Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in streetbeast's LiveJournal:

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Thursday, November 23rd, 2006
7:31 pm	tarot card You are The Magician Skill, wisdom, adaptation. Craft, cunning, depending on dignity. Eleoquent and charismatic both verbally and in writing, you are clever, witty, inventive and persuasive. The Magician is the male power of creation, creation by willpower and desire. In that ancient sense, it is the ability to make things so just by speaking them aloud. Reflecting this is the fact that the Magician is represented by Mercury. He represents the gift of tongues, a smooth talker, a salesman. Also clever with the slight of hand and a medicine man - either a real doctor or someone trying to sell you snake oil. What Tarot Card are You? Take the Test to Find Out. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 14th, 2006
3:15 pm	Click me Click Me :) http://world4.monstersgame.co.uk/?ac=vid&vid=47134773 (Comment on this)
Saturday, August 12th, 2006
9:07 am	Requiem Ic: Victor In the opulent room, a welldressed man is upon his knees, his hands shaking, blood tears running down his face. Moments pass and slowly he steadies himself and stands. Confusion and anger mask his face. "Sophia!!" he shouts, and seconds later the door opens and Sophia enters "You called, my beloved master?" confusion in her voice from being verbally summoned from her long time Daeva master. He faces her and she is taken abacked for a moment to see him in this state. "It has happened again Beloved?" He nods slowly and goes toward her, she takes him gently by the hand and leads him to the bath chamber where after lovingly bathing him, she leaves him to soak in the large hot pool of water. He lays back and ponders, searching his mind for the answers he seeks. (internal monologue) It is not my sire, I would know his mind, I would recognize the touch. It cannot be Layla, she is safe in sleep. It cannot be my cursed traitor of a childe, his life is too simple for such emotions, i doubt he even cares enough for me for such a connection to be formed. It is not my sister or brother, they are quite safe. It could be one of my other childer, yet which one? Who could be feeling such things? Speak to me, one of my blood, show me your face, so that i may come to you, I will come my blood, if only i could remember who you are. Curse the fog, curse my damm pride, Curse my habits. What did I do? Who did I forget, why did I forget, WHO ARE YOU!!! I must love you to be shaken so, i must care for you even in the shroud of forgetten love, yet WHO ARE YOU!!!! (Blood tears stream once more down his face) I wish he was here, he would remember, he would know who it is that calls my blood. Damm you fog, must you take everyone I love from me!! You knew how much I love him, how much i need and depend on him, and you have taken him from me. Curse you fog!! Curse you eternity!! I WANT HIM BACK. I want my second half again, I need the other part of my soul, I want to sleep once more at his side, to watch his still form once more nightly as i perform my tasks. I need my true friend back, The house that once was must be again. (silently in his mind) CCCCHHHHHHHRRRRRRIIIIIISSSSSSTTTTTTIIIIIAAAANNNNN! (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, May 4th, 2006
2:34 am	IC: Gravedigger Gravedigger aka Diablo de Sangri aka Lukas Bridgestone aka Charles Fountain Born Charles Fountain in 1833 outside of Knoxville Tn. At time of begin of Civil War was horse trader and a local gravedigger and tombstone maker Joined Confederacy as a Cavalry officer, becoming captain of a Raiders group in 1862 Served on many fronts and in several areas eventually becoming "wanted" for war crimes At end of war attempts to return to home to relocate wife and children to find them dead at the hands of Union troops Embittered, enraged and distraught travels down to Texas Badlands to elude pursuit. Attempts to "rehabilitate" to civil ways 3 times, each time being forced to move on by the hands of "Lawmen" Becomes outlaw, gunslinger, robber and thief under the name Lukas Bridgestone earns the tradename of "Gravedigger" in light of the fact that when hired to murder someone he would first carve a tombstone with their name engraved and dig a grave where it could be easily seen. Became notorious for the merciless manner in which the job for which he was hired would be handled. Rumors spread that the Gravedigger wasn't truly a man, but a demon from hell itself, intent on taking as many souls with him when once again he was finally dispatched to the realm from which he came. Any pursuit of the killer led to death and disapointment of any lawmen that attempted the feat. Gossip said that the dread Commanche had accepted the gunman as one of their own, and that the demon had in fact taken a native woman as his mate. It said that trying to track the Gravedigger to his lair in the badlands was like trying to follow a wind across the desert except you had a chance of coming back from tracking the wind alive. As time past, things changed, America changed, yet in that part of the world, one thing hasn't changed, they still speak in fear of the Gravedigger, they still place a shovel outside their huts and doors at night, for legend says that even when a demon comes to send you to hell, a little courtesy is still appreciated. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 18th, 2006
1:12 am	IC: Requiem: Possible New Pc Two hired guns stand guard at night outside the Main building of a Large Ranch. They had been hired for one reason and one reason only, to stop a single man, a single man rumor to have been hired by the poor owners of the local "steads" that resisted selling their land to the ruthless cattle baron that lived inside. "So who do you think it will be?" One says to the other "Dunno, shit, if it wasn't such good money I wouldn't even be here, I don't know why he is getting so riled over one man anyway, Probrably be some young gun, or old fart trying to make his mark in the world, don't see those dirt farmers being able to hire a name to kill him" The first nods "Yeah, I know what you saying, but still the old man is worried about something, or else we wouldn't be here" Morning comes and with it a new addition to the grounds of the ranch, a six foot deep grave with an elaborately engraved tombstone bearing the name of the old cattle baron. Josiah Perkins The two hired guns walk to the grave in the morning, the one they neither heard nor saw being dug. One says to the other "well I guess that answers the question" The two look at each other and nod, saddle their horses and ride clear of the Ranch. The next morning the grave is no longer empty, it is filled, Josiah Perkins rests in the earth, and The Gravedigger collects the silver dollar he asked as a price from the farmers that hired him, still not happy, still not satisfied, yet still determined to exist another day. He knows that is all this world will ever grant him, the possiblity to kill those that need it until finally he burns in hell. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 14th, 2006
2:43 am	Ic Mage Secondary: The Apothecary A young man dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt sits in his room like any normal 17 year old boy. Except he isn't normal, won't ever be normal, and he knows that, he came to terms with that another life ago. He sits at the Cabinet, an apothecary cabinet older than he and those he travels with. A Cabinet that was old when the States were young. Upon the pull out desk built into the cabinet rest an old copy of an old play "Romeo and Juliet". Yet this was not study for an exam, or for a lead part in a school production, to him this play existed to explain, to justify his play upon the stage, his role you might say. I do remember an apothecary,-- (5.1.37) And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, (5.1.41) Sharp misery had worn him to the bones; (5.1.41) And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves (5.1.44) A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. (5.1.48) (In his Mind) Yes, I remember an Apothecary, bent upon his work, ever diligant, ever alert to his task, to the needs of his patrons and never a spare penny to show. Yes, Grandfather, I rememember you, I can never forget. Tho I never knew a father or mother, or an extension of either, I knew you, i knew your hand, I knew your face. For the first 13 years of my life you toiled endlessly to see to the health of others, neglecting your own. That shop was all you ever truly had, and yes i remember the day you lost that also. Oh, How I remember them, in their suits and ties, their fancy talk and legal forms,,,, they didn't want your shop, they just wanted you to retire, to enjoy your last days, I remember the sum, grandfather, the price of your one sole possesion,,, 40,000 , oh, how large that sum to you was, you nearly lept to accept, I remember, and I remember their smiles, those thin satisfied smiles. I can never forget. (His eyes skip down the page) There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. (Mind) I remember being glad that finally you could rest, that with the money you were given, we could eat regularly, lead a simple and happy life. I remember the night the cough started, I remember days later the trip to the hospital, the rich doctor, pretty nurses, I remember all. I remember the diagnoses, Terminal, lingering, Terminal, Drugs, treatment, MONEY, MONEY, MONEY, MONEY. Soon that is all I heard, reverbing in my head, that single word, "MONEY". The first bill arrived, and the second and the third, the fourth, never ending parade of paper. An honorable man you had me pay the bills until nothing remained, nothing for food, nothing for medicine, NOTHING Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. I went searching for work, yet no work was to be found, none would employ such a desperate young man, none save one. I was scouring the streets for loose change and the miraculous dropped dollar when the profession of my future met me in an alley. Two men pummeled another, curses, threats, gasps for breath. The black man lay bleeding when I came to his side "Are you ok? "Can I do anything to help?" The man smiled "Not unless you got a drug lab hidden under that scrap of a jacket" Confused I stood as I help him rise " A drug Lab, why do you need ones of those?" "My chemist went and blew himself up in his lab along with my quota this month, and unless i meet it in a week, I am a dead man" Grandfather, something broke in me that day, my desperation dies, my resolve came exploding to life I looked at him, with young eyes of steel " Whats the Recipe?" " Huh? what ya talking about, boy?" " I will make your drugs, but you have to help me make the money I need" Smoke as I learned his name looked at me in doubt at first, and then after he saw the look in my eyes he stated almost amazingly " You aren't pulling my leg, are ya kid, You can make my drugs, Can't you" " Yes, if you know the recipe, I can do the rest, AS LONG AS YOU PAY ME" "Kid, you cook my quota and start making my drugs, I PROMISE, You will have all the money you need" I looked at him, grandfather, I looked at him and said " Come with me, I have work to do" Apothecary Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks, (5.1.69) Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; (5.1.72) The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Apothecary My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. My 15th year of life, I was no longer called a boy on the streets, Chemist they called me, Smoke had grown in the world thanks to me, but he kept his word, money wasn't a problem, you always wondered how I paid the bills, how I managed to get your medicine no matter how many that damm doctor prescribed, how we ate so well. I am sorry grandfather, you didn't need to know, I was the man of the house then, A boy put in a man place, I did what it took. I defiled your precious workshop, the family apothecary cabinet, a tool of ancient druggists, became the tool of a Modern Druggist, A Street Apothecary. And I felt no shame. Apothecary Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. (Mind)Just 16 when that day came, the day I was expecting, the day I dreaded. The day you asked me to let you die. I knew the pain you suffered and yet I could think of easing it, I was selfish, I was greedy. And yet I fulfilled your wish, I went to the Cabinet,(puts hand on Cabinet) this very one, and I mixed a potion as only one born of Apothecaries can, I even used the old library to find the one that would leave no tell tale sign, the quickest deadliest mortal potion I could make. And I went your room with a cup of your favorite tea, (he looks at the cabinet where a tea cup rests) Earl gray same as mine, and I still use the same cup. I watched you smile knowing, you said " I love you, Shy, My only trace that I lived," He looked at me, drank his tea and said old words " O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. " He kissed me on the cheek, and died and the Whole world changed, Shy the boy died that day, and Apothecary the Mastigos was born into this world guided by the hands of three traveling mages. (In a whisper a ghost would strain to hear) Smiling " Thank you, my friends, now you can't say I never said it" (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, January 30th, 2006
7:57 pm	RE: The mind of an old Sluagh "That is the way it has always been, A master and an apprentice. And yes, dear Uncle I chose a Redcap. Such an innocent girl, before, she began to learn from me. "WHAT KINDA MONSTER AM I" shouts inner conscience screams yet the voice is as a whisper, too small to voice itself properly. " An old one, the ruling voice says, an old monster that never had a child of its own. "But now, we do" says the true shout "One day she will hate you for what you will teach her, hate you for the monster she will become in turn" "Yes, but we will all be but memories then, and SHE WILL BE ALIVE TO HATE US" "Someone must rule the winter lands of this place, someone must survive to lead those who remain" "Who are you to curse that child to such a fate?" "Me? Just an old monster, a simple sluagh who wishes someone to remember him, whether in love or hate, just someone to remember, and if I am remembered I can never truly die" ( a tingle in his mind) "She is awake, master" (an eye turns to look upon the child) "Just a simple sluagh" the whisper doesn't leave his lips (Comment on this)
Monday, January 2nd, 2006
1:17 pm	A Babe In the Woods (Anyone who is close enough to Benjamin Ikoal to be called a friend will have been told this story at some time) "So you want to know how Jacen, came to be with me? Why he is loyal to me as a son to a father? Why he doesn't speak? Why he has become as a second part of my body, of my story itself? Well, my friend have some more tea, pack your pipe and I will tell you the story of how Jacen's and my own threads became intwined in the tapestry of life" (Benjamin leans further onto his cushion, brings his cigarette to his lips and exhales a puff of smoke curling around his face) It was 1970 in Colorado, It was almost summer and I had been traveling for 5 years on my own, I was just 25 at the time. Well my friend, I was never the one to stick strictly to the highways even then when I traveled. I preferred the more scenic routes even if they were more difficult. If a man chooses to travel for whatever reason, it is only fair for him to choose that method which most suits his personality. For me it was the wilder ways, it gave me comfort to sleep among the wilds from which my path draws strength. Well, it was a bright day and the air was fresh with life. Also it was full of other smells that day,, the smell of ripe marijuana which i was comfortable to travel wide around knowing the territorialness of most of these farmers. I would have been content to travel on, never meeting the inhabitants of the dwelling I knew must be nearby. However, My friend, lady fate had other ideas of my course on this day, and for that I give thanks everyday. For some reason, when i was almost out of the area, I assumed made up the property of the farm, I became disoriented, confused, my sense of direction failed me for one of the few times in my life. I could no longer remember which way was the path I meant to take. I paused for a moment until my path became clear to me again and I continued on with every confidence I was traveling well away from that which i seeked to avoid. However, My friend I will confess I was wrong, I was on the correct path, but not the one I chose for myself. Twenty minutes I was suprised to catch glimpse of a large patch of marijuana in a clearing in the woods and a small shack. As I turned to leave I heard the sounds of screams and gunfire. Well I confess, I did what any lone gypsy will do when Gaje start firing guns,,, I hid. I kept my hiding place until the killers left, but yes friend I saw their faces. After they left I made my way to the shack to see if their was anyone I could save. The site I saw was terrible, a dead father, a raped and killed mother, and a small girl who had suffered the same fate. I cursed my cowardice, that I could have done something to aid this family, and yes I did something rare for a gypsy, I cried for the fate of these Gaje, that could have if things had been different, been adopted members of my own family. I was careful not to touch the belongings that lay about, for for a gypsy these things are unclean unless taken by vengance. It was then Clauso, my faithful ferret came to the fore, he climbed out of the sling that hung from my waist and gently jumped to the floor. Reaching into his mind, I could sense what he did, there was another person here, a small flutter of a heartbeat. He led me to a cabinet which when opened revealed a 5 year old boy, blonde hair blue eyes. I led the boy out with a soft hand and he said not a word as he peered into my eyes. As he saw the remains of his family, he turned his face aside (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 18th, 2005
11:47 pm	OOC POST got Tagged ***Ground Rules: The first player of this "game" starts with the topic "5 weird habits of yours" and people who get tagged need to write an LJ entry about their 5 quirky habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next 5 people to be tagged and list their names.*** Well, Hell make me think about it huh? :) Me weird habits never 1. When I get upset or worried or frustrated, I rub my temple with my hands, one finger mildly irritated, two hands trying to keep a grip on myself 2. I always ask people if they know what I mean,,, because truthfully i am not always sure what i mean and sometimes hopw they know and give me a hint :) 3. My house is chaos and messy, while I demand that my emotional and mental enviroment in my home, be maintained as closely to what I ask as possible 4. I always crack my neck, always, why because i know it annoys people. 5. I try to look women in the eyes, even to the point of seeming strange, mainly customers, because I don't want to be known as one of those guys, girls you know what i mean (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, December 11th, 2005
3:18 am	Don't Judge The Mage known as Mythos, Benjamin Ikoal comes home, he smiles at Jacen as he enters, he holds up a hand when Jacen starts to follow him to the entrance downstairs, " I am fine my friend""Do not worry". Jacen nods and Ikoal continues through the warehouse, zigging, turning until he reaches the familar shelve. He pulls the shelf toward him and though laden with hundreds of items, it swings easily, and begins the descent down the stairs. The deeper he goes, the closer to home he feels. He goes to his wagon, moved to this place so long ago, the only true home he has ever known, and climb the steps inside. It is there he looks upon the walls of the covered wagon, and see the picture of his first family, his wife and four children, at the time of the picture, 2 years for one set of twins, 1 year for the other. His wife young, and full of love. "I couldn't save you, my loves, like I couldn't save Carolina, no matter how much I grow in power there is much still beyond my control. Filthy gaje, when will you learn, when will you cease to spill our blood, when will you give us peace." "I know they did not understand tonight, why I hold such hate for those that harm my blood, be it family or distantly removed by time, but you understand dear, Rosicia, you understand." Ikoal, lays his head upon his bed and slips into the dreams he always know waits for him, and dreams of his wife, and the life that fate refused to grant him. (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 4th, 2005
12:44 am	(2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, November 19th, 2005
1:03 am	Just a little help An old man with dirty hair, tattered clothing sits on the streets of knoxville. Paper cup out, calling out to passerby's "Can you help an old man get a hot meal?" Most people pass him by, most move away to walk safely by the man they consider refuse of society. A young college student, rushing to class passes by, pauses and returns to crouch down beside the old man. "When you eat last old man?" he says quietly "Yesterday I think" the old man croaks softly "Well, I'm sorry I don't have any money to give you, but you can have my lunch,,,, OK?" "I don't want to take your food, you need to eat too" the man replies "It's ok, the student replies,"I'm young I've got plenty of time to make up for a missed meal""You take it (pushes sack lunch into bum's hands and pats him on the shoulder) The young man starts to walk away, but the old bum stops him him with the words "If you had one wish, young man what would it be?" The young man stops and turns with a tear in his eye " There was this girl, once old man, I loved her, but I screwed up and she left, I wish I could find her and convince her to give me one more chance" The old man replies "not money, or fame, or adoration, not to have a better life?" The young man shakes his head" no old man, I don't need those things, if they come they come, but what are all the riches in the world without the one person you love?" The young man continues on his path, the old man continues on his. The old man stands and steps into the shadows of the alley as he watches him walk down the street. "Wish Granted" Benjamin whispers as he sends forth the power held in his small frame "you deserve this gift" 6 months later the paper announced the engagement of James Thomas and Lana Copeland Ikoal smiles and lays the paper down "such a nice boy" (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 8th, 2005
11:19 pm	A poem of Mythos I have walk down the misty moutains thru the darkened glens I dare to go a hunting I fear no little men I have known the embrace of mother nature as I lay hidden in her bosom only feet from the working of her defilers protected as I slept From those that fear that which they cannot know I have seen the faces of a thousand angels concealed within the faces of newborn children I have fashioned the silver spoons that are later waved in my face I am a gypsy, there is no disgrace I let my feet fall upon you dear earth and you hasten my way, you clear my path born of your mercy, someday you will claim me again But not today dear mother, I have much to do I have much earth to fill with hope? if it is within my power with dream? with every story I tell with fear? only if wisdom it brings with beauty? as much as two hands can create with children? Dear mother you know me too well with remorse? only that in my heart with magic? only in amounts allowed yes, my work is not done there still exist Gaji a gypsy's work could never be done (Comment on this)
Saturday, November 5th, 2005
2:08 am	Replicated while huntsman slept If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a memory of you and me. It can be anything you want, either good or bad. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people remember about you. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, October 26th, 2005
3:26 pm	The First Breath of Mythos I still remember the first words my grandmother ever said, as my eyes saw the fallen world for the first time, as the blood of my mothers body still covered my bastard flesh I heard them "Welcome, my beautiful precious boy" she whispered to me as my mother lay dying from the knife in my grandmother's hand. My eyes saw the men behind her, the ones i would come to know as family, knives also bloody from the bodies of the Uncles I would never know nor care to, drop to one knee as she held me before them "My Son The King of the Gypsy Family Romanoff is dead, Long live my Grandson now Prince of the Gypsy family Romanoff, know his face, this is the one we have waited for". You make ask dear reader how I could remember the first event of my life on this Earth, and I answer that after I tell you my story, You tell me if you could forget. I must by neccesity begin my story before my actual birth and I tell this as it has been recalled to me by the men who actually lived it, unfortunately i cannot interject the viewpoint of my dear Grandmother Josephina, for she would never speak of it, and grew dark and brooding the few times I asked. I must explain that my family came to the United States as immigrants from Russia, being originally from Romania and various other places as Gypsies are prone to be. They came to the States in 1935 and formed the Romanoff Family Gypsy Traveling Carnival. My father was the head of the family being the only son of the reigning queen of the family and the deceased King. Let me explain that the terms King and Queen used in this context as they are not the same titles as you may be accustomed to, that is not much in similarity to the Queen of England, however in the gypsy family group these personas carry as much respect and power as a leader of a country could ever earn. In a Gypsy Family these entities are life and death, the spiritual and physical leaders of all members, they command both the respect and loyalty of all that follow them. A gypsy will kill and give his or her life in defense of the honor or at the word of their king or queen, there is no question, no debate that is how it simply is. Now that I have given you some insight on the structure of the Gypsy family Romanoff, I will describe the events that led to my fated in not tragedy induced birth. Dear Reader, I do not expect you to understand or condone the actions I will describe, it cannot be expect and even more so doubted that you can be capable of such, I will simply say, you wouldn't understand, its a Gypsy Thing. October 1944 Maryville Tn. My family's Carnival through its many travels ended up in a small town in Tennesee in the summer month of May. There wasn't much to this town, the expected southerner genteel and the backwoods hillbillies both attended the Carnival as they are apt to do. i have found that despite the reputation (well-deserved) a Gypsy Carnival has, that many people put aside the rumor and are curious enough to attend these events, much to the business and profit of the family both by legal and illegal activities. My father, 25 at this time was what you might call a man who enjoyed the company of many ladies, i have found in western culture that this sort of behavior is frowned upon, but I assure you that in Gypsy culture it is both condoned and expected, it is simply how things are. I will say regretfully that it was this exact behavior that lead to the events of my birth and my father's early death. As was my father's custom in every town, he picked a young lady visiting the carnival to make the subject of his amorous intentions. She was only 16 as was his taste and after several days of smooth talking, flattery, and presentation of what she thought were precious gifts, he moved in for the act of cosumation. They were alone in one of the tents, in the act of fornication, when fate delivered my father a fatal blow. The young girl's 4 brothers stumbled upon the two of them in embrace, and when my father saw them he turned to try to talk his way out. That is when my stupid mother did the worst thing possible, She cried RAPE. Now Dear reader, I don't know if you know what terrible things this one word could bring about in 1945, but trust one who knows, it is never a word that should be used lightly. Despite My father's adamant words of innocence, the brothers would not listen. They took him into the nearby woods, found a tree and hung him till he was dead and simply returned to their mountain home. Now, I don't know what you know about Gypsies, but if you know a little you know that this was not a good thing to do. To kill a gypsy King is equal to the assination of any King in the world, an extreme act of total war. And when the officials of the town discovered what had occurred this is what they rightly expected, reinforcements from knoxvile and surrounding cities were brought in to combat the expected retaliation of the Gypsy Family. Yet, it did not come, much to the shock of the town, the carnival simply packed up and moved on, simply and quietly in the night. Now those readers that have familiarity with Gypsies are probrably sitting at their desks with their eyes glassy and tongues hanging out, but don't worry your world has not gone insane, remember my story has just begun. March 15, 1945 I still remember what it was like to live in prison, to be contained with 4 walls closing in, to know what waited for me outside those doors. My warden, Oh how I hated her, I knew even then, her sins, what crimes she had committed. And I called, into the darkness into the abyss that surrounded me for my rescuer to come free me from my cell of flesh and blood, and finally after 6 months, she did come, she came to free her blood, the flesh of the flesh of her flesh, her only grandson, the precious of her only born son. I remember that night, oh do not doubt me, I remember. I could feel the winds of time and fate upon my spirit even then. It was cold outside of my cell, and the wind blew upon the wooden slats of the shack that housed my warden and her gaurds, those dreaded murderers and slackjaw insignificants. I was straining against my chain, against that one tether that held me fast in place, I wanted out, I wanted to see the stars that I knew were there, and wanted to taste the sweetest nectar life could offer,,,, FREEDOM. That night they came, I could smell the sweat off their bodies and all I knew is they were my blood, my rescuers finally arrived to charge the fortress of ignorance and stupidy in which I was held. Like the darkest shadows, they crept, and I heard them, like the nightmares that have held Anglos beneath blankets in their beds for centuries, they came forward and all I felt was Joy. There was a knock on the door, a light scratching upon the window, a shallow voice that echoed through the room and my soul, a sing song whisper that brought back the fear of the old dark creatures into the mortal heart. "From the beginning you feared us, that which lurks the night, from the earliest memory, our wrath caused your cower in the night, shiver now and know our revenge, from the heart of the deepest hell, our fury rises and sends your soul to occupy the space which it resided" The magic that filled that room, to this day I cannot describe, the total fury and hatred and desire for vengance even I a gypsy of my grandmother's blood cannot even begin to explain or describe. I could not see anything for several minutes, for dear reader I was not yet born,,,,, but dear reader, I could feel the happenings, every slash of my brethren's knife, every slow tortuous death delivered by the hand of those I knew, had always known. The four Rom that accompanied my grandmother were familiar to my soul, my father's closest companions, longheld childhood friends. It was over soon,,,, for my Uncle's but as my bitch mother cowered in a cornered with myself chained inside her I knew her fate would not be so kind. I felt the will of my grandmother, I could see the bright light that was her soul drawing closer, I could feel the smile upon her lip, curling over her long yellowed teeth. Her smile washed over the body in which I was incased, I could feel the fear, hear my mother scream, and all I could do was laugh, deep inside her belly, that was my first laughter, my first moment of sweet enjoyment of the pain of another, she deserved it, how dare she keep me imprisoned against my will. I must be free, I must be clear of chains. Soon thereafter I saw the fallen world for the first time, my grandmother's old hardened hands pulling me clear of the womb that would hold be prisoner. Covered with blood, I saw my Josephina's face, i knew love unyeilding once more, she cared not for her garments as she cradled me, as she held me for my knights to see. I was going home, I was returning to freedom, to those who loved me. 1945-60 I remember much of my childhood, I should, they were pleasant years, peaceful years. Before the demands of life and Fate began to take their toll upon the course of my life. My place among my family was a priviledged one, I was a Prince and from the first days I remember, I was treated as such. But, remember dear friend, that among gypsies, even those of the most respected station are expected to pull their weight, Nay my childhood was not one of priviledge, or of every need fulfilled, it was one of duty, learning what a Prince, nay man of the gypsy family Romanoff must learn. 1950 At age 5, I began my training as a thief, under the watchful eye of a cousin, I would work the crowd, meander from person to person, reaping the bounty of the pockets as a farmer reaps the bounty of his field. Crying and pretending to be lost, so concerned attendees of the carnival would have their attention on me while my compatriots moved silently among them. I will say however, we for the most part stayed away from the poor, for one reason their is very little to gain from stealing from the poor, for a second, they deserve a little enjoyment in their lives, without reaching to a pocket to buy a small gift for their child, just to find it empty. Yes dear friends, there is honor among thieves, but please do not spread this around, I wouldn't want to be the one who let the cat out of the bag. 1953 At age 8, after my progress as a thief was to my grandmother's satisfaction, I was placed among the games of the carnival. My job? you may ask, a shill, yes a shill, at the tender american age of 8 I was taught the art of the con, the subtle game that every creature on earth plays whether they know it or not. I was good at my job, while men of 18+years would try in vain to win the various games to no evail, I , a 8 year old boy would succeed with little difficulty. This in turn would spur the pride injured men to spend even more money to win the prize of such small value that was displayed to be won. And then when they would finally win the cupie doll that had cost then 5 dollars, they would gloat at me, and i would walk away as a humbled child would, smiling inside the whole time I shambled away head held low, and feel pride that for one more night, I had put more silver in the coffers of the Gypsy family Romanoff, I had justified the bread that filled my plate once again. I was a gypsy, no more no less. 1955 At the age of ten, I was given the choice of which area of learning that the family had to offer i would next embark into. Noone gave me any pressure in my decision, i had earned the right through my previous achivements to decide my next step, to place on my soul the teachings i would receive. To this day, I believe that even my grandmother did not predict my choice, which why this is amazing to me i will explain later in this story. I chose to apprentice myself to Jakob, the head of the silversmiths, i chose to learn how to bring a small amount of beauty into this world, how in a small way to leave a piece of myself behind wherever I went to be remembered by. This decision and this choice influenced my life greater than one would think, but I will let you in on this joke later on. I learned much during my two years with Jakob, even beyond the art of silver. In my days hunched over my table, toughened and burned by the fire and the smelters ladle, I learned the delicate twists and turns that I would later apply to my greatest gift, the arcana of Fate. That too hard of an action among the artist's stool will break that piece which you have labored over, and how sometimes all a piece needs is the smallest of intervention on the crafters part to achieve the beauty and purpose that is inherent in every piece of silver, and also every man woman and child alive. It is surprising what one learns, even without realizing at the moment how important that knowledge will be at a later date. I learned to love the working of silver, the look of the ones who would purchase my wares, even if they didn't know who did the work, I felt pride in my work, greater than that of fulfilling my place in my family, even to the point of feeling fulfillment in my place in the world. Yes, dear reader, the working of silver has meant much to my life, even to the point of being responsible for my awakening as a Ascantus, yes that important, funny, yes? 1957 My 12th birthday was the same as all since the events of my birth. Why do I deem to give this event a space in this account? Simply for the reason it is as a good place as any to elaborate on some details that are important for you dear reader to be aware of. On March 15, 1957 I awoke as on all my other birthdays, to a presence in the darkness, a smell that I knew better than the smell of grass upon a spring morning, that of my grandmother, Josephine. She stood in the haze of early daylight in our wagon, looking upon my sleeping form, waiting for me to stir. When I wake she says the same words as every birthday, "Wake, My prince, prepare for the first day of your new life, be ready, dear one for the world lies jealous of what you will become." I would rise naked as I slept and come into her arms, envelope by the comfort she brought and reply "I wake, dear grandmother, I am ready to become what I am meant to be, the world will have to understand, I will not be denied". At this point we would have breakfast, which consisted of pomegranete, rose tea, and spring honey, note this was the only day of the year we ate this meal, it was special, though simple, however I have grown to know that whether something is special is solely determined by you and you alone, so never let anyone cheapen that which you hold dear, they have no right, tell them I said so. My grandmother would then sit me before her and give me a blessing that only she, among us could bestow, that of a master of fate, that of an ascantus Mage. Yes I said Mage, I know i have neglected to reveal this, however like I said, that is the entire reason behind this entry. I knew magic existed since my birth, I knew the ways of ritual, of the hidden nature of the world, she had never hidden it from me, she always said it was my birthright, to know of the truth, that magic exists. Also I was one of the family that could witness all of her workings without causing her the pain that disbelief could bring. Yes, at age 12 I had the knowledge of someone 3 times my own age. I had sat at the feet of my grandmother, I had listened to that which she taught me. I knew the stories, legends, myths, old wives tales that othersspend years sifting throught the mire of modern knowledge to discern. For me, there was no sifting require, I heard it untainted from someone that had heard the truths and knowledge as a child herself. Some call gypsies archaic, but I know the truth that only a gypsy can teach, that the costs of modern society far outweigh the benefits. 1957-61 It was during these years that I began to grow into manhood. It was during these years that I took on more of the responsibilities of a Prince of a gypsy family. I was no longer a student, I became a teacher, became the one that others sent their young ones to, to learn the ways of the gypsy, to learn those skills a gypsy must know. Yes, dear reader, I have taught many a thief, I have sent many a man into the night with the skill needed to rob those who possessed more than we. I ask not forgiveness for this, for I feel no forgiveness you could give would ever suffice. When my life is over, I will stand before whichever entity I meet and when I am asked for what reason I committed such sins, i shall raise my chin and proclaim "Nothing is given to a gypsy save the wind and sky, for everything else he must make his own way, I feel no shame in giving the gift of survival to another gypsy" Are these practices I continue to support this day? I will never tell, that is for me to know and for you to wonder, but you might want to make sure that kitchen door is locked from now on, you tend to forget to lock it before bed, you really should listen to your wife more often, robbers could easily get in that way, and your children's rooms aren't far from there, but then again, I am just guessing. It was also during these years that I first tasted the fruit of love. I was 14 and she was 25 but who are you to judge? I cannot help if some women have good taste, after all a good wine is a good wine whether it is 14 or 35 years old. Sometimes I wonder what became of my first partner in love, but that causes too much pain, and really is a bad practice for someone of my profession. Truth be told, despite the many lovers I have had in my life, I never forget one of them, I never cease to wonder at times what life may have been, but then again maybe they are better off, life with an ascantus can be a little troublesom, but then again perhaps I have skipped ahead. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 25th, 2005
9:22 pm	OOC: Mage Concept Shadow Name: Mythos Mortal Alias:Benjamin Ikoal Real Name: (Not telling) Path: Acanthus Order: Mysterium Concept: Collector, Teacher, Con Artist, Retired Traveler Character Inspirations: Snatch, Thinner, Quote: "You come to my shop? Buy, Sell, or Trade, ahhh you wish to see the special room, bad luck? We can fix that up, I have a special 4 leaf clover from Ireland, picked by a virgin before her wedding, that will do the trick, I think" Quick and Dirty Background: Born out of wedlock, raised by circus workers and Grandmother who was a "Fortune Teller", taught the tricks of the trade by anyone willing, Awakened at 16 due to grandmother, currently owns a curiosity shop" age: 60 Timeline: 1945 Ripped out of mother's stomach Maryville, TN 1946-61 Visited hundred's of small towns across the U.S. 1961 Awakened St. Louis MI Married same year 1962 First and Second Child born Fraternal Twins Boy and Girl in Little Rock Arkansas 1963 Third and Fourth Child born Fraternal Twins Boy and Girl in Denver Colorado 1964 Joined Mysterium, Wife is killed by Enemy, Benjamin Leaves Family Group, Children taken in and raise by a family member. Benjamin is now age 19. 1965 Travels to Knoxville Tn, Buys a Warehouse with a double basement, secures a place for a library there pays taxes for 5 years. 1965-2000 Travels the Country and World, has many one night stands with many different women in many different places, searching for lost collections of books, artifacts etc. 2001 Through an extreme accident of fate meets up with a set of his twin children from a one night stand, moves back to Knoxville and Begins Ikoal's Emporium, a Gypsy shop that buys sells and trades everything from junk to antiquities. Connections Wanted: 1. Any Acanthus 2. Any Mysterium 3. Circus workers in the 50's 4. Professional thiefs "collectors" This character is based in Knoxville, Tn Please email tothevictor@gmail.com if interested or post here Joseph Bryant us2003017089 (Comment on this)
Monday, October 10th, 2005
11:49 am	OOC: Memorial For every piece of who a person is there is a person responsible, For every interesting, irritating quirk there is a reason. Today I give credit to a person who had a significant part in making me who I am. When I was young, I was a little hellion, with little mental direction, trust me I was worse back then, but luckily i was born into a family that understood and with a Grandmother that encouraged my imagination. The years of my youth was spent in the company of my first storyteller, the one that taught me the way things were in the old days, the long walks with holy shoes, when a nickel meant something, and how dangerous a cornered woman can be with a boyscout trophy. That an active imagination was a blessing not a curse, that what and who i was born was just fine the world would have to adjust. One of my first friends and playmates was a 60 year old Woman, yes she was old when i was born, but had the strength and will of a person much younger. So as I think back to my first imaginations, my first fantasies of the ones that live among the wood, the shadows that flit in the darkness, the wives tales, the legends, the codes that a good person must respect among the wilder things of the world that parralels ours, I think about my Grandmother, My first Storyteller, My first Teacher of the Ways of Fantasy, and I give thanks that I was born of her blood. Current Mood: contemplative Current Music: Amazing Grace on Bagpipes (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, September 20th, 2005
1:32 am	A New Home John walk through the woods that surround his home, Marge's, the Twin's, Lee's, the Girl's new home. He thinks of all the places he and Axe have been, the blood soaked battlefields, the backroom dives, the holes in the sewers. "Not too shabby for us huh, Axe?" Inside him Axe stirs, grumbles "We gone soft, You've gone soft, You think you can keep me in here forever?" "Just returning the favor" "Favor? Favor? I didn't keep up, you yellow scared little shit, you hid, while I did the dirty work, now you don't even want to think about me? Who the Fuck you think you are?" "I'm John, Axe the first born of this shell, like or not, I'm back and you are still here, so we are just going to have to deal aren't we?" "Yeah, we'll deal, until you need me next time?" "Yeah, and watcha going to do when I need you next Axe?" "I am going to do what I always do,,,,,, Kill them" Axe goes silent, lurking, brooding, waiting for the next kill. John walks on, speaking with the trees, the grass, the wind. And the wind speaks back, at least in his mind " Welcome Home, John, Born of Earth, Scarred by Pain, Keeper of the Promise" John smiles and tends to his home. (Comment on this)
Friday, September 9th, 2005
1:33 pm	Test Macbeth You scored 45 evilness, 27 romance, 63 tragic, and 9 comic! A prophesy triggers a series of bad choices from an otherwise good man, and Macbeth sinks into corruption and evil. His own evilness brings him down. My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 80% on evilness You scored higher than 10% on romance You scored higher than 99% on tragic You scored higher than 0% on comic Link: The Shakespeare Character Test written by mandi_g on Ok Cupid (Comment on this)
Sunday, August 28th, 2005
2:06 pm	For the Honor of all Werewolves John "Axe" Holt runs through the Shadow, familiar burns marks his body once more. It doesn't slow him down, he has been in this life so long, the pain just don't register anymore. But bullshit sure the hell does. All those wolves, talking about honor glory, fighting for the little kids, and old women, Yeah right when the shit hit the fan where were they? Huddled in that fucking circle, while the others of us bore the fire, and WHAT THE FUCK does that Mouse think he is doing burying a fellow fucking Uratha , sure there is a fire going, but wait to see if there is one of the wolves brave enough to risk their neck outside the fucking circle in that fire before you cover it in 2 tons of dirt..... COCKHEAD. Damm, the older I get the more tired I get of the Posing, and speeching and random bullshit. Yeah some of us might have to die, you said, But it looked like you didn't plan on it being you. It was people like you, that got Axe in the shit he got in to. They decided something had to die, and let someone else do the fighting and dieing and losing touch with the spirit world. FuckHeads!! Well, I hate to say it, You don't Rule Me no more, I made my peace with Shuck, I made my peace with Myself, Thats the last blood you decide for me to spill, NOW I DECIDE. I got a girl and boy to raise, I got a woman and young women to take care of, I got a little brother and a lost Kid to watch over, I GOT ENOUGH TO DO, with having to worry about what happens if you send me to die. Yeah all that Honor and Glory bullshit talk don't raise a family and I know aint nobody gonna give a shit to help the ones you leave behind when you die for their dreams of HONOR AND GLORY. Honor is doing what you have to do when it has to be done, not doing something just so people think your cool or brave, Glory is surviving long enough to fight another day, not dieing because people give pretty speeches and prance around like fucking Fairies. Hell i am a fucking Blood talon, and I say you shoulda signed the FUCKING CONTRACT. Now we got a war that we didn't need and didn't have to have. Smart move fuckheads, Hopefully the ones that take your place when you die, will be smarter. John comes to the Cave, and steps through the Loci to the real world. Pulls out his cellphone and Calls the only other Uratha in the city that understands how things really are, and people call her a kid,,,,,, "Chris? You there?" (9 Comments |Comment on this)