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Monte Cook's World of Darkness

Monte Cook's World of Darkness

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Published by: sgtfrag on Apr 01, 2011
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04/10/2014

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A World of Darkness Game
for Revised 3.5 Edition Rules
for Revised 3.5 Edition Rules
 
MORE COMPLICATED NOW
Life had become more complicated now.
The last rays of daylight died,
nally, beyond the hazy horizon.
Night seethed with a rush in Victor’s limbs, and in his mind.
But at least it was life, Victor mused.
Life, once again.
 
Life, once again.
Yes, his name was Victor.
Yes, his name was Victor.His last name had been consumed by the darkness along with most of hisother memories, but he did not mind.
It was enough.
It was enough.In fact, he liked it that way.He had no use for names.No use for memories.Not caring for, or even truly trusting,the noisy vehicles of the city, Victorwalked. He withdrew into the hoodedsweatshirt he wore to conceal hisface. He kept his hands in his pock-ets. His appearance was haggard andrough — his eyes sunken and red. Butmostly he was pale. No blood coursedin veins below his skin. His heart was a shrunken, lifeless thing.His body was that of a boy. Sixteenyears old at most, Victor believed. Anda real Nancy boy from the sounds of all the screaming in his head. Mostof the time, Victor was able toshut out the frantic noises theboy made. Victor was the mas-ter here, and it would stay thatway.
You hear that, boy?
 
The people around him on the streets gave him none of their attention, which was just as he desired. They hurriedhome with shopping bags and dogs on leashes, believing themselves safe in the light of far too few streetlights. Hecould smell them as much as see them. To Victor, they were cattle to feed upon and nothing more.This attitude was little different than that which he held in his previous life, when he served as a… physician,yes, that was it. Funny he should remember that now. He gave an involuntary shudder at the thought. So many patients. So many needy people. No one had ever concerned themselves with his needs. That he remembered.Infants, children, adults — they became just bodies to him, just work. And who could blame him for his attitude,when all he could hear was their ceaseless, sel
sh prattling? All he could smell was their sweat and their shit andtheir guts. Sometimes it was easier to just let them die. Or even help them die. Yes, surely the world was betteroff without them.But that was then. Such details, and such thoughts, meant nothing now.Now there was only Victor’s need.He turned down a particularly dark street that ran past a river. It seemed familiar to him. Perhaps he had huntedhere before.Insects and frogs
lled the night with their songs from out of the darkness of the riverbank, but he paid them nomind. He was only interested in two things now: threats, and prey. Forthe moment, he spied neither.Of course, Victor did have other concerns — other debtsto pay. He had not brought his own soul back scream-ing and twitching from… well, wherever that was.No, he was given this gift — this second chance — by something else. Something entirely removed fromhis experience, either from back then or now. Andalthough he did not understand what that thing was, he knew that he must act on its behalf.That need was woven into the very fabricof his new existence. In return for hisregained life, Victor would occasionally hunt special, speci
c targets. Hardly any price to pay at all, really. He really gave it little thought.He turned down a side street thatwound about old houses glowing from the inside like paper lanternsat a party. It was a quiet street.Perfect. He slipped off the side-walk, through the darknessand up against the peel-ing, paint-covered boardson the side of an ill-cared-for, sprawling home witha wide front porch. There,he waited, and watched. Helet the night air, thick withthe scent of grass clippingsand pollen, wash over him,hoping to catch the scent of a possible quarry.He hated people. All people.He always had, really, butnow at least they servedsome purpose to him. Notonly did their lives sustainhis newfound existence,however, the hunt provided

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