I've finally scraped the coins together to buy an empty manuscript from one of the caravans. They're entirely more expensive than I expected, though I should have expected as such-- paper, salt, even ice. Such luxuries that were taken for granted, back home. Home. It's such a strange word to use, for now that I know what it actually feels like, I should never again use it to describe where I came from. Such as also, that I should expect to be able to write whatever I'd wish to here. Everybody in town respects my privacy enough. But i'll know quickly should they read it-- The things I could write here would keep anyone in this town, likely, this realm, from looking at me the same as they did before. But I do write them anyway, because... Well because I'm free. I can do whatever I want. I've survived for far too long to only be able to say that for the last month.
So for record keeping, and in case I should ever forget where I came from, I was Alice Mcleod. I resided in New York. I was a paladin under Bishop Demarco, charged with his safety in the war against the camarilla. We were the Sword of Caine. I will write no more of this, because ultimately, none of it matters. Even that. My status, is likely gone. My brethren, who knows. My sire, same. If anyone is still drawing blood out there, they likely curse my name. But for them, I am gone. And for that, I am free. Free. Free. I'm Free. but who am I?
About a month ago it was, when I was dropped into the forest with such force that I broke my leg. There was a sliver of glowing light above me that flashed away moments later, and I was alone. Just moments before I'd had my sword in my hand, and was waiting behind the door for the enemy to come for-- xxXXX No more. New life.
Tannerloch is what they call this place. It's filled with mortals of all shapes and sizes. Some small and stout-- Dwarves. Some Humans, some Elfs I believe they called them. It's a small town. Single main road, cobblestone. About a dozen, maybe dozen and a half buildings, counting residences. I've only met them with what I likewise was met with -- Hospitality, and friendliness. I... I have to get this out. I know their names. I have FEELINGS for them. They are FOOD. I've never looked at mortals as more than that. Ever. It was disgusting to. I'm NOTHING like i was, because I WAS NOTHING. I WAS NOTHING BUT A TOOL. HERE I HAVE A NAME.
THEY GAVE ME A NAME.
LIGHTFOOT. I AM LIGHTFOOT. I AM KNOWN. CARED FOR. MCLEOD IS DEA xxxXXXXxxX (There's a violent splatter of ink across the center and far side of the page, and surrounded by that splatter is the puncture mark of a quill. Words resume below it.)
It's okay to lose control. It's okay to express how one feels. It's why I bought a journal. To express how I feel. To not scare off my new friends. It's healthier to write this down, than it is to potentially lose composure in front of them... Or, on them. It's good to finally have an outlet. One of Kayvin's little girls gave me the name Lightfoot. She said it fit. She said I make no noise even on the wood floor in boots. I refrained from telling her why. I simply thanked her. One day I will tell her how much it means to me, I should. I used to think...I used to think I was stoic, and strong. In the before times. Pain is easy to withstand. Emotion is not. It is only easy to detach from. But when you detach, you never grow. I never needed to grow, until now. Daryl, Kayvin's little girl, is but 9 years old. How fitting, that one so young have fruitful lessons to teach one so old as I. She saw the sadness on my face, and insisted it was okay to let it out. 'That it was healthy'. 9 years old, and she knows more about mental health than I've ever had to learn. I would die for that little girl. I am Allys Lightfoot, I have a name, I am wanted here, and I would. Xx
I was worse off than I thought. I'm really, very glad that trader came through when he did. How sick and twisted would that irony have been? Village slaughtered in a love-induced rage because I couldn't handle my emotions better than a 9 year old. What would I tell the hunters? I didn't mean it? Are there even hunters here?
Are there other kindred here? If they are, are they like me? Or would they be some, variant, native to this land? Planet? Space in time? I have no idea where I am, but I don't care! I am free. I wonder if this is truly why I was never allowed to write to my fancy in New York. To see how shattered my mind truly has become on paper, and how it was reforged into what it was never meant to be... without my consent, or even knowing. I hope they're dead.
I'll put it right here on the front page. To whomever DOES end up reading this after I'm gone. Look objectively on this writing-- Understand that you will never understand. This book is mine. No one elses. Never in a hundred years have I ever been able to say that. So do me that one posthumous favor. Even after reading this, no matter what presumptions you make about my mental cohesion. No matter how true they may be, no matter if you see me for the predator I am or was. All you need truly know is this.
I am Allys Lightfoot of Tannerloch. I no longer and will never wield my sword for any cause I do not wish to. I have taken this village under my care, it is my personal oath to keep them from harm.
Alice Mcleod is dead. May she rest in peace with her service to the Sword.
20th of Ignis. Year I still haven't found that out, yet. The year. I'm waiting for someone to drop it in conversation. For it'd look rather odd to have to ask, I wager. And I have time to wait. But, life...or, death as it were, is quiet in the village. I had a run in with a hunter, a few days ago. The scene could have went worse, I suppose. I'd gotten entirely too relaxed in my habits and awareness when I hunt, and he snuck up on me while I was feeding on a deer. He had something of a marvel in his hands-- A musket. I didn't know those existed yet, no one in the village has one. But, that does give me ideas for a few gifts. Of course I'd have to train Renna and Lannis on how to not shoot each other or anyone else, but I imagine a musket or two would do this town good. For hunting, and for inevitable defense. The surrounding forest has been quiet for some while, but its just a matter of time before some new predator wanders in after the livestock or children. Little do they know a predator is already here, as confused and ill as she is, but this is her den. Her territory. I'm leaving tomorrow for Ferax Villum, It'll be the first time I've left the village. There's a strawberry farm that had extensive enough trouble that they put out wanted posters. As silly as this sounds...That strawberry farm needs help. Who am I kidding, here?... I'm crossing the continent, to help a strawberry farm? One wrong judgement and I catch the sun, and that's it for me. No one back home will know I'm dead, Breg, Dayvin, no one. Would they miss me? Would they go back to doing things how they did, or would there be a rocking shockwave through the village? Reading this back it sounds terribly self-centered, but I truly do worry for them should I perish one of these nights. It just occured to me as well that I referred to this as home. That, feels so wonderful. I have a home... Got to cut this short, the woodworker's girl is on her way upstairs. I forgot I was going to tell her stories tonight for bed.