The Pyramid had shown him great kindness, he'd been told, as if though they'd expected gratefulness. All of that went a long way towards illustrating the point; that the world of darkness was just as sick and twisted as the one you would have to leave to get there, if not worse. For all his deeply ingrained cynicism, freedom of information was something he really believed in. Knowledge may not turn the world into a better place to live in, quite the opposite in many cases, but for all it mattered it made life, or unlife, or whatever the hell you'd call it, a bit more bearable and he considered it his saving grace that he displayed enough altruism to believe that it should be passed on freely. Of course, it's a well known fact that fate has a sense of humor, and more importantly, an acute feeling for irony. He'd been sired by the Tremere, whose stance on the information flow would have caused Orwell to give it up entirely and become a car salesman. He'd been caught pouring over some books of forgotten lore, and, well, that he was to do nevermore. Granted, he'd been told that neonates weren't allowed in the library on the third floor. They could just as well have told a kid not to touch the cookie jar. He just couldn't understand why they made so much fuss about it. A less organized clan probably wouldn't have bothered, but the Tremere had a tendency to take things seriously. In this respect, he'd been lucky. The rules of the Pyramid didn't sanction him being expelled or given final death; in fact, the worst that could happen was that his promotion within the pyramid would be delayed a year, and they knew he didn't care about that. So they'd given him a mission instead. Go to Skellefteå, they'd said. There've been rumblings about supernatural occurences. Record any strange phenomena. We'll provide you with a car, an appartment and enough money to get by. Good luck. He'd grown up in Skellefteå, and quickly became bored with it. Needed to get out. He'd performed well at school, studied theology and philosophy at the university of Umeå and later on, Vienna, always with flying colors. He spook six languages fluently. For what reason was he sent here, of all places? Of course, no one would recognize him by now, but still, what was it? Fate, probably.
The snow crunched beneath Olofs feet as he walked slowly along the road. It was very dark and very late, but Olof was used to the darkness so it didn't really bother him. His mother and father had begun fighting again over some silly detail back home and Olof didn't want to be a part of their squabble, so he'd taken refuge in the stillnes of the night outside. He always went for a walk when he was upset. It helped him focus on other more interesting and positive things. Suddenly, he felt an urge to just stop and listen to his surroundings. He liked that, liked listening to the world. He closed his eyes, breathed in heavily and waited. What did he hear? A somewhat muffled, high-pitched, agonized squeal. He immedietly spun around on the spot, searching for anything in every direction. He felt dizzy, his heart raced. His jacket started to get uncomfortably warm. There it was again, but this time as clear as daylight. The agonized death-wail of some small creature, probably a rodent, very, very close. He identified the direction of the noice, at least. It came from a tree just by the road. Then, his mind won him over and he started to think rationally. Come on, it said, What could it possibly be? There aren't any monsters, you stupid boy! It's a rat or a squirrel getting killed by a cat, or something like that. Jesus Christ. He was right, of course. He'd been startled by the cat, or whatever it was. Nothing more. But, even as he persuaded himself that everything was under control, he couldn't let go of the feeling that something was horribly wrong. Cats and rats now, with snow and cold covering the place? Eventually, though, he won himself over and shook off his silly fear. Just as he was about to leave, a man stepped out from behind the tree. He was wiping his face with his right hand, and held something in his left. Olof froze on the spot, his heart once again breaking speed regulations. The man by the tree, reduced to a dark siluette in the shadow cast by the electric light next to the road, tossed whatever it was that he held in his left hand in Olofs direction and let out a little sigh of relief. As the dead, mutilated rat hit the pavement, it all became too much for Olof. The last thing he saw before waking up again on a bench next to a bus stop was the gleaming eyes of whatever monster it was which stood under the tree. Magnus, who'd just finished tonights dinner, muttered as he walked away from the bus stop. He raised his gray, disfigured hand in front of his face and gave it a long stare, only to shake his head and bury the disapointing hand in his pocket. It was going to be a long night.
I live in one of those murky old apartments in the boring tenements that constitute the entirety of Sjungande Dalen. The rent is probably cheap, but I'm not the one paying it. Parked myself at the computer, like I always do after a good day's sleep. The usual routine, me wearing a holey pair of boxers, checking the usual forums while sipping on my blood bag. Oh, I can hunt alright, but with a Camarilla ghoul working at the hospital, why bother? So I went to Norran.se, like I always do. And it immediately struck my attention. There had been strange observations in Ersmark. Eerie lights, strange shadows, people swearing they had heard whispers. It was quite a big article with a number of interviews, followed by the smug denouncements made by scientists who claimed that this was nothing out of the ordinary, what with the northern lights being particularly active as of late. If nothing else, you can always count on Reason. Better make a visit though. Dressed myself. To hell with cumbersome winter clothes; I don't need them, and jeans, a Family Guy t-shirt and a leather jacket restricts movement a lot less than Goretex. Finally, I took Fear and Loathing, my two Desert Eagles, tucked a few extra clips of ammo into my pockets, and went out into the night.
The door clattered shut. the man was headed down the stairs into the snowy night. I was at the bottom of the stairs waiting. -God these nights get lonely. So I figure, we'll start over by Riley's and make our way across town, assuming we get something out of him. We'll take Schyler's van. I have somethings I'd like to bring into the bar with me, if you don't mind? My own agenda, kinda. I'm Ray.
