The Journal of William S. Hillard

You smell that? That's these people. 'Cause they're the shit.

1) Frank Sconce, http://forum.rpg.net/showthread.php?t=303456 (Dec. 26, 2006)

2) Fatwetdog http://forum.rpg.net/showthread.php?t=304527 (January 2nd, 2007)

The man leered over Tabitha, bloody knife in hand. Her knife. Her blood. She was slowly bleeding out.

She asked a simple question. “Why?” The answer was not what she expected.

“Because you are next in line to receive the Sword of Christ. I cannot allow that.”

Tabitha was growing cold. All of her nerves seemed to be snuffing out, one by one, as the life drained out of the gash in her chest. “Fuck you.”

The man straightened up and leered again. “Perhaps if the circumstances were different. Really, this is nothing personal. Just business.” He straightened out his tie on his suit. It looked expensive, but the man, with his beard stubble and his unkempt hair, seemed to degrade it.

Tabitha spat at him. “Fuck you! If you’re going to kill me, you could at least give me your name.”

The strange man stopped leering, then stepped forward and twisted her neck until he heard a loud snap of breaking bone and spinal cord.

“Our name,” he said, looking down on the shell of what was the next Chosen, “is Legion…”

Current Location: Home
Current Mood: Too much to do
Current Music: Green World - Gorillaz

The Dark Poet was published in the last issue of Death Bus!

http://www.deathbus.com/page7.html

Wow. They never contacted me (that I remember, anywho).

Current Mood: surprised
Current Music: Tomorrow Comes Today - Gorillaz

The sounds of chainsaws and bulldozers filled the air. These were workingmen, cutting down trees to feed their families. It was a nice, sunny day that day. The sun was high in the noonday sky. The wind was soft and sweet.

“Boss! I think I’ve found something!” It was Joe, one of the Dozer guys. He didn’t get excited too often. Knocking down trees and pulling stumps wasn’t the most exciting job in the world. So it intrigued Carla, the boss of the outfit, what had him so agitated.

“What is it, Joe? A crank lab?”

Joe was panting when he caught up to her. “No… it’s…” He took a moment to catch his breath. It’s an old book I found in a box under that tree you told me to pull down.” He handed her a musty old book, seemingly bound in leather.

“And? We’re here to chop wood, Joe, not to collect books.” Still, after he handed the book to her, Carla began to thumb through the pages. As she did so, a strange look came about in her eyes…

“Boss? Boss?” Joe looked at Carla strangely. She looked far away all of a sudden. She looked at him as if she didn’t recognize him. “Boss, are you ok?”

She looked down at herself. She was back. After all this time, she was back in the world, the real world. And it was going to pay dearly for what it had done to her. She leveled an icy stare at the strange man in front of her, and took in the sounds of strange machinery. Where was she? When was she? She’d soon know.

“I am Amelia, and I am not happy.” With that, she began chanting words of power taught to her by her coven master so long ago. Wherever she turned her gaze, men fell and died.

An hour went by. She had ripped every shred of information from the men’s minds that she could. What wonders this new age has wrought! What horrors! And what delightful sins!

Suddenly, she heard the sound of yet another machine coming up the road behind her. What people of this time call a “car”. It stopped not far from her. Out of it stepped a short, fat man with a gleam in his eye, and a sword in his hand. Which was strange, because people of this time had abandoned swords as weapons, preferring instead the new and deadlier mechanical slings they call guns. Still, from the sword she sensed great power.

“Woman,” the man began sternly, “that book is coming with me, one way or the other.”

Amelia laughed at this, spoke a few words of power, and the man passed out. She walked over to him and regarded him coolly. He would eventually come to her. There was much power in this one. He would come in very handy. Yes, very handy indeed. Now, where to go? She heeded off in one direction, determined to get there any way she could.

William woke up with a raging migraine. Shit. He’d have to call the church. He punched the numbers on his cell phone. “Father?”

“Hello, William. Do you have it?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Some woman has it, and already knows how to use the damn thing.”

“That’s not good, my son. You must find her and retrieve that book at all costs.”

William cleared his voice and said tentatively, “It… gets worse.”

“Worse? How?”

“She took Gabriel.”

During World War II, Hitler sent groups of soldiers across the globe to find certain holy and occult items to aid him in the war effort. To that end, the SS achieved some success, as they recovered the Holy Grail, the True Cross, and the Spear of Destiny. After Hitler’s death, these items were thought lost, and fell into legend.

What was not known was that Hitler used the items to make a weapon: the Klinge von Christ. It was a broadsword, the blade forged from the metals in the Spear of Destiny and the Holy Grail, the hilt fashioned from the True Cross. Before the Allies final march upon Berlin, agents of the Vatican recovered the sword, renaming it the Mucro of Sarcalogos. The loss of the sword insured Hitler’s downfall.

Since that time, the church has gifted the sword to an appointed guardian. It is said that the sword can only be wielded by God’s chosen champion. Only this champion has the power to stop Armageddon…

William quickly left the house of the vagrant, mindful to keep his sword hidden. He had things to do, and people to see.

An hour later, William was at the church. Going here always gave him the creeps, as it always felt like he was being watched. He ducked into a confessional.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned… again.”

“William,” said a calm, friendly voice from the other side of the screen, “what has happened?”

“I’ve killed a man tonight. The one who killed the girl. It wasn’t my intention…”

“Stop, my son. The Mucro of Sarcalogos will not allow you to kill in cold blood. If the man died, then it was the will of God.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Father, I’d rather call it Gabriel.” William sat back and sighed. He hated this.

“Gabriel?” The priests voice was full of surprise. “Why Gabriel?”

“Because,” William explained, “this is not the first death it has caused. This sword is not a weapon of salvation, but destruction. Gabriel seems… fitting.”

“Very well, then. We have a new assignment for you and… Gabriel.”

“I just finished an assignment!” William was outraged. When was enough going to be enough?

“This is important. On a hill, near your home, is a forked tree. Under that tree is buried a box. In that box is the journal of a witch. There is a lumber company tearing that tree up. They must not be allowed to keep the book.”

“A book?”

“Yes. If it falls into the wrong hands, it could mean disaster for us all. Now go.”

William left the confessional, but did not bother to bow before the altar before leaving. A book. Time to clean up another shit storm before it gets started.

Current Mood: Damn Bronchitis
Current Music: Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz

William entered the dark house cautiously, sword in hand. A few people had died there. The latest victim: Sarah Conrad, a sixteen-year-old girl. It was sad, really.

Her ghost came to him, begging for rest. William often saw ghosts wherever he went. Ghosts of helpless victims. Ghosts of his past. They haunted him until he was nearly one of them himself.

He strode into the house, his sword flashing in the dark. On the blade, a crucifix had been engraved. William didn’t believe in God himself, but, apparently, God believed in him. The sword was a gift from a local church.

“Hello? Is anybody home? Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he said into the gloom.

Something grabbed hold of William and tossed him against the far wall. Hard. Pain exploded in his head like a thousand suns going nova, and traveled up and down his spine like a bullet train. He flashed out blindly with his sword, feeling it slice across something solid yet giving.

When William’s eyes cleared, he could see that he didn’t kill a ghost, but rather a vagrant. Probably had been killing people to protect his adopted home. Who knows why? Let the cops figure it out. One stop on the way out, and then he would put this whole affair behind him.

William went to the bathroom to clean up. As he cleaned the blood off of his face and hands, he looked into the mirror.

He found the monster.

It was him.

Current Mood: tired

I have locked myself in this cage
Away from the rest of the world
Outside, it is so bright
So bright
Too bright for me to see
Hiding
I am hidden
Far away from that horizon
Far away from the sunset where you are
I am so very small
My world, so very narrow
You are so big
So wide
Bigger than I can cope with
I envy you
I love you
I hate you
I’m afraid of you
I cannot travel there
You reside in the dawn
I’ll burn
So I’ve locked myself away
Away from you
Away from the world
The true world
I am alone

Current Mood: depressed
Current Music: El Manana

Really.

Had plenty of sleep. But I spent most of the day at work today trying not to fall asleep.

Of course, given that they didn't have much of anything for me to do, it may have just been a case of terminal boredom.

In any case, I'm home now. The kids are driving me crazy. Bad shows are playing on the tv. And I have you to talk to (or not).

In any case, catch you later.

My Livejournal. I'm not sure what I'll write yet, but I'm sure I'll come up with something.

See y'all later.