I see that I have not taken good care of my possessions. My Diary was tattered from hiding it in an old stump. The pages torn and sections were missing.
I for some reason, I could not bring myself to exist among people again. A terrible, but undefined grief gnawed within me, the only heightened when I thought of spending time in a tavern or an inn. And in any case, after spending so long in the wilds, I completely forgot what it was like to exist amongst humans. They became simply a source of subsistence for me. I found that I could haunt the outskirts of a town, and entrance the unwary to me. Somehow they saw in me what they wanted to, not what I was, which was a dishevelled, unwashed and wild eyed man.
I hunted indiscriminately, picking out and amplifying the artistry of any who wandered near. But I did not temper my feeding, those who encountered me left touched by their own madness, a consuming mania that would not stop until it had burned through them, leaving them as shallow husks, or if they were lucky, dead.
Vivienne has left me. It was my decision, we were lost in a forest, the winter had set in, and she was unable to travel far. I did what I could to create a warm place for her. I myself seem little bothered by the cold.
We both because so desperately hungry that I had to do something. We found a passing hunter, we must have, and I convinced him to take her with him into town, I took his own desires, and entwined them with great secrets, and made him believe that Vivienne was his muse. I fed from him sparingly, but it was enough.
I had to leave that place, it left me with terrible memories, and the thought of it filled me with dread.
The village was raided very quickly, and we were forced to go on the move. For perhaps a year we lived on the road. I relied on my talents to get us places to sleep, and food for Vivienne. However, I admit, the needs of a mortal body were becoming a distant memory and she grew thin and sick during our travels. I myself regressed some extent, unable to relate to most people beyond feeding into and on their desires.
Vivienne and I had become lovers, or something close to it, and though we lived well, the slums and criminal element of Paris was begging to wear thin.
Something about Britannia drew me back, and after some time I convinced Vivienne to accompany me back the island. I was interested in what had become of my old lands in the last hundred or so years, and was surprised to find the old manor discarded and left in disrepair.
With some encouragement the locals were able reinvigorate the place, and soon Vivienne and I had a pleasant place to live.
With the temperance I had learnt, we managed to establish ourselves as citizens of good standing. And the area became known as a nexus of fine art and craftsmanship. Although, I was mostly content, the restraint I had to endure meant I was always gripped by some level of hunger for the desires of those around me.
Of course it didn't last. The Normans came, and sought out anyone with a semblance of power. And being French herself, Vivienne was deemed and enemy in her own town, and me by association (and my own fluency in French did not help).
With reluctance, and some amount of frustration, we were forced to pack up and move north to Scotlan, where I was able to hide among a small village of Norwegians who were also trying to keep out of the war.
I took to living outside of the city in a small abandoned home, deciding it best to lay low for a while. I had to ration my feeding as I tended to draw attention to myself if I indulged too often. A sudden increase in creative output of the local populace tends not to go unnoticed.
Vivienne found me again a few months after we parted, I have found that those I spend a lot of time with are often have little trouble finding me. She wanted help with a dispute she was having with Sadrabald, her usual fence, and a compatriot of my own from the Brothel days.
He claimed Vivienne stole a considerable sum from him, and he used the coin she took from me as evidence of her crimes. I did find it amusing that she was completely unapologetic for taking my money, assuming—correctly—that I viewed it as payment for her aid.
I was tempted to leave them to each others' follies, but I had some affection for the both of them, and from the way Vivienne described the situation, I could see that some real harm would come to one or both if they were left to their own devices. The anger she felt while talking was so strong, it was all I could do to stop myself from feeding on her. But I knew that would only make things so much worse.
Vivienne knew something of my true nature, and I think she assumed my solution would be supernatural in nature. But really this was a financial dispute, and one that I found could be easily rectified.
I had to make myself know back in the city again, if only for a short time, but it was still a danger as the clergy would be still be after me. I kept my introductions quiet, and my feeding restrained.
Ultimately, I solved the issue by working with Sadrabald and increasing his business. He really was a sloppy book keeper, and a terrible salesman. So all it took was some simple modifications and he had increased his takings at least threefold.
While I am not an official part of the business, I think it may prove useful to have access to a solid revenue stream, and a link to criminal element of Paris's population.
In return for my aid I required that he forgive Vivienne any perceived theft. But I could sense he never truly believed me when I claimed the money was my own, and Vivienne knew it too. Their relationship did not fully mend.
Cait kept me anchored in more ways that I realised. After wandering for a few years, I was desperate for some real company. So I decided to settle in Paris.
My talents could have ingratiated me with any of the merchants of the more prestigious trades, or even in the court of a local lord. But I didn't want much attention. So I took to prostitution.
Not of myself, by now I had learned not just how to fan the flames of desire in those I hunted, but to direct it as well. This wasn't so much a supernatural power as a lesson in manipulation of mankind's baser natures.
I ran a small brothel near the city gates at the begrudging allowance of city authorities. Mostly we served young freemen travelling to a city to sell goods and were free from their families for a short while.
The money was good, and the feeding was better. We developed a great reputation in the city, and I became rich and famous in some circles. But eventually the local clergy grew tired of our debauchery and raided our house, putting me in shackles. The iron burns my skill and I am greatly weakened, almost extinguished.
However, one of the girls, Vivienne, who was resourceful and loyal, set fire to the house and smuggled me out of the city in the chaos. She broke my bonds, but left me alone to recover. She also took the small amount of money I had on me.
I did not begrudge her, she saved my life and for that I am forever thankful.
Many years have passed. Erik was quickly ousted as King and fled back to Norway, I accompanied him of course, but soon grew restless in his court and took to wandering. Cait grew old while I did not, and while she accompanied me on my travels dutifully, eventually she could not keep up.
I left her in the care of a French monastery, who I paid with knowledge, poems, and a not inconsiderable amount of money. I stayed with her for some weeks before she left for a nearby nunnery.
While I did not find myself lacking for food amongst the younger monks, a few of them had the same calming nature as Cait. I learned from them how to settle my own mind with quiet meditation. At least until my hunger grew too strong to ignore.
I started a journal there as I would be alone now and had no one to tell my stories to. I purchased a finely bound volume from the monks and wrote in it of Cait.
As I left the grounds I realised that I have started a new phase, and with the passing of time I should take a new name. I decided to call myself Guiscard the Wanderer.
The satiation I get from the healer does not last long, and within a few days my vitality wanes again. I visit the city, where there is easy prey among the revellers in the taverns. I soon become fixated on finding my next victim, even the time of warm fullness that I experience after a feeding (for I cannot think of it as anything else) is spent plotting and relishing the next.
I think I would have lost myself if it were not for Caitrìona. Something is different in her, she does not burn with any secret desires, or want for supernatural inspiration. I think any of those motivations were stolen from her along with her parents.
When I sit in her presence now, I remember what it was like just to be in someone else's quiet company. She does not talk much, but she does not need to. I talk to her, about the household, the finances, the stories I must write, and she listens. And I feel grounded and human once more.
I was right, something was very wrong with me. I could not eat, anything I forced down came back up immediately. At first I thought I was sick, poor Caitrìona must have been convinced that I was dying. I thought I was.
It was the healer who saved me, though not in any way he expected. I was lucid enough when he came, summoned by Cait. Somehow I could sense his barely contained enthusiasm, I was a great mystery and new puzzle to be solved.
So I asked him about it. My questions were fumbling and confused at first, not knowing much about the healing arts myself. But as we talked he became more and more animated, more inspired. He talked of the Greeks and their Humours and of his study of various healing herbs and potions. He told me of his new theories, his desire to study the human body directly to cut it open and observe the workings directly, while the subject—sedated of course—still lived.
I should have been repulsed at the notion, but I was enthralled as he talked. At first I didn't notice my exhaustion lifting, my hunger abating, then I sat up and went to enthusiastically grab his hand, and stopped myself.
I felt so alive, so bound up in the joy of his inspiration, but I knew this wasn't natural. I made some excuses and sent him on his, afraid that I would hurt his feelings with my sudden lack of hospitality, but he barely noticed, driven now to rush home and start upon his work.
In the quiet after I left, I reflected on what happened. I still felt that drive, that inspiration burning inside me, sustaining me. I remembered the scroll and how the Leanan Sídhe consumes its victims very life force, but in return they would access boundless creativity, at least for the short time that they had left to live.
I realised then, I had done something wonderful, I had done something horrible.