2003-11-08 - 1:08 p.m.

Current mood: thoughtful

Current music: Sevendust, "Enemy"

I guess it all began during the Kuwait urban conflict. My Ranger team was sweeping through a building, I think it used to be a hotel or something. Anyway, it was just about dusk, there was this pile of bodies, or at least they looked like bodies, curled up in one corner on the ground floor, far from any of the windows. I kept my weapon on them, and waited for the team leader to catch up. Our grenadier called my name and I turned to nod him in my direction, and then looked back to find the bodies were gone. All that was left was an odd symbol scrawled on a wall. Thankfully, the grenadier that day had a camera, and snapped me a picture.

I hung onto that Polariod for the entire tour. It was just about over when a stray tracer round passed very close to my eyes. Ruined my 20/20, I’ve been wearing glasses ever since. When I got home, I looked up one of my wife’s cousins, who worked for the FBI. He got me a job at the local branch office, working in Paranormal Investigations. It was a lot of junk, and kids getting high, but I kept that Polariod and checked it against just about everything I could get my hands on. I started to see it in some old books and literature on vampires, in illustrations and etchings, but I could never nail down exactly what it was. There were references to “Caine,” “Camarilla,” “Sabbat” and “clans,” but I just couldn’t put the pieces together to decipher the meaning behind that graven image. And then there was the voice in my head, that seemed to be guiding me through these labyrinthine writings towards some greater truth about the world in general and my life in particular. It had been there since Kuwait and it was getting stronger.

But then, one night, I found out what the Sabbat was first-hand. What had started out as a minor gangland shootout turned into an all-out war in the streets. Some contacts I had made spoke of a “major offensive.” It didn’t stay confined to the urban areas, though, and spilled into the suburbs… into my house. I had just gotten home from a late night at the office, to find leather-clad punks breaking down my front door. I dropped two of them before the third stabbed me in the back. Face down on my lawn, I watched them drag my wife and ten-year-old son out of the house. Twisting the knife in me, they forced me to watch as they raped my wife and passed my boy around like he was a fucking keg. I guess God had mercy on me because I passed out when my wife started screaming my name.

I came to and saw several figures standing over me. They talked about how useful I could be, information I already had, and my loss of mortal ties. One held a file and started reading off my tour and cases. I passed out again, and felt a kind of euphoria, and I was almost sure I was going to die, drifting as darkness closed in around me.

Then, suddenly, there was a single drop of liquid fire that splattered against the darkness, and I was awake and alive again.

Or so I thought.

I was rushed through some kind of ritual, more fire poured down my throat. I was only semi-conscious for most of it. I guess they needed me out on the front lines, like a good little soldier.

Of course, all they had to do was point out some of the trash that destroyed my family, put a gun in my hand, and I was good to go.

In the aftermath, however, I stood back and took stock. My family and life were gone. Everything I had learned about these vampires was true, more or less. I had been brought into the clan called Tremere, and they wanted to teach me to be a good little blood-sucker, toe the “company” line, and jump when they told me to. To be honest, all I wanted at that point was to join my wife and son. Oh, and that little guiding voice at the back of my mind? That was gone, too. And I felt its absence just as keenly as I felt the loss of my family.

So I didn’t play with the Tremere. I hung out with the other vampires in the city, mostly the Nosferatu (I picked up that they knew all that was worth knowing real damn quick) and the Brujah (I had to admit, I liked their style). My Regent didn’t like that. She also didn’t like that I was not sticking around the Chantry to learn how to grind finger bones properly or any of that crap. At one point, though, I met the Pontifex, and he admitted he regretted the way I’d been Embraced. “I had suggested it, and we’d been watching you ever since you came back from the war. But they rushed things. We wanted you to discover more on your own, and I certainly didn’t want you to lose your family. I know you’re not happy here anymore, and if you like I can arrange to transfer you to a new place, where you can make a fresh start.”

I agreed. I was expecting to wake up in New York, at least before I was put any place else. But the plane set down outside of Pittsburgh. I found out later that the pilot had gotten orders to put down there, and a little research pointed to the source. I guess my Regent didn’t like the Pontifex doing something above her head, so she went to her High Regent and had my plane diverted. Bitch.

But it looks like this wasn’t so bad, after all. I hear that the Tremere ‘round these parts are in pretty dire straights. The locals don’t seem to like what they’ve been up to, and they could probably use someone that isn’t interested in hunting down the skull of their grandsire or resurrecting creatures from Tolkien; they could use someone who’s more interested in mutual survival than in arcane research.

And looking around, I guess that someone is me.

If this is the life I’ve got, I might as well try to make something of it.

His name is Matthias Castle, and he's my first Camarilla character.

I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the fact that he's based on characters like John Constantine or the Punisher. Maybe it's the fact that he's a Tremere that goes against the grain, not always doing exactly what he's told by the Grand High Poobahs, doing what he feels is right as opposed to what's asked of him. And it could be the fact that, in a way, there's a lot of me in him, in his sadness, his code of honor, and his willingness to give his word (and his life, if necessary) for something he believes in.

The difference is, Matt's having a hard time believeing in much these nights.

I did something for Matthias I haven't done for any of my characters. I devoted a whole CD of music to him. I'll post the playlist later. But since Shannon didn't have fun, I'll need something for the car on the way down to Greensburg... or Youngstown or Pittsburgh or whereever, if I can get the time to go and Shannon doesn't have plans. I can't always be running around with an infant at home after all. So we'll see how it all shakes out.

The great thing is, Shannon seems to love to hear the stories of my exploits, emails, and other experiences as Matt. It's wonderful to have someone so intelligent, open, and supportive to share all of this with.

Then again, that's why I married her.

I better get back to work. 90 more minutes of innane phone calls.

Oh, and by the way...

When it comes to Punisher, Thomas Jane will kick Dolph's butt any day of the week, IMHO.

"Victims. Aren't we all?"

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