[Continued from Part 2…]
[Dice roll brought me to Prompt #21, which says I was trapped outside when the sun rose so had to shelter someplace. A child discovers and befriends me, so I had to create a mortal character and record a humanizing experience.]
I lost track of time as I seethed over the betrayal of Isis and plotted my revenge. I was brought back to awareness by a strange sensation on my skin. It was the deadly touch of the rising sun! Desperate for shelter, I ran blindly through the streets of the settlement until I found a stable to shelter in, just as the fiery orb crested the horizon.
My presence discomfited the creatures sheltered there. Two cows caused the most disturbance, lowing over and over. I curled myself into the deepest, darkest corner I could find.
It wasn’t long before someone entered the stable, no doubt seeking to investigate the source of the animals’ distress. Try as I might, there was no way to further conceal myself. I heard a high, soft voice comforting the beasts. Then, there were gentle footfalls. A small figure resolved in front of me: a girl-child, with long and curling black tresses and dark eyes.
She showed no fear of me. The girl spoke to me, but I indicated I had only a small grasp of her language. Then, she smiled at me…an expression a human had not shown to me for many long years.
[Dice roll brought me to #24, which asked what name I use among these people. This name replaced the character’s original name of Nour]
I survived the day in the stable, and had made a friend of sorts with the girl. Her kindness and lack of fear endeared her to me, and I visited her now and then in the night. I discovered her name was Acantha. When I told her my name, she frowned. Apparently, it wasn’t to her liking. She began to call me Charon.
As I learned the Greek tongue, I learned Charon was the name of a being Acantha’s people believed ferried souls across the River of Death. She gave me this name due to my pale skin and my nocturnal nature. This extraordinary girl reminds me of my lost humanity…
[Dice roll brought me to #31, which told me to go into torpor for 100 years, and cross off any mortal characters]
What has happened? Perhaps I lingered too long in this place, and fed too infrequently. Perhaps it was the influence of Acantha and her purity, and the grace she showed me.
I had taken to spending bright of day in an old crypt used by the people of the village to inter their dead. One dawn, I slipped into sleep there, with pleasant thoughts of Acantha on my mind as I slipped into my daily oblivion…
When I woke, I believed it was the next night. I went to feed, and found a man wandering drunk and alone by the waterfront. Then, I made my way to Acantha’s home. When I arrived, I was shocked to see the stable was gone. In its place stood a new residence. The family’s original home still stood, but showed signs of repair and expansion that could not have occurred in one night.
I stumbled through the streets, confused, looking for answers. I made my way to a temple, slipped into the chamber of a sleeping priest. Waking him, and allowing him to recover from his shock and fear, I asked him the year. I discovered, to my own horror, that a century had passed. Acantha and her family were long dead, as was Agrias, the assassin I had turned to my service.
The despair I felt, the disorientation and lack of understanding of my own nature, was overwhelming. I felt for the first time the depths of my unnatural existence. I felt then that I had existed for too long.
[Dice roll brought me to #34, which told me I destroyed something important to me in a purposeless rage, either losing a Memory or destroying a Resource. Speaking of Memory, at this point I had created a new Memory, which pushed my earliest Memory of my youth out of my Memory slots and into my Diary. I decided to destroy the scribe’s tools from my mortal life]
In the depths of my anguish, I found a burning core of anger. There was the rage that had dwelt deep within for years…rage toward Isis, toward the curse of undeath, toward myself and how I had killed Net. In my anger, I smashed my scribe’s tools to bits, the last physical legacy of my mortal existence.
Continued in Part 4…