Background: Rachel Montgomery's Avatar
Rites Best Left Untouched
January 12, 1836
Daniel is very close now. I have tried to evade him but to no avail. He will probably find me within the week. The last diary had to be left behind in St. Louis. I barely escaped with my clothes, there was no time for anything else. I fear that I am heading too far into the frontier for there to be a likelihood of assistance. With any luck, I'll run into a werewolf and die quickly, even if messily. My sense of humor has become too morbid. Even death is so familiar as to be a joke. Imagine that. Tonight I will pray for salvation, but I hold much less hope for my body than for my soul.
January 15, 1836
She was definitely here. Left less than a day ago, most probably. She is so easy to track yet she avoids me still. Perhaps I am not trying hard enough. The hunt is quite fun. The mad dash through the streets of St. Louis was exhilarating! I expect to have her in the next two days, though. The rite must occur by the twenty-fifth, or there will be hell to pay, literally. There are few trains to hop out here.
January 17, 1836
I am surprised. Five days and he has yet to capture me. I would feel proud if I did know that it was in vain. There is nowhere to go, and that is probably as much my doing as his. I need for the pain to end. This confrontation is the only way. I just wish that so many had not already been hurt in the process. Perhaps this can serve as my last apology. An apology to all those that I helped to misguide, and to their families, who now must go on without them. Mostly though, I think that this is an apology to God. It was his word that I helped to twist and his children that I helped to murder. I did not realize - I did believe in what we were doing, but it is not enough to say that you are sorry when the blood of over two hundred people lies on your soul. I must atone. That is why I am out here, running. For every step I take away from him brings me that much farther into his reach. Eventually it will end.
January 18, 1836
She is close. I can nearly smell her on the wind. Once the sun sets, I will hunt properly. She mourns for the dead and prays for their deliverance. She even sings to keep herself company in the night. I hear her though. I hear her mind as if it is only a mile away. Soon I will hear her voice, and then I will hear her screams. She is not to be forgiven. A child of but twenty-two and already so talented. It would be easy to merely punish her, and then enslave her. But she has witnessed the truth, my truth, and she disagreed. She would never serve me willingly now, and to make her a slave would destroy the spark that fuels her talent. No, it is best to destroy her, and her avatar. That way she cannot seek revenge in another life. SIMPLE, YET EFFECTIVE. That is why I am the best. That is why I have been given the power. That is why I will be a god!
January 19, 1836
Daniel came for me last night. I think he found the trap that I left for him. I dare not hope that he is dead for I can still feel his presence. He is in pain, but probably not hurt enough to give me a fighting chance. Oh well, that is not the point. The point is that that bastard brainwashed almost three hundred people into thinking that he was the second coming of Christ, and that upon his ritual death, he would lead them all into heaven. Then, of course, he would claim the throne of God, and reshape the world. I have seen the true faith of this man and it is not faith in God. His is faith in darkness, the darkness at the core of his own twisted soul. He nearly had me until the end. But I saw the pain on the faces of his "congregation" as they took the communion of death. I heard the gasps and the screams, I felt the desperate fear as lives slipped away and I saw the pleasure on his face. Then I knew. Now I know. The talents that he taught me are not enough for me to win. But all I need to do is draw, just long enough. I think of the faces of the few that did not die and I know that I cannot return home. All I pray for is salvation. The rest is my fate.
January 20, 1836
I needed a day of rest to heal my leg, but it will not slow me. She has angered me again with her defiance, and now she openly thinks to me of her God and His glory. It makes me sick. I will find her and hurt her and scrape the images of her peaceful life from her bleeding mind even as I remove her "shard of the divine" from existence. The we will see who is going to have a better afterlife. She is weak, her skills could never match my own. I am superior! I am perfection! With her last breath she will worship me, and I shall laugh.
January 21, 1836
She still struggles but the straps are tighter than she could ever hope to escape from. The beatings and other preparations have softened her resolve, and the lack of water has reduced her ability to spit. Pitiful, truly pitiful, this may not be as fun as I had hoped if she will not be able struggle in the end. Oh well, better to have a weak carcass than no carcass at all.
January 22, 1836
The preparations are complete. I have begun the Gilgul rite. So far she has not stirred. Such weakness is an embarrassment, I am glad that I decided not to spare her. I go now to finish the final portion of the rite. When next I set down words, it will be with one less annoyance in my life. Then I will be ready to...to...what...she ...couldn't...I'm the ...master...
January 25, 1998
On January 22, 1836, at twelve-seventeen am, Felicity Warren died of a massive brain hemorrhage. No one found her body for some years, and she was only identified by her diary. She was found bound in "a circle of satanic power," as a newspaper report put it. At the age of twenty she had awakened under the apprenticeship of Daniel Sturn, a Cult of Ecstasy Barrabi. He had convinced her of his divine intention and initiated her into his cult. Too late she saw him for what he was. Though she saved some of his followers, she could not forgive herself for helping him. Her defiance prompted Sturn to hunt her as she traveled west across the American frontier. He decided to enact the Gilgul rite to destroy both Felicity and her avatar. Luckily in those last minutes, Felicity found his weakness. Though much stronger both physically and magickally, Sturn was an egomaniac. He never noticed her slide into his mind as he gloated above his journal. Then she made a pact with her avatar. A moment of power for another chance to exist. The mental backlash that ensued from the attack ruptured Felicity's brain. She died almost instantly. Daniel found himself without a mind to call his own. He sat by his journal, the sun and wind and dust and rain having there way with his body until it died, its fractured mind not understanding the pain that it felt.
I give you this information, honored elders of The Celestial Chorus, so that you might understand this past incarnation of my avatar. Due to Felicity's deed, a corrupt mage was brought down. Our avatar suffered much to defeat this false god. We can no longer learn the arts of the mind. We cannot be whole in that regard. This is sacrifice of the highest order, and I ask for a small token of gratitude for this unfortunate woman. I ask that Felicity Warren be added to the ranks of The Celestial Chorus, and that she be named as a martyr to the cause of the One.
My prayers be with you,
Rachel Montgomery
Sister of the Song
Last modified: Tues 27 Jan 1998 08:52:00 by tabrady