Jocelyn

Jocelyn Crachit:



I was born just as the Great war ended, being the cause of my Mother´s death because of birthgiving complications, and having my father killed months before on the trenches of France, little Jocelyn grew up among foster parents and maturing my mind rapidly as the world tried to recover from the wounds it suffered.

My only constant support was the religion that an Irish family gave to me, I spent the afternoons helping them in exchange for a simple cup of soup, some water and some company, they invited her often to mass and to a small meal on Sundays, I was very grateful of this, but times change for people, nothing lasts forever. The man of the family wanted to go with his family and try luck in America, as many had done, to me he left a small reliquary of silver, a treasure he kept from his father, and that meant to me that I could have something to use in case of any emergency even though the family that considered me one of them would not be at hand anymore. They could barely pay for their tickets, and I was already an adult. But I had started already to build a life of my own, a small room to rent and a small job in a local bakery to cover my expenses. “She is strong” my foster father said as he looked to the horizon as it engulfed the silhouette of the Isle, or so I liked to think back then.

Months later the situation in Europe started to become tense, Hitler was strong and England started to look to its southeastern shores in search fo possible invaders. The nasal voice of England´s main supporter of segregation and war was often quenched by the static of radios changing stations

Not being much of a politician, and thinking it quite secondary and already to distant from my beliefs, I often sought advice at churches or chapels, and often found the silence in them recomforting.

The military started moving, getting stronger, there was a fortress not too far away from the bakery, we often supplied them with fresh bread, and I often took the baskets.there. The Chapel within the fortress served as home for a priest that I considered atrractive, I could see him when I went before sunrise to deliver the breakfast bread, or on some evenings.in which the priest asked for some bisquits for his helpers. I often felt guilt after setting ,y enormous blue eyes upon him as that who admires silver as It shines, I know what it feels to shine and have eyes set upon me, it is a feeling sweeter than wine. I often found myself going to confession during the week many times in the same chapel within the fortress. Often the same priest that caused all this trouble heard me confess, my voice always cracking with fear and nervousness though I never used his name nor said anything direclty. Still never did I see him during the day, only during the evenings, a fact that never crossed my mind until it was already to late.

My usual incursions into the fortress carrying the bread baskets and my fair face caught the attention of many within those walls, not a small number offered to help me carry things or teach me some defensive moves they had bluffed with in order to catch my attention, I did play the role of the shy girl, but those excercises would often allow me to see the face of the Priest, who would often aproach me and greet me kindly.

The times grew tenser, people knew that the armies would move and that the small fortress would be serving its purpose as a checkpoint for the movilized troops that might move south any minute. As I delivered a late order of bread, I was called by the Priest.
-Child-he said, his accent sounded strange to me, still it thralled me- In order to bring peace forward, I am having a special mass at midnight
-Midnight?- I asked, remembering that only during Christmas season did such events take place, and those were still monthsa away
-Its mrerely symbolic and it is to receive the first troops that will head to fight this war. You are an orphan of the Great war, are you not?
-Well, yes- my voice was shy, I remember that quite clearly, and my mind was clouded by some mysterious melody in his voice, a melody most useful to me now.
-Come and sneak in, the guards will be aware of your coming, and will ask no questions, thread carefully through the shadows and knock three times at the chapel´s back door.
-Why me?- I asked something within me fighting to fin reason and sense, a battle that “something” would lose much to easily.
-Just help me, child! Please!- Much after that is confussing even now.
The next thing I remember is how I snuck out of my small room, carrying the reliquary in a small pouch hidden in my clothes. And jumping from a shadow to another keeping myself hidden, trying to let the distant sound of military trucks that aproached be the only sounds that could be heard.

I had the door opened for me, I entered the fortress and headed for the small chapell, all lights were out, still I walked to the back door jumping from shadow to shadow, and knocked the backdoor, it opened and the priest was there, he told me to follow him, as he lit a lantern that produced a very dim light, enough for me to see that the furniture of what should be an office had been pushed towards the walls, the carpet rolled, and with that, a trapdoor was revealed, he told me to go down through it, I do not question him, I do it, as I went down the stairs I could hear the trucks arriving.
Once I was at the bottom I found myself in a room lit by more lanterns, a small stone altar with a strange cross with a skull in the midle, a symbol I would soon start to carry and cherish, but at that moment it scared me-
I heard voices coming from the groundlevel, soon steps came down from the same stairs I had stepped down. Men in cloaks walked in, dressed as people of the clergy and the military, they soon surrounded me. The Priest came last, walked towards me and looked at he who was dressed most richly, a young looking man, not much older than me, so I thought, he is still around, I bet, as old as Westminster Abbey, maybe more, but his reaction at that moment was simply nodding. Then the priest reached behind the altar and brought out a book, a cup, matches to lit a couple of candles, and a small box. He started to read some strange text from the book as if it had been the common Good Book, but it was a language I was not familiar then, and still now, so many years later, cannot understand. Then, after some lectures, through which I had been standing, never sitting, he opened the box, a dagger with a rose entwined around it came out, soon I would learn that it was not a propper dagger, but the tip of a spear made of silver, older than any of those there, with it the priest made a small cut on the tip of my finger and the blood fell into the cup, I still remember I did not complain, I was there, being a puppet, some drops of crimson and a chant, then my arm was extended by him, my wrists were cut, I fell violently as my head became light. I felt my life fade, then an arm was put above my mouth, a cut with the dagger on it and some drops fell into my lips.
-It is with this that you will come to embrace sin, so you can understand its nature.- The people around me said, a prayer I now understand.

You see, we were cursed, long ago, before anyone remembers, particularly us Daeva thrive on sin, and we use it for our benefit, tempting humans, luring them to us, and punishing them right on the spot by turning them into a meal.

That was how I became a part of this Inquisition, as the Priest told me the group we belong to is called, and I wast to be an agent for them, still am. They needed someone young representing the countries that worried about Hitler, and what appeared to be some hand pulling the strings, the Invictus and the Sanctified did not like how Germany was behaving, it could be a threat. And they could not risk higher ranking people to investigate it.

At first I was scared, I was fed forcibly, held captive within a small cell next to the very underground place where I had been Embraced, I banged the door that held me there trying to either bring it down or call for someone´s help. But I had barely begun my unlife, and there was something that kept me even weaker, the lack of Vitae, they fed me just enough to keep me standing, to avoid me going into Torpor, and it was given to me in order to create a Vinculum, it is broken now. The only other thing I was given were some scarce news, about the baker worrying about me, fearing the worst, and that some decoy was set so he would believe it was my body.
As the vinculum was made, I grew tamer, feeding and obeying, they proved to me that those who came to serve as a meal were those that confessed both at the chapel and at the town´s church, many of them were extracted from the local prisions for some offenses, I was told to punish them by taking part of their life from them, and I did. Often violently, using the skills the soldiers had taught me, not knowing that most of thems were already Ghouls to the Priest, If you wonder his name, it won´t be something you will hear from me, he´s got dangerous enemies, and it is my fault to some extent.

You see, once I ws prepared, they ordered me to go to Germany, concretely to Munich, we were to stop some vampire called Diva and who seemed to have taken advantage from the hostilities to raise her power, I received the help from some other Vampires there, but we failed to accomplish the mission, details are unimportant, and a rather long torpor erased what actually happened from my memory.

I woke up decades after, receiving the strong vitae I needed, such dormancy was decreed both as a punishment and to save my life, keeping me hidden from the Nazis, and leaving me to my wretched dreams. To my surprise I also happened to be right here in London, taking the role of an errand girl to the local Lancea, they also keep an eye on me so I do not grow to strong, I barely know any Disciplines and have little to do with aquiring them, its not a bad life, I know, but my will diminishes, at least I have food brought to me, and the ghouls that have been set at the same level as me. I rather say I was put at their level, my punishment shall continue, so it seems. However, these sheep at my side may very well be this wolf´s lunch.