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Neapolis is a special place. I know you hear me from far away. They tell me it is the future and that may be true. But I find that hard to believe, for even a vampire recognizes the limits of necromancy. Yet a part of me knows that it's so. And if I lapse from present to past tense, please know that it is only an indication of my confusion, coupled with the fact that Latin is not my mother tongue, for I originally spoke a Celtic dialect and often think in that language to this day.
I'm also told you see my words in a mongrel jargon, called Angle-ish, made up of Germanic phraseology leavened with basic Latin. Is that a hint of days to come in these parts? For primitives from the north press us even now.
Now let me tell you more about this city. Neapolis is among the most Hellenistic of all Roman municipalities. Indeed, the place goes back to heroic times. You know... Agamemnon and Homer... those Minoan snake priestesses and all that. Most of the better families still speak Greek. And the subtle beauty of that ancient land infuses everything with a simple elegance unseen in other parts of our world. Emperors come here to relax. Wealthy young, scions acquire polish at our academies. Neapolitan brides are welcomed into the finest and most influential clans in Rome. I like this place. I can't deny it. I do.
They dress me in the finest linen. I wear scant, somewhat revealing, one shouldered tunics and under garments are hard to come by. But nights are warm and the freedom suits me. I wander the streets on my own. Those familiar with the practice see my torque and immediately recognize me for what I am. But they bow with a deference shown only to those of high rank. If this is slavery, it is bondage of a strange sort.
Last night I dined alfresco... up on the rooftop terrace. Circassian women are quite expensive. I had two... young and plump and juicy. The master and his consort, my benefactors, invited some of their nearest and dearest to watch me drink. I didn't mind. For as you know, I am quite the showman and soothed the terrified maidens with kisses, strokes and tickles before finishing them off. The second one required a bit more tickling, since she knew what was coming and those in attendance clapped at my technique. I bowed by the light of the cool blue flames, as the smooth, fleshy girls were consumed and disappeared. Then I kissed each lady present and made them giggle. The master was very pleased.
At the close of the occasion, as everyone prepared to leave, he called me over and told me who to kill. Not there. Not then. Not that night, but tomorrow.
And please know that I do not impart a cruel death. Indeed, by the morals of the times, I am quite benign. We had no 'feed the hungry... love thy neighbor... clothe the naked.'... Well, most of us anyway.
The fates are capricious and I but a tool.
(more tomorrow...)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
see more episodes. click~>PARANORMAL FOR SMARTIES ... join me on TWITTER at @wilkravitz ... your COMMENTS are always welcome. thank you.
I'm also told you see my words in a mongrel jargon, called Angle-ish, made up of Germanic phraseology leavened with basic Latin. Is that a hint of days to come in these parts? For primitives from the north press us even now.
Now let me tell you more about this city. Neapolis is among the most Hellenistic of all Roman municipalities. Indeed, the place goes back to heroic times. You know... Agamemnon and Homer... those Minoan snake priestesses and all that. Most of the better families still speak Greek. And the subtle beauty of that ancient land infuses everything with a simple elegance unseen in other parts of our world. Emperors come here to relax. Wealthy young, scions acquire polish at our academies. Neapolitan brides are welcomed into the finest and most influential clans in Rome. I like this place. I can't deny it. I do.
They dress me in the finest linen. I wear scant, somewhat revealing, one shouldered tunics and under garments are hard to come by. But nights are warm and the freedom suits me. I wander the streets on my own. Those familiar with the practice see my torque and immediately recognize me for what I am. But they bow with a deference shown only to those of high rank. If this is slavery, it is bondage of a strange sort.
Last night I dined alfresco... up on the rooftop terrace. Circassian women are quite expensive. I had two... young and plump and juicy. The master and his consort, my benefactors, invited some of their nearest and dearest to watch me drink. I didn't mind. For as you know, I am quite the showman and soothed the terrified maidens with kisses, strokes and tickles before finishing them off. The second one required a bit more tickling, since she knew what was coming and those in attendance clapped at my technique. I bowed by the light of the cool blue flames, as the smooth, fleshy girls were consumed and disappeared. Then I kissed each lady present and made them giggle. The master was very pleased.
At the close of the occasion, as everyone prepared to leave, he called me over and told me who to kill. Not there. Not then. Not that night, but tomorrow.
And please know that I do not impart a cruel death. Indeed, by the morals of the times, I am quite benign. We had no 'feed the hungry... love thy neighbor... clothe the naked.'... Well, most of us anyway.
The fates are capricious and I but a tool.
(more tomorrow...)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
see more episodes. click~>PARANORMAL FOR SMARTIES ... join me on TWITTER at @wilkravitz ... your COMMENTS are always welcome. thank you.
