November 12, 2012 § 4 Comments
This is part 2.
The connection with the old.
This post contains a lot of dialogue. I reproduced it as good as I can remember, based on approximately what I remember that happened. I can’t guarantee this is a word for word description but… here it is anyway.
“I don’t have the power to talk about this right now.” I replied instead, and closed my eyes.
I put my hand on her mouth, in the dark, in a sign of “Don’t say any more” – She was smiling.
I was all too tired to even start thinking about why. I got used to it. Regina smiled a lot you know. More than any person should, really.
We fell asleep.
“You know… I’m starting to adopt this daylife style when I’m with you. I’m always tired. I don’t care for it too much.” She was saying while I still had my eyes closed, didn’t wake up completely.
“For a night person, you sure are pretty active.” I said, with my eyes still closed.
“What time is it anyway?” I asked.
“Close to two.” As in 14:00 in the afternoon.
[[ If you’re a U.S reader, then understand that the norm in Europe, while you might be aware that we use 24 hour clock, and refer to it as such in writing, when speaking, we actually still use the 12 hour one.
If one would want to say “two in the afternoon” he would say “two in the afternoon” and not “14:00” – but he would write 14:00 instead. ]]
Hearing that, I opened my eyes instantly. TWO?
“What in the world… What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m bored.” She responded.
“I can see that. But what are you doing?” I asked again.
“I’m painting?” She responded, with a question.
“ON MY WALLS?” I asked while standing up.
I jumped to her and she just caught me on my way on stopping her, keeping me at bay no matter what I did, with just one hand.
“Stop it!” I exclaimed, still trying to get close to her right hand with which she was making small, swirly, squiggly blue lines on my beautiful walls.
“There. Finished.” And with three points above a… square(?), she stopped.
She let me go, and stood back.
“Wonderful.” I said and started dressing. I wasn’t even in the least bit curios. I didn’t want to know. Where’d she got the paint anyway?
“Do you just casually start painting people’s walls?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Why is your hair wet? Do I want to know?” I asked.
“Can you stop it with the question? What the hell is the matter with you. You just woke up. Are you always like this when you sleep on the floor?” She asked.
“I wouldn’t know now, would I?” Implying that I had never slept on the floor before.
“I took a shower ok? You know what? Just shut up and go outside.” Regina exclaimed and started going through some shirts that I had, trying to see if something would be to her pleasing. She did that often, used plain white shirts whenever she didn’t have anything else to wear. They look… better than you would expect.
So I did. I opened the door and went into the main hallway.
Everything was blue.
This was a nightmare.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked nobody.
“We’re painting the walls.” Someone responded from the other room.
“I CAN SEE THAT!” I responded, making sure I got heard. I didn’t want to know about this either. Too much going on in one morning, afternoon. Why did I sleep so much anyway?
I went back to the room. Closed the door.
“So, last night.” I said, and sat down on a chair, massaging my shoulder.
She got close.
“Last night…” She said while approaching.
“Does it hurt?” She asked, putting her hand on my shoulder.
“Just a bit uncomfortable I guess.” I responded.
“Let me see.” She said leaning down to get a closer look.
“There’s nothing there!” She exclaimed, as in “Stop complaining.”
“Well maybe you broke a bone!” I responded in an angry/comic kind of way and jumped up, taking her in my arms, pushing her backwards and urging her to go back to the subject which she was clearly dodging. After a bit of going back and forth between subjects, dodging questions, which she was a master at. Even when you knew she was doing it on purpose, she still managed to sway you into a whole different conversation, changing the subject from the apocalypse (just an example) to ice-cream just like that. After that, we finally reached the no-return point.
“I need…” She trailed off.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” She said instead.
“I don’t have too many first times in my life these days, but this, this is worth remembering.” She added, as in an attempt to change the subject again. No going back.
“Just tell me already.” I urged her to continue.
“I need you.” She said in a flat voice.
“I think we all know that you want something from me, as for need, I don’t really know what to say about that…” I responded in an arrogant way. I always do that. I don’t like it – I can’t help it. I don’t know how to accept these kinds of statements.
“Very well-put.” Again…
“But the fact is: I actually need you. As in, I need your… help?” She clarified.
“Help? With what?” I asked.
Now, I can reproduce this following part either through even more dialogue or through a summary, but I think it will take much less space or effort to read if I do it as a summary. Don’t worry, same detail.
She sat me down, and explained to me that she thinks – actually believes – that Sigismund might be out there, alive. She explained to me everything that she had been doing in-between the periods where we didn’t see each other, and explained to me that she was pretty sure she had quite a few things following her – humans or vampires, with unknown interests. Because she had let them do just that, see where it leads.
It all started with Uppsala and the discovery of the start-shaped, like my necklace, key lock underneath the cathedral in Sweden.
She had found another one of those and that’s why she needed my necklace again, without me being there, because she didn’t want me to know – she didn’t wanted anyone to know – where it was, or what she was after.
Bear with me, it’ll become clear as to why she wanted it kept private.
The blood that Viktoria wanted, that would be revealed to me, and to you too, a bit later in the story.
She did this apparently all the time, just followed the same trail.
I know the story goes sideways and doesn’t formulate a red, epic thread which to follow. But hei, that’s life. This might be a good reading for you, but it’s not a carefully, traditionally ‘Introduction, Action, Ending’ type of story. It’s six years of my life, and everything went forward and up and down and backwards. Stories like these don’t go up to the end-point in a straight, ascending line.
She followed the same trail we had been on all the time, and the more we dug into it, the more questions we had, and not enough answers.
We were still onto the same thing which interested both of us: Finding Sigismund – connected to me, the necklace, her – why her, why me – why the necklace, and what’s the real connection between all of this and the black eyed children. She, as well as me, knowing more and more, were feeling as part of an elaborate hoax.
IF the black eyed children had made the same type – or even the very same necklace for her and she had gone through what I was going right now – then how was all this possible – and more importantly why?
Why was Sigismund missing – voluntarily? Why no vampires older than her?
We both, couldn’t really accept that there’s a possibility everything we did was planned way before we were born, and was being steered by an invisible hand with every step we took. We both had issues with understanding the end goal, and more importantly, accepting that there might be a higher control at work, higher than the kinship. Which was – in the least – worrying.
But if you’ve read up until now, you know it got even more complicated. Every time we set on the right path, something intervened. Something like Gunnar, Blanche and Turkey. What was that all about?
Regina had an entire year for herself to hunt down and find whoever was responsible for that, and she didn’t find out anything except what she was now telling me.
Picking up on a trail born out of the deepest corners of Russian folklore, along with other clues, such as the location, the names involved and the markings. Yes, the markings. And she pointed me to the wall she had painted. Norse language. Runic language.
Damn. I knew I had recognized it from somewhere.
The Russian folklore spoke of the “undying man who worships the runes” – Now, the saga is much more longer, and I don’t really know what is it about. That’s all I got, because Regina quickly jumped to explain more about Sigismund.
He was obsessed with the runic language. With the runes. We was convinced there was a strong connection between Valhalla, the Norse heaven or afterlife, and Wallachia – name of a Romanian region (South of Transylvania).
And there’s good evidence the norse folk held strong similarities to the Dacian people, the current day population of Romania.
As quoted from Wikipedia:
Xenophanes described Thracians as having blue eyes and red hair. Physically, the Dacians and the Getae had similar characteristics to other barbarians around them (Thracians,Celts, and Scythians). Unlike the Greeks, or Scythians and Germanics, Dacians are generally described as being much taller, their skin whiter and with less hair with straight, light-coloured (red?) hair and blue eyes.” Here is the link to the Dacian characteristics.
He was also fascinated with the old Dacian people because of his nature. He believed that there was something there, and he constantly searched for getting to the bottom of it. Namely, not only the presence of vampire folklore way before he was even born, into the Dacian mythology, but also the presence of depiction of werewolves. Now, don’t go thinking I’m getting into werewolves here. I’m just saying, what I said in a past post, that it’s rather curios – and it’s hard not to be at least as interested as Sigismund was – as to why all these myths and tales come from, how Bram Stoker put it, “the horseshoe of the Carpathians”.
For example, if you read the Dacian mythology you will quickly find that there’s one thought in your head: Werewolf.
I mean, how could it not?
- Dacians might have called themselves “wolves” or “ones the same with wolves”, a fact with religious significance.
- Dacians draw their name from a god or a legendary ancestor who appeared as a wolf.
- Dacians had taken their name from a group of fugitive immigrants arrived from other regions or from their own young outlaws, who acted similarly to the wolves circling villages and living from looting. As was the case in other societies, those young members of the community went through an initiation, perhaps up to a year, during which they lived as a wolf. Comparatively, Hittite laws referred to fugitive outlaws as “wolves”.
- The existence of a ritual that provides one with the ability to turn into a wolf. Such a transformation may be related either with lycanthropy itself, a widespread phenomenon, but attested especially in the Balkans-Carpathian region, or a ritual imitation of the behavior and appearance of the wolf. Such a ritual was presumably a military initiation, potentially reserved to a secret brotherhood of warriors (or Männerbünde). To become formidable warriors they would assimilate behavior of the wolf, wearing wolf skins during the ritual. Traces related to wolves as a cult or as totems were found in this area since the Neolithic period, including the Vinča culture artifacts: wolf statues and fairly rudimentary figurines representing dancers with a wolf mask. The items could indicate warrior initiation rites, or ceremonies in which young people put on their seasonal wolf masks. The element of unity of beliefs about werewolves and lycanthropy consists in the magical-religious experience of mystical solidarity with the wolf by whatever means used to obtain it. But all have one original myth, a primary event.
Now, I know the above is a lot to read. But trust me, the more you read it (at least twice) the more interesting it gets.
Do you see the resemblance between the last part, about the “becoming formidable warriors” and what I said about vampires and how they assume a certain shape – psychological one, a behavioural type? It’s imperative to do it, and the ones who actually need to do it, know all to well.
How does this relates to the whole story? Well, from my point of view, it doesn’t really. It only relates to how Regina came to the conclusion that there’s something behind that tale, back to the runic language and Sigismund obsession with it.
But how did the runic language get in those parts of the world? Few know, and I am not one of them. The evidence that it was indeed present lies all over the place. For example this photo of an old norse rune present in a Gotland (Swedish region) museum. It reads:
Rodvisl and Rodälv had these stones raised in memory of their three sons. This stone in memory of Rodfos.
He was betrayed by the Wallachians on an expedition. God help Rodfos’ soul. May God betray those who betrayed him.
Also, artifacts such as the Ring of Pietroassa and many others like this.
But enough with this, it was clear to me, and should be to you too, that this was a lead worth pursuing.
And she didn’t waste any time in trying to pick-up on the trail and follow it to wherever it led her. However, from that and to how I came into play here – more than I already was – as in, why and how she needed my help, well, that would be interesting, and I hope will shed a light on past events such as Turkey.
September 20, 2012 § 3 Comments
A man dies twice. When his heart stops beating and when his name is spoken for the last time.
I wondered how long it would take in Blanche’s case to forget about her, because indeed, that is true death – disappearing from the minds of everyone you’ve ever loved, forever.
We were not yet out of the cemetery itself when Regina’s focus shifted from nothing, from relaxed, to full attention towards a flight of stairs that led to the other entrance. I didn’t hear anything but by now I was pretty accustomed to the fact that no, she wasn’t predicting the future, she was just expecting – or hearing – or having better senses, and could notice something before I did, most of the time. Sure enough, a minute later, a very common man, nothing out of the ordinary, around his thirties, medium sized guy with a local sense of fashion, approached.
Small side-story here:
He could have passed as a local and I wondered if he was someone from the town. I don’t know whether he was a human or a vampire. There are a lot of persons that I never found out about if they are one or the other, and this just proves to me, and maybe to some of you, how ordinary and common they are. Even for someone who has spent quite a considerable time with them, it’s damn near impossible to tell. And if I was to take this even further, and hypothetically make someone choose from two people, one human and one vampire, I’m fairly certain he would pick the human as being the vampire. They are just really, really… inconspicuous and hard to tell.
Like I said time and time again: the only real way that you can find out if someone is a vampire or not is by wounding him. This is something THEY CANNOT CONTROL. And I cannot stress this enough. Healing themselves is NOT subject to self-control. It’s a very strong mechanism that kicks in the second one is wounded, no matter if he’s conscious or not, dead or alive. As long as rigor mortis has not yet dissipated. If you don’t know what that is, read about it – but it’s basically the stiffening of the muscles post death, which occurs about two hours after death in humans, and about 12 hours after death in vampires. It lasts for two to six days in humans, and about a week or more in vampires, depending on how old they are. The vampire continues to heal through rigor mortis, and eventually springs back to life. This is the key to their eternal life.
HOWEVER – if the wound is prevented from healing – or the damage is just too great, rigor mortis dissipates and decomposition occurs. Once decomposition sets in, that’s it. This can be done in several ways – leaving the weapon inside the vampire – like a stake, you HAVE to leave it there for the full duration, or decapitation – which basically ensures that no healing will occur whatsoever, and decomposition sets in much faster. I’m sure you can get creative here anyway.
And one last point: rigor mortis can be extended indefinitely for vampires, in sub-zero temperatures.
End of side-story.
He approached Regina, did a very subtle nod towards me and her, and then stared a bit at Regina in an inquisitive kind of way.
Regina looked at me and then back at the man, and said: “Yes.”
I figured he was asking for permission to speak – not in the literal sense, but in the sense of “Who’s this guy and can I speak freely in front of him?”
She didn’t bother introducing anyone, which normally wasn’t the case, but right there and then I knew that he was no close acquaintance of hers, and I even doubted that they knew each other prior to this.
“Message to central five minutes ago. Viktoria attacked by unknown group of humans. She requires your presence, the cvorum has been met.” – The man said.
And then proceeded to give her a piece of ordinary paper full of numbers and special characters from top to bottom. Nothing meaningful it seemed to me.
But before getting into that, I have to tell you that this was truly for the first time after years that I had the least bit of insight into their ways of communication, which will turn out to be even more and more complicated – and yet so simple – in the months to come.
I had absolutely (and still don’t) no idea how she was found anywhere, anytime whenever there was a need. Somebody just popped up and relayed a message. At least that was out of the puzzle. I knew there was a messenger. But how he got it in the first place – or how the one that sent the message even knew where to send it and where Regina was – remained a mystery for a long time.
Basically – they have a central – not a nest or anything – just one simple phone number to which someone answers no matter what, day and night, and then proceeds on sending the message through a number of channels from one point to the other, no matter if it is another person or another phone number. I soon understood that the messenger had to deliver the message as efficient as possible, as soon as possible and as personal as possible – you can see how those three contradict themselves, don’t you? I could never fully understand the whole network or its full extent, it was damn near impossible and it would had taken me a lifetime to learn. It was not a standard network, it relied heavily on word-of-mouth, it changed from area to area and there was a high degree of subjectivity involved, meaning that each messenger conveyed and kept in touch with Regina as he saw to be most fit and efficient way for the given situation and area. Intercepting a message in this network was almost impossible, because the network was deliberately made in a chaos to the untrained eye, but nonetheless, Regina’s location was always available, and I had no idea how.
I figured she was keeping a messenger nearby at all times, but I later found out that it was more a matter of a “check-in”. And that’s why establishing territorial boundaries and control was important before any kinship presence could be established. Because she always had each zone carefully established and with known people in it, it was a matter of a simple alert whenever she arrived at any – literally any – destination within the influence of the kinship. She checked in – simple as that – and someone was made available instantly to convey messages if needed – and to provide any needs. And she wasn’t the only one enjoying this apparently.
Now back to the paper she received.
She focused on it for about twenty seconds, and then for the first time seeing her in a rush and unsettled, she said:
“We need to leave. Now.”
She gave the paper back to the messenger which made his way back to where he came from, and we started going towards my house in a hurry.
“What happened?” I asked.
“That message was from Viktoria herself and she’s got herself in a bit of a mess. We really need to go as soon as possible.”
A code that only the two of them knew – ever. An artificial language developed by the two of them over centuries. And I’m not even joking. It was not just a code, but was a language in itself – I don’t really know if someone could ever decipher that, because it literally had no spaces, no word formations, no nothing. It was just random numbers and special characters, one after another, spanning over an entire page. I never tried understanding it, because it’s of no use – You could never decipher a language based on nothing, and even if taught, I could never learn it properly. I need to tell you: This wasn’t by any means common, or used by anyone else. It was just the two of them that understood it – they created it – together, and never taught it to anyone else. It was their little way of making sure they are truly communicating with one another, and nobody changed, intercepted or interfered with the message.
“Where are we going?” – I was by now almost running down the steps behind her.
“I don’t know. We just need to leave right away to get there.” – That was confusing enough. Regina always knew where she was going.
As soon as we got home I threw in a small bag a couple of clothes for any occasion really, and just shouted away “I’m leaving” to my folks. This time they weren’t so understanding. With Blanche’s funeral and all – although they knew everything about it – it wasn’t so easy for them to leave me just vanish away, again, without knowing where I was going or for how long. I was growing up – but not as fast as I would have liked.
I basically gave them no choice but to accept. I didn’t have the time nor the will to explain everything. I feel sorry now for how I made them feel, but there’s no room for regret now.
As we were rushing out the door, I asked Regina again about what happened, and only when we got in a car she relaxed a bit and told me what happened.
“Viktoria was attacked by a group of humans, she’s hurt apparently but safe for now. I need to deal with this urgently, because as you already know, there’s rarely one human than knows about me or her, not mentioning a group of them.”
“But Regina, if Viktoria was attacked not even two days after Blanche, doesn’t that ring a bell?”
“What?” – She replied.
“They are both… yours.”
“I would bet that this is a new trend, and we need to find all of those that you turned.”
She had an epiphany right there and then, and pushed the car even harder.
“Change of plans.”
We were in the airport in under 40 minutes and in a plane in under two hours. Although it took over eight hours in total to get there, we finally did.
We were in the plane.
“How many descendants do you have anyway?” – I wasn’t expecting an answer to this really, I felt it was way to personal, even for me, to ask her.
“Just three, out of which just Viktoria was planned if you must know.”
The three were of course Viktoria, Blanche and… Gunnar.
We were heading for Gunnar, and as soon as we landed in Gotheborg, Regina checked in with Lars, the elder of Scandinavia, and told him everything that has transpired, and more. It seemed to me, that from all her acquaintances and elders, Lars was the one she not on liked, but trusted, most. Except Viktoria. Maybe.
Lars was already aware of pretty much everything and was also prepared to leave. Later about that.
As we left his place, Regina ended the very short conversation with:
“…and whatever you do, don’t step over the border.”
And with that we were on our way straight for Gunnar. If you don’t remember who Gunnar is, read the post “vampires don’t dig for the past“, last part, after the last photo.
From Gotheborg we took a flight to Trondheim, Norway – the last bastion of Regina’s influence. Everything north of Trondheim, is a no-man’s land. I’m not saying there aren’t any of them, I’m just saying there’s no elder covering that area, be it Sweden or Norway. Scandinavia, north of Trondheim, is without influence. Nobody applies any rule there, and because of that, too few of them go and settle there permanently. The most gruesome stories I’ve heard between them took place there, in the middle of nowhere, with nobody hearing or ever knowing anything. Regina herself didn’t condemn anything as we talked on our way there. It was truly a ‘everything goes’ zone, but it’s rather safe for humans, because like I said – there are very few of them in such a large area, and none of them really stay there permanently. If you have something to do there, good, if you don’t, you’re most likely not going to be there anyway.
The flight to Trondheim was horrible enough, in the middle of the winter, but the drive there was even less pleasant. I honestly expected us to remain permanently trapped in the snow, and with nobody in sight and a hungry Regina next to me, my chances weren’t really good. I mean one can eat snow for only so long.
And while we were at it, we also talked about what she said to Lars.
You see, Viktoria was in triple-trouble.
First, a group of humans knew who she was and what she was, and wasn’t exactly clear if she was to be held accountable for this.
Second, she was in one of the very few areas in which Regina strictly told everyone not to go – for no apparent reason I thought – until then. There aren’t many places where a vampire can’t go, but one of those places is a considerable area of modern-day Turkey.
And third, she was very badly hurt.
Regina sent Lars to pick-her up and transport her to safety, guard her until the cvorum met. He was supposed to do this without stepping over the border, which is not a human border, but the territorial border of the kinship’s domain in Europe. It is basically the strait that divides Europe from the Middle East, it divides Istanbul in two, it is the strait that connects the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara.
Viktoria was on the wrong side of the border, and Lars needed to pick her up with the help of – you guessed it – humans. Even in a situation like this, Regina obeyed, or feared, going over that imaginary line.
We finally got to Gunnar. The plan was…
April 21, 2012 § 32 Comments
as I promised in the latest part of the story, I have been working on compiling a post that sheds a bit more light into the “can prove” part. This included a bit of traveling (I needed to see for myself, I’m sure you can relate) so that is why it took a bit longer.
But anyway, here it is.
- I’ll start with making it again known, the fact that Regina told years before about different blood types. If you read the story up until now, you found the part in which I was saying how there are hundreds of blood-types, but we only knew, until now, that there are only a few. If you read that specific post (won’t say which, you just have to read the whole thing) then you also saw how I proved I knew (from Regina) before the news that scientists discovered (this year) new blood-types with the potential of tens more existing.
In any case, that thought specifically has started me into looking more in the biology part, and trough a lot of searching and digging, I’ve found the most relevant thing, in the place I least expected. Turns out, there actually is a vampire research center, and it is a legitimate institute, focusing on research (biological) and on vampires.
I’ve been in contact with them, and visited some of their locations and saw for myself what they have to offer, and also, collaborated with them, offering them the manifesto on vampires that I’ve written (you can find it in the documents section of this blog).
I think you should pay their website a visit, because they confirm 100% of the facts that I’ve listed here. I only worked with them specifically because of that thing, the fact that they had everything right, that led me to believe they really were on to something, and after visiting them, I’ve been more than amazed. This is their website. Mind you, if you really, really want hard evidence, besides what I’ve left here for you, places to go, things too see, you can visit any location of the QVRC – you just have to make an appointment with them and go see for yourself. I shit you not, it’s worth it.
- Next up is this thing. A creepy pasta story. For those of you who know what creepy past is, good. For those who don’t, Google it.
Now, this story was posted way before I posted on my blog that part of the story. I need to tell you, this story managed to creep me out more than it should have.
What’s the story about? It’s about a guy who actually followed me and Regina, years ago, when we were in Sweden, into the church, and then wrote the whole thing as a creepy pasta and posted it on the internet.
You can actually read that part of the story (through my eyes) here. And then (or before) read the part of the story written but somebody else who actually followed us. I was amazed when I found this thing, and I remember I really, really felt somebody was watching me back then. But that’s another story. What’s interesting here is that you have the account of the same event, told by two different persons. One is me, and the other one is the Swedish guy. I have tried to take a hold of him, source the photo, contact the owner of the website where the creepy pasta was posted and ask for e-mail, but to no avail.
- The last part of this post is about another blog, which I’ve recently been contacted by, and started collaborating. This blog was started before my blog, by a person who makes no real efforts to stay hidden or anything of the sorts.
It is a blog about a girl, with the exact same description as Regina, being categorized as a time traveler, who skips through time and appears and disappears in different places, looking the same. Also, this blog talks about, what I believe, is me, in their latest sighting. Anyone reading that blog would think the guy is rambling, but if you know about my story, and then read his blog, you will be a bit surprised about the accuracy of their facts.
This is the blog where you can read about the whole thing.
As a bonus, I’ll tell you this: I knew these people existed, and Regina did also. They are for real, everything in that story is more or less accurate, as seen through their eyes, and Regina actually had someone to several of their meetings.
I actually told one of my readers from this blog, a month or so ago, this exact same thing. We started discussing more and more and at one point we got to the fact that how is it that Regina was never spotted, and I specifically told him about this.
We talked anonymously, and I don’t have the e-mail initially sent by him, but he knows who he is, and if you’re still reading, please confirm this fact. I have no screen shots of our talk, but a confirmation from you (and to anyone who might contact you) would be welcome.
I’ll be posting the next parts of the story soon, as I’m sure you’re more interested in that, rather than meaningless explanations. However until then, catch-up with the reading of what I posted above.