Fiction on Other Websites

This character was created for a tabletop role-playing game set in the Ravenloft world. It was written in November 2008.

It was well into the night, another sleepless night. Sleep has found some way to evade my tired soul ever since I dared to use that blasted ink pen. Was it out of pride? Out of greed? Or out of desperation? I am no longer sure, about anything. All that I know, is that nothing has ever been the same for these past two years. I don't even know why I am always thinking about these things, I should move forward, move past these horrible events. I can't.


I scratched my head absently, stifling a yawn. Tea maybe? My mouth was half opened to ask Anne for some, but remembered my staff was fast asleep. There was a time where I had hired so many, they could cater to my whims well into the night. Now I only had half a score. As I moved to the kitchen, I wondered if I should hire any more. I was much more wealthy now, and yet having many people around me at all time increasingly annoyed me.


I pondered on this gradual change in my behavior as I boiled some water on the stove. Again, I could not quite say what had occurred. A man is after all is at once the poorest judge of himself and the best. I felt very far from the best right now. Nevertheless, I could change. Or could I? I told myself a year ago I would go outside and enjoy life; that didn't work out so well. Then again, why is it so wrong to enjoy a drink or four in a secluded study, with no one to pester you? Out there they say I'm anti-social or that I spend my all my time writing. That last part is wishful thinking, if I ever heard any. I'd like to tell them: «I'm not anti-social, I just have a general dislike and contempt for you all.» But, that would be just rude. Also, I'd have to go outside.


The tea kettle whistled, clearly telling me I had rambled on enough. As I removed the protesting kettle, pain lance through my hand, causing me to drop it back on the stove. It whistled again as I contemplated the sting on my palm. I had forgotten about the grip on the kettle getting so hot, but more importantly, I had forgotten feeling anything so vivid before. I savored the gnawing sensation of the burn, all the while wayward little kettle kept calling for my attention. It too started to annoy me, couldn't I experience this in peace? Even the latest caresses of a woman hadn't been on par with this flaring part. Alright, maybe not, but they hadn't been so sudden and vivid. Already the throbbing subsided and I wondered if I should put my other hand on the kettle.


Deciding that I had burned myself enough for one night, I picked a cloth and removed the offensive kettle from the stove and from my sight. Spirits would be better than tea, maybe a nice glace of bourbon? Yes, that would dull the pain, and everything else. Moving to the study, I picked a glass and a random bottle of fine bourbon. Then, as I observed the amber liquid in the bottle, I decided the glass was unnecessary. Once the glass was back in a cupboard, I took a seat and swung the bottle to my lips. I had felt enough for tonight. Tomorrow, I would have the splitting headache, but for now, I would be in the bliss of numbness.


I admit, at this point, I started losing track of time. A few minutes passed, or an hour, could be either; before I fell asleep. The bottle of bourbon presumably stayed on my lap, because it was there when I woke up a few hours later to light footsteps. How nice, someone joined me to drink! Well, I couldn't just sit around here half-asleep. Guests should be greeted properly. For that reason, and that reason alone, I also picked up my pistol on the way out of my study. Each step wasn't easy, because, for some reason unknown to me, my blasted manor kept shaking left and right. I honestly felt a bit sick, but a glance at the expensive rug under my stumbling feet convinced me to hold it in.


The door to my study opened before I could reach it. How thoughtful. I realised it was less so when a dark figure stepped into the study, blocking my way. Oddly, my first thought was that it was too bad it was not a woman who had broken in. I could have used the company. Still, my senses were not completely burned out by alcohol. Bourbon in hand, I pointed my pistol in the general direction of the man, although I could not be sure if my aim was true or not since the manor kept quivering.


«Who are you?» I tried to ask, but the words came out all wrong. «Woooo rrr uuuuuu?»


The figure didn't answer, instead he pushed aside my weapon, which I fired moments later. The bullet hit an oaken bookcase behind him, and I wondered how he had moved so fast. Before I could react, he revealed a dagger and lunged for my chest. I watched in cool detachment as it pierced my abdomen. Luckily for me, the bourbon spared me the worse of the immediate pain. Nevertheless, I felt the bottle slip from hand and briefly saw it spill on the floor. My own blood soon mixed with the amber liquid. The figure was nowhere to be seen now and as the floor slowly moved toward me, I could only think of how much trouble it would be cleaning that rug. About then, the pain kicked it. The light burn on my hand had been interesting. This was agonizing and unbearable. If only I had not dropped the bourbon, I could make everything better. All I could do now was sleep, everything would be better in the morning. Giving up on any further thought, I let my eyelids enclose my vision into comforting darkness, into nothingness.