet Hurricane - Zayde Wolf The Incident Easier to Run - Linkin Park Madman - Sam Tinnesz In my Bones - The Score Dead Man Walking - Sam Tinnesz Voddace Crawling - Linkin Park The Hunger - The Score Heathens - 21 Pilots Fame, Fortune, Money, Power - Zayde Wolf Good Thing - Zedd and Khalani El Capitan - Zayde Wolf The Fear - The Score Homecoming New Divide - Linkin Park Darkside - Sam Tinnesz Sharks - Imagine Dragons Out for Blood - Valley of Wolves Man on a Mission - Oh the Larceny Leading the Pack - Sam Tinnesz Game Play: Lay of the Ashes - Syr Wake the White Wolf - Miracle of Sound Sound of Silence - Disturbed Midnight - Beth Crowley

The Hunt Begins

“Under the Mask” The metal of the mask was heavy in his hands. Nevermore wasn’t sure why it was heavy - it was a thin set of metallic plates that Batian had specifically made for him. The lens would let him go out in the daytime or be exposed to bright lights without having to avoid them and the hood and cowl would do the rest. He wasn’t ready, and he knew it; that was the problem. He’d returned to Eisen with a single intent and enough training to begin, but it was the beginning that was the problem. He’d already started establishing his alter ego - it was so difficult sometimes to play the part of the spoiled noble who sought only drink and distraction. To appear weak and useless, to appear helpless - it pulled and chafed like ill fitting clothing. Here, in the privacy of his den, he finally felt like he could think. The process to hollow out some of the earth underneath the manor was proceeding along. It had taken more coin than he wanted to think about to get someone to shape earth enough to hollow it out - and again the act, one more spoiled noble squandering coin on a private panic room, even if this one was overlarge. It would be impossible to find from the house unless one knew where to look, and both secure and accessible from the outside. It would be a perfect place to begin. He’d pulled the funds from the corners of everywhere, all but shaving the coppers with a razor in order to make sure that Baron Reginald couldn’t find or track it. While his ‘father’ ostensibly controlled the house's finances, he had left much of the Eisen household to Nevermore’s care. Nevertheless, however, there was always the risk that Baron Reginald would swoop in and investigate and so the utmost care was needed. His eyes traced back to the mask, the black metal shining in the dim light of the hollowed out cave; he didn’t bother with torches, but the moon reflected through various nooks and crannies in the cave system. He didn’t feel ready, some part of him noted, even though he had all the pieces he needed to start.He didn’t feel ready, even though he’d begun the practice of honing his skills - Vodacce had done wonders for refining his ability to hide and skulk about. In a way, he’d been hiding all his life from the father who reviled him because of how he came into the world.Vodacce has been the place where the idea of the mask - of hiding out in plain sight - had been born and now as Nevermore held the mask in his hand the reality of it seemed to strike home. He’d never been a fighter. Until the curse had manifested, he’d been sickly, ill, anemic, and bookish. The curse had strengthened his body even as it burdened him with the eternal hunger that lived in the back of his mind ever since that day. His hands moved the mask to his face, settling it into the latches on the cloak and cowl that would keep it in place even as he moved. Turning, he looked at himself in the mirror for a long, slow, moment. The light armor moved easily on him as he shifted, feeling the fit and lay of it and the cloak covered most of him. He knew that the shadows would be his greatest ally in the fight to come - that he would need to walk in the darkest places and the deepest shadows in order to hunt the things which hurt mankind - for only in the darkest shadows of the deepest holes in the most wicked of the world’s places would he find the monster he was hunting. Ready or not, he mused, as he turned to leave, the hunt begins.

Sir Victor Orsei von Tressard