[ It had been long nights alone with the Society's libraries that had let him piece together the truth of what had happened to him.
He'd spent a short while proceeding as many initiates to the Society of Leopold do; he had spread himself over many tomes, trying to map out these new and unknown borders of his world. He had thought himself sure of where they lay, when they had suddenly, violently extended into the darkness, and he realized that all he'd been looking at was a murky ditch. For if vampires crawled the night, what else did?
The Society had some answers. He found the existence of further horrors, for the Society hunters could not afford to ignore such terrors whilst they focused their fire on the children of Cain. They moved below him like the shadows of Miocene horrors, their huge bodies parting waters far beneath his feet. Werewolves, and their fight against the Great Wyrm. Wraiths. Changelings, and the dreams they infested. On and on those borders stretched, just beyond him as soon as Godfrey believes he feels them below his fingers. It was not long before Godfrey made the sensible conclusion - that he would never know - and moved to what he ought to be learning.
Each new piece a horror, a fresh pit in his stomach. He'd remembered sitting in front of those books, staring sightless at words that threatened to choke him. All that had happened to him, written in ink and bound in cracking leather.
He had faced down his share of night-creatures since then. These dark and lonely moments had been fire in his chest then. Kindling for a great inferno; a chugging and violent engine pushing him through them, that it may not be done to another in his place. He had not been daunted, and he had not been broken.
Gale circling the table and standing imperiously at his side of it puts every one of those pits in his stomach anew. He does not sense his words laced with blood-power, but that does not mean it does not pull him. Godfrey squares his shoulders as well as he can, and feels his arms tighten around the back of his chair again. ]
One walks in the light of Christ - but not as a fool.
[ It seethes from him - an attempt to reclaim lost ground. ]
Perhaps I was once such a man as you wish your words would now touch; the sort foolish enough to believe the scorpion as he tells me how inert his drooling tail is.
[ It would gladden Gale to think that he could do such a thing. It would gladden Godfrey even more to grab his resolve to make good on those words in both hands and wrestle it back. He sucks a breath down to the pits of him and feels the engine flicker. ]
I am he no longer. I never will be. And whether you are yourself one of the slithering vipers in this pit, whether you have simply spent so long among them that you consider yourself one - it makes no difference.
no subject
He'd spent a short while proceeding as many initiates to the Society of Leopold do; he had spread himself over many tomes, trying to map out these new and unknown borders of his world. He had thought himself sure of where they lay, when they had suddenly, violently extended into the darkness, and he realized that all he'd been looking at was a murky ditch. For if vampires crawled the night, what else did?
The Society had some answers. He found the existence of further horrors, for the Society hunters could not afford to ignore such terrors whilst they focused their fire on the children of Cain. They moved below him like the shadows of Miocene horrors, their huge bodies parting waters far beneath his feet. Werewolves, and their fight against the Great Wyrm. Wraiths. Changelings, and the dreams they infested. On and on those borders stretched, just beyond him as soon as Godfrey believes he feels them below his fingers. It was not long before Godfrey made the sensible conclusion - that he would never know - and moved to what he ought to be learning.
Each new piece a horror, a fresh pit in his stomach. He'd remembered sitting in front of those books, staring sightless at words that threatened to choke him. All that had happened to him, written in ink and bound in cracking leather.
He had faced down his share of night-creatures since then. These dark and lonely moments had been fire in his chest then. Kindling for a great inferno; a chugging and violent engine pushing him through them, that it may not be done to another in his place. He had not been daunted, and he had not been broken.
Gale circling the table and standing imperiously at his side of it puts every one of those pits in his stomach anew. He does not sense his words laced with blood-power, but that does not mean it does not pull him. Godfrey squares his shoulders as well as he can, and feels his arms tighten around the back of his chair again. ]
One walks in the light of Christ - but not as a fool.
[ It seethes from him - an attempt to reclaim lost ground. ]
Perhaps I was once such a man as you wish your words would now touch; the sort foolish enough to believe the scorpion as he tells me how inert his drooling tail is.
[ It would gladden Gale to think that he could do such a thing. It would gladden Godfrey even more to grab his resolve to make good on those words in both hands and wrestle it back. He sucks a breath down to the pits of him and feels the engine flicker. ]
I am he no longer. I never will be. And whether you are yourself one of the slithering vipers in this pit, whether you have simply spent so long among them that you consider yourself one - it makes no difference.