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Stories of Monsters 
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Evil Genius
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Post Stories of Monsters
I'm beating sPtJanly to the punch here with a very silly and dumb story.

------------

Greetings good sirs,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has come to my attention that you four are the current group who are "hunting" me, as your professional jargon would have it. I would prefer the use of "partisan actions regarding the justified use of personal leisure time," but I understand: obligations to your professional guild and its traditions come first. I will not take it personally.

If anything, I am an open minded individual who looks to judge others not by the colour of their skin, the pointiness of their ears, or even the fuzziness of their feet, but by their actions. Although I was raised to be as intransigent and unfair as others of my standing, I never felt comfortable doing as such. I was and am still the very portrait of a modern, forward thinking employer: my servants are contractual employees with considerable benefits; I insist on giving everyone a fair chance in the great game of life.

Through the years I have made sure to employ a number of talented individuals who would have otherwise gone unnoticed due to the various levels of rampant prejudice and discrimination found in this once great land. In fact, the individuals who helped me in establishing contact with you are some of my best men; yet, before meeting me, they were aimlessly going from one meaningless occupation to the next, suffering from embarrassing blows to their self esteem at the hands of cruel patrons.

I grant you that a behooved caliban, a lisp-afflicted half-hobgoblin, and a puzzlingly hairless albino Barovian are likely to attract some attention were they to unfortunately find themselves entering the same drinking establishment at the same time. But on the field they perform with exceptional efficiency. After all, they found your identities despite your efforts to maintain a cloak of anonymity (figuratively speaking, of course; I am in no way accusing you of the theft of my precious family heirloom).

Having said all this, you might not know this, but I am constantly parting with traditions as I've decided to use my considerable family fortune to better the lives of poor families in my local community. Education, employment, remunerated internship possibilities, and sometimes, even love. I find that it keeps me occupied. Mother did always say that idleness leads to inappropriateness. As well you know.

I am currently reading the reports from my agents - not an easy task as my employee literacy programme is still in its infancy. But if I am to understand this correctly, you have not taken the time to research your subject properly. Sometimes I secretly wish we could go back to the days of Van Richten, when people in your profession were more methodical in their approach.

I suppose I'm an old romantic fool at heart.

So I'll take this opportunity to enlighten you. First and foremost, I assure you that I at no time planned or desired this current "condition" with which I am burdened. I carry it well, or so I'm told by my peers, but it does make social interaction a tad awkward at times. How many times have you been confronted with a surprised "Good sir, I do believe those are your teeth in my neck!"

How am I supposed to answer such a query? "Well yes, it so happens I am a vampire and I drink human blood. But besides that, I am taking a number of steps to ensure positive change in my local community. Have you heard of my recent 'No child without a book' campaign? It's quite progressive and huh... positive, if I do say so myself."

Hardly a situation YOU have to contend with, I'm sure.

Furthermore, as a youth my parents made it very clear that I was to marry the most boring woman in the land. I've met earthworms more engaging than she, alas my family being as they were - which is to say cautious to the point of social, political and economical inertia - they couldn't let their darling boy marry anyone too bold or not as fortunate as they felt our family name warranted.

My kingdom for a plain woman! This frigid, petrified tree I was to whom I was married had no interests, no passion, and possibly no pulse - physical proximity to her was strictly forbidden, not that I would have willingly approached her in any case.

Can you blame this poor, silly boy for falling hopelessly in love with a mysterious stranger with flaming hair and smouldering eyes? A Borcan strain almost extinct now; a rare, magical breed of woman unlike any you've ever randomly encountered due to the dice rolling of the heavens' fortunes. When she moved, her body swayed with the four winds as if dancing. And her charming accent! The way she rolled tongue gave a young, unhappily married man indecent thoughts which I'm sure you may interpret as early signs of my desperate perversion and thoroughly unsavoury character.

You're certainly not the first.

I was young and inexperienced in the ways of life. The woman did not cast a reflection and I do believe I noticed a certain aberration in her dentition - canines a tad too long for a normal human - but I was open minded and very willing to be swept off my feet by her. Her tales of wild adventures under the cover of night made me an easy prey to her temptations.

So, I did what most men in my situation would have done.

The woman, you ask? She left me and I've never heard from her ever again. I do recall seeing her at le confrère's little get together in Port-a-Lucine, but she ignored me.

You see, my existence has had its share of less pleasant moments, just as yours. Moreover, my condition is unique in that I find myself unable to properly depart this physical realm. It gets complicated, but I trust you are slightly smarter or at least serious than some of your predecessors and will understand my plight. I am the Punch and Judy doll of these great celestial entities that decide our fate at the proverbial roll of a dice; forever to return no matter how excruciating and "final" my end may be.

Truth be told, it does make for amusing banter during those all too rare meetings with peers.

"So the other day, I wake up with a stake in my chest. Only the poor sod didn't know which side the heart is located! Oh my! That's nothing; one decided that he would stake me where I would rather not reveal in the presence of polite company. Now that was just tasteless and uncalled for! No respect, I say! Who taught him that, I ask you? Dare I imagine what they will try next?"

And this one time, a group of bold and decidedly adventurous fellows bound and gagged me only to throw me into a raging river. I was sore for a week! My condition does not make me immune to pain, despite what your numerous tomes and manuals might lead you to believe.

And frankly, waking up and nearly choking to death (again) due to a bulb of garlic lodged in my mouth is as unpleasant as you can imagine.

Oh and that ring of powdered holy wafers on the ground? I believe my maid would like to have a few words with you on that subject.

Yet I greet each new evening with a smile and hope for a better tomorrow for all. Consider this letter to be both my formal introduction and a call for peace. Let us bury the hatchet in the ground rather than my neck as I lay sleeping.

Sincerely,

Mr.Jayner Hick III


Last edited by Zettaijin on Thu Oct 28, 2010 7:29 am, edited 1 time in total.



Sun Oct 24, 2010 7:39 am
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
I didn't find that "dumb or silly" in the slightest. Very fine piece of work. A pompous, but jolly vampire is something you just don't expect. I really like it! Thanks for sharing.

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Wed Oct 27, 2010 6:39 am
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Evil Genius
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
Thanks!

I ended up revising my work as I hadn't done any proofing before I hit the submit button.

My plan was to make a silly story where a frustrated generic vampire archetype comes out of the closet to explain that if we just paid a little more attention, he might not be so generic after all. And maybe, just maybe he isn't THAT much of a bad guy either. He's something of a cross between Will E. Coyote, The Brain, and Steve Jobs.

I'm particularly pleased with his initial rant on prejudice. I too think we shouldn't judge others on the fuzziness of their feet.


Wed Oct 27, 2010 8:36 am
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
Further adventures of Jayner Ick III, the slightly annoyed generic vampire.

-------------
Dear sirs,

It has come to my attention that your group of "adventurers" as you so often call yourselves, paid a visit to my ancestral abode today. I'm sorry I couldn't be on hand to welcome you, but as a vampire I am forced to sleep during the daytime hours; which you may or may not have known at the time of your visit.

If it isn't too much to ask, could you please refrain from visiting as I lay in deep slumber. Furthermore, while I welcome visitors (much to the chagrin of the rather curmudgeonly spirits of my parents, I'm sure - actually their undying souls trapped in the catacombs forever to lament their callousness in life have told me so in one of their tedious lectures) I myself have a very strict code of conduct with regards to entering another person's residence: if I am not invited, I do not enter. It is a simple, effective, and more importantly very civil code, I think, one I urge others such as yourselves to obey in turn.

How many local noble lords will welcome strangers into their opulent houses, castles, and manors for wine and cheese? In keeping with my desire to provide a much needed "fresh coat of paint" to a suffocating social class, I decided that opening the doors to my home would be a necessary first step. I did not however envision careless individuals bullying my maid, interrogating my grounds keeper and turning over every table, chair, and rug along with opening every cabinet, door and drawer found within.

You'll have to pardon my curiosity, but what were you looking for? What did you hope to accomplish by twisting and turning every torch and lamp in my basement? Chests filled with gold, and various accumulated items of value randomly stashed away in the many improbably located and architecturally suspect secret rooms of my residence? A powerful magical sword belonging to my estranged brother for whom I feel nothing but eternal hate and envy; an item with which one could hope to finally put me to rest?

I'm afraid if this is the case, then you've been reading too many heroic tales of dark basements and giant lizards.

Annoyedly yours,

Jayner Hick III

P.S.: Please refrain from lodging my index finger up my nasal cavity as I am enjoying my well deserved daytime slumber.


Last edited by Zettaijin on Fri Oct 29, 2010 10:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Fri Oct 29, 2010 10:12 pm
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
Dude, you need to do a comments thread or discussion thread like the rest of us did so we can discuss your story without interrupting it. That said, BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! :lol: :lol: :lol:

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Fri Oct 29, 2010 10:34 pm
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
Dear diary,

This will be my first of what I hope will be many entries in your inviting pages. I am almost ashamed of admitting that I was unaware of just how popular it has become for the living impaired to write at length about their past as well as disclosing their various weaknesses and flaws. The other day, I was chatting away with my old, unruly chum, Yul the Undiying Scourge of Karina who explained that he is now keeping his various villainous schemes better organised by way of a detailed diary, including diagrams and various charts, maps and blueprints for those traps and contraptions created by the resident misunderstood scientist. You never know when you’ll forget that an unfortunate childhood incident left you psychologically crippled and prone to baneful suggestions were someone to adopt your father’s stern commanding tone and trademark hat and cane. Also, as of this writing, he is thinking of trading in his now infamous name for the gentler title of “Jon the Melancholic Soul of Karina” which he hopes will bring others to share his pain, and perhaps find love.

He is a brave man, and I wish him well in his journey toward self-actualisation and emotional restructuration.

Having said all this, I feel immediately liberated! No longer will sorrow and loneliness haunt my nights! Oh such joy I feel at having you by my side, my dearest diary!

----------------------------------

Dear diary,

Borislav, my faithful albino Barovian employee, was once again mistreated by those belligerent individuals who seek to challenge the advance of progressive, socially responsible institutions in the land. Such rage I felt that a burning crimson almost replaced my usual deathly palour. While physically impossible due to my biological makeup, I find no other suitable ways to put into words the extent of my anger!

Poor Borislav came to me with sullen, blackened eyes and various painful looking bruises.

The rights of witless minions, henchpersons, and hapless servants have been too often ignored by the masses! Something must be done!

----------------------------------

Dear diary,

Today I was confronted by a particularly verbose group of intruders whose modus operandi seemed to involve moralising and using dramatic posturing. While I applaud their erudition and champion any and all interest in the arts, even in shameless “adventurers” who never bother using the front door or even asking if I am currently available before making their way inside my abode by way of an ancient network of catacombs once used for purposes of joyous celebration without inadvertently disturbing one’s neighbours, it does not excuse the tone of voice they used with me.

I have feelings too, lest they forget.


Thu Nov 25, 2010 12:18 am
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
*laughs helplessly* Wooo, that is good stuff! ^^ I especially enjoyed his little jab at Strahd in the previous entry. As for Yul... I think he has a better shot at finding a girlfriend if he sticks with the 'Undying Scourge'-nickname. Some girls are into that. The new name would only attract Emo Goth-girls, if that.

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Tue Nov 30, 2010 5:15 pm
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
Dear diary,

Apologies are in order, I believe. I have neglected you so cruelly over these past months, leaving your blank pages to rot away in the dampness of this ill-conceived secret room which really had no place being built. Why must castles be so full of secret rooms and passages, especially ones which are bound to attract dust, dampness, pests, and wayward explorers attempting to find some all-powerful artifact hidden for centuries with hopes of keeping the world from plunging into chaos?

I'm afraid this discussion of the architectural decisions of my peers and ancestors will have to wait, for I am still seething - yes seething, not just fuming, or even bothered, but seething - at my parents' inability to properly comprehend my needs and desires, let alone my ambitions and the scope of my vision. Now, were you a sentient being and had I discussed the matter with you before, you might recall that my comrade Jezerjeff - or Jazzy as he is known among more intimate circles - and I had pondered putting our mutual dissatisfaction with our progenitors onto paper, possibly in the form of verses and rhymes. Wile this has yet to occur, I am sorely tempted to forge ahead by myself at this point.

The other day, I visited my parents' resting place in the catacombs of the ancestral abode where they are cursed to lament their wretched unlife for all eternity. That is if they accepted that they are currently no longer among the living. I feel acceptation is an important step in living one's unlife to its fullest, alas my parents are still in the denial phase. No amount of helpful scrolls will convince them of their current status.

As such, they are prone to act in rather unbecoming ways and promulgate unfair judgments upon my person. The latest being that I should leave the ancestral abode and build a new sinister lair of my own, not only that, but they suggested... nay, affirmed that I was in some way abusing their generosity. My father, ever the stern man even as he lacks legs since his torso more or less trails off into vaporous mists south of the equator (I'll reserve comments on how this affects my mother), went so far as to threaten to write my name off of their testament!

Adding insult to injury, my mother's incessantly nitpicking spectre chose to deride my choice of garments. I have a reputation to maintain, I quickly reminded her, but she merely turned her unsubstantial nose at me as if to say that I had no reputation to speak of.

There were talks of my taking liberties with the ancestral carriage, a thoroughly splendid piece of work worth quite a few coins. Accusations once again flew with my parents claiming that I had been using the carriage to engage in unseemly extra marital activities. Despite pleas that my not so dearly departed wife was probably already in an advanced stage of rigour mortis on our wedding day, and that I certainly would not lower myself to devouring lower quality peasant food within the luxurious confines of the carriage while looking for miniature spy imps hidden in the curves of some comely damsel.

I say to you, oh dearest diary, that I wish my voice could be heard across the land and find its way to the ears of my peers as I once again declare: truly the ever wailing ghosts of one's progenitors show difficulties in properly assessing the situational variables of their progeny's existence.


Fri Oct 14, 2011 6:35 am
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
Dear diary,

Apparently Yul the Undying Scourge has finally become Jon the Melancholic Soul of Katrina. I'm told this important step in my friend's pursuit of self introspective exploration has become the talk of the mountainous mist-bound village of taciturn and vaguely stereotypical inhabitants. By that I do not wish to infer that Katrina is such a place and I do deeply apologize if any citizen felt slighted due to my careless lack of disclosure of my intentions.

It has become rather difficult to engage in a conversation without finding at least one well worn expression that might come across as offensive to one or many individual living within the various realms.

Why just the other day I was telling Borislav that I simply did not know how to properly refer to his pale skin. While Borislav may not see any issue with the appellation "albino", could it be that he is simply holding back out of respect and fear of my vampiric might?

Getting back to the issue of Yul, or should I say Jon, it appears as if some of my kin feel a certain unease at the fluidity of his trope identity. Apparently, and I am not in any way condoning but merely stating, some would rather a vampire not seek to reinvent oneself and stay true to one's so-called nature.

Their words hurt, diary.

"Not all vampires are equal! Some can't pass for a romantic vampire due to their horrible appearance. Who ever heard of a bat-faced love machine? Yul has it easy! He doesn't understand our trope plight!"

Why must we turn against one another? Should we not support each other? Are we not community?

------------------

Dear diary,

Mother is complaining again.

Her wailing, pain wracked undying spirit was rather cross with me over my lack of brides, moreover it would seem Father is entertaining various theories which while he hasn't shared outright I could conceivably guess.

Why, I ask you, should we undead be forever locked in a fruitless pursuit? Should we not allow a fruit the time to properly bloom? For the ugly troglodyte to blossom into a repulsive troll?

I deem myself a late bloomer. I have after all only been among the undead for a few centuries and to be truly honest the women here are rather boring.

I keep reading about these dashing men of the night who elope with buxom wenches whose heaving bosom would make more than one pubescent boy blush, yet I find myself at the same drinking establishment surrounded mostly by men whose bodily odour could be best described as detrimental to unborn children and a potential cause of permanent blindness. "Be patient, Jayner..." I tell myself, hoping that I may find a bride other than the owner's wife and her childbirth facilitating hips. Besides, taking a married man's wife for your own is just not right.

Also, better for me to be single than spend centuries hunting down reincarnations of a long lost unrequited love like one famous vampire.


Sun Jul 19, 2015 10:23 am
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
This is just... awesome. :D

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Sun Jul 19, 2015 2:13 pm
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
Dear Diary,

One should never underestimate the knowledge one can gleam from a powerful network of spies and informants. While some, like that entirely artificial tart Zher, employ gypsies, tramps, and thieves to ensure that she is kept abreast of all things human and alive (she herself claims to have been born on a traveling show, something I and most of her peers have long since found to be as false as her hair), I prefer the softer touch of simpering, melancholic Caliban poets.

To each his own, I assume, yet my network never fails to impress.

Recently they brought me news of a new act in our fair land's cultural capital in Dementlieu. A new sensation which has garnered nothing but glowing reviews from all the local and thus best critics.

They are known as Dominic and the Obedients and I for one find that name to be refreshingly avant-garde as a deft critique of the current state of political matters and truly speaks to me as the product of arbitrary rules imposed by unjustly authoritarian figures.

"What do you hope to accomplish in your future existence, boy?" my father would scream at me as I lay in my room. Well, I for one now know that I shall be without fail moving my body in wild, uncoordinated ways to unruly and loud music!


Thu Jul 23, 2015 10:45 pm
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Post Re: Stories of Monsters
Dear diary,

Well I must admit that my time in Port-a-Lucine was rather disappointing. Not only did I fail at meeting Dominic and the Obedients, but the rudeness of its population stunned me.

I asked a number of gendarmes regarding their whereabouts only to be laughed at and insulted.

I was once even bludgeoned then forcefully dragged into a dark, damp alley among litter and vermin - he sole highlight of my time and a chance to partake in local traditions as I hear this is a particularly common way of greeting newcomers to the city. Were it not for this heartwarming display of local hospitality I would have found myself pondering the misery of unlife and, I dare not even entertain this thought but I must, write somber prose.

I did meet a strange man though, he was rather balding and pulled his remaining greying red hair into a tight ponytail. He wouldn't stop staring at me, squinting and furrowing his brow. I first assuming he had misplaced his glasses, but then I wondered to myself "What if he couldn't afford glasses? What if the crushing weight of the economical elite made it impossible for him to find proper aid in his twilight years?"

He seemed alarmed at my ponderousness and I now find myself wracked with guilt over my poor manners.

He often spoke in a strange, affected way. Slowly emphasizing certain words and changing his pitch and tone. Obviously he was merely trying to make himself understood as my Haut Mordentieux is not what it once was.

However I have little patience for the constabulary force whose attempts at capturing me through a net and then interrogate me, especially given that I was trying to communicate with the obviously somewhat daft yet personable fellow with the ponytail.

I assume that this is yet another example of State-based repression of artistic expression, clearly and without any doubts they were silencing the followers of Dominic and the Obedients for their perceived desire to create social upheaval.

Shame is the sole word that I can write to adequately express my displeasure. Port-a-Lucine reaching out to us, yes, I was there, too. And do you know what they said? Well, some of it was true!

Are we flowers in their dustbin? Beaten up behind closed doors, cracked ribs and bloody mouths? Yes, don't forget the chaos...

I am sick, sick to my stomach diary.

Good NIGHT.


Thu Aug 13, 2015 11:40 pm
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