A Philosophical Discussion

New Jersey sucks. I was hoping that we'd at least end up having to question some MTV wannabe douches but most of our search thus far has been in the rural areas of the state, and people in rural areas are just too damn nice to get any enjoyment out of hurting.

Anyway, here's something interesting that happened today:

I was standing out on the porch of an old abandoned house out in the middle of nowhere, which we had claimed as a temporary base of operations. I was lost in thought-- what I was thinking about wasn't important-- when I suddenly became aware that Acedia was standing right behind me.

"Anything interesting happen?" I asked her.

"Not really," she said. "I was just wondering about something."

"Good for you."

"Did it hurt?"

"What?" I turned around to face her. She's a pale, skinny little thing, but not without her charms. I can almost see why Glorius is so enthralled by her. Almost.

"When you were... made into what you are. Did that hurt?" When I didn't answer, she continued: "For us it hurt. By the time it was over, we almost begging for death. Then we just heard these words in our head. 'Soon enough.' That was it. W-- I was so terrified of what would happen next, and yet some part of me-- some new, horrifying part of me-- was thrilled." She leaned against the wall of the house and looked me right in the eyes. "You're not like us, though. What was it like for you?"

"Relatively painless," I told her. "You're right. I'm not like you. Master didn't need to make any major alterations with me. I have just enough of His essence to hear His voice and feel His presence. I have His Mark on me, so I can walk the Path and enter the City, but otherwise I'm just a normal human."

"Why?"

"I guess it's because my purpose wasn't to be an exterminator, unlike you."

She was quiet for a moment. "So it doesn't bother you?" she finally asked. "That we're monsters?"

"A monster is an abnormality," I told her, turning my back to her. "It is unnatural. Do you know what is natural? The Grand Game. They play with human lives, and that is way it should be. Those humans who rebel against Them are the unnatural ones. And they go so far as to declare their own moral superiority for fighting against some perceived evil, even as they thoughtlessly kill people just like them, whose only 'crime' was to fall under Their sway. Even without Them, humans would still wage war and destroy everything in their path. The Game, in fact, limits human destruction. So in truth," I turned back around, and this time it was my turn to look her in the eyes, "we are not the monsters. The Runners, though? Abominations."

She smirked. She almost seemed amused. "That's a twisted way of looking at it."

I shrugged. "Everything is twisted. The world is a being of chaos operating under the pretense of order. The only constant is the Grand Game, and even that is constantly shifting. The Game is the only thing you can trust." I smiled. "And considering how you and your boytoy get off on killing, you really aren't in a position to lecture me on morality."

"Unlike some people I could name, we didn't choose this path."

I left there and went for a walk. I don't know why I even bother. Simpletons like her will never understand.

-STEWARD

Joisey

"Sleight" decided to ditch the rest of the magic act when they hopped on a plane. It wasn't until after I had already trailed the rest of the group to Tennessee that I discovered that my target had caught a flight to New Jersey.

So I've spent most of the day searching for him. It's actually pretty difficult, seeing as I don't have anything more specific than "New Jersey" to go on concerning his location. That's a lot of ground to cover, and I doubt he's staying still.

Anyway, if anyone happens to be in America's least favorite state and has noticed any serial killers with magic on the brain running around, feel free to tell me.

The Killer

Last night was certainly eventful.

We went to a magic show performed by a rather corny and over-dramatic illusionist calling himself the Magnificent Doctor Grant. What a stupid name. His tricks were all fairly basic and transparent illusions, though there was one interesting one where he walked through a wall.

But none of that is important.

I noticed that there was a man a few seats in front of us who kept glancing behind him and looking straight at me. Sure enough, he turned out to be a plant that the Magnificent Doctor Grant had in the audience. He got called up to do some ridiculous trick. I can't remember which. But I suspected that I had found my killer.

After the show, we kept a close eye on the theater, and saw the plant among the people who moved out and headed for a nearby hotel. At around one in the morning, we saw him sneak out of the hotel and head through the city. Naturally, we followed him.

It wasn't long before he saw us. Instead of running, he actually stopped and waited.

"You're him, aren't you?" He called out to me as I approached. "The one who calls himself Steward. I was told that you'd come for me."

"Told?" I asked. "Told by who?"

"I..." He seemed confused. "I don't know. Just... I don't know. Go away. I can't stop myself. JUST GO AWAY!"

"Can't stop yourself?" I asked. "Now what could you mean by that?"

"I feel... a need... I don't know! Go away!"

Sounded like the Compulsion in action. Interesting. It was directing him to kill. "It's alright," I called out, "I'm here to help free you. What's your name?"

"It's Jo-- Call me Sleight."

"Alright then, 'Sleight'. It's OK. I can help."

"NO! No, just go away! Please!" He spun around and ran. I cursed and ran after him, Glorius and Acedia right behind me.

A Door appeared, and Sleight ran through it. It vanished as it closed.

So he is welcomed within the City. That means that an Entity has put its Mark on him.

And if that truly was the Compulsion that led him to do those things... It seems that somebody has been playing a very careful game.

-STEWARD

Atlanta

Currently in Atlanta. It appears that Glorius decided to use my computer while I was out and about. He has been reprimanded. Severely.

It's quite a shame that he'd be so insubordinate. After I went through the trouble of buying us all tickets to a magic show too... Not that it matters, really. Most of what he told you about himself is a lie anyway.

So, Atlanta is a city and what the hell else do you expect me to tell you? City. Loud and full of concrete. Not much else. Even Southern drawls aren't that common here. Fucking cityfolk dumping a perfectly good accent...

-STEWARD

Hello

Hey everyone. Glorius here. You know, that Revenant that Steward likes to badmouth?

I'm here to set the record straight. We are not idiots and we are not "lovesick puppies". Ace, she's special to me. I've never known anyone quite like her. When I'm with her I can forget about everything that's wrong with the world and just be at peace. I can't explain. I'm not good with words. She just makes me forget all the bad things, you know?

And there are a lot of bad things in the world. Hell, I'm proof of that.

Me and Ace both lost our families in the WTC attack. That's when the Tall One took us and made us what we are. Unageing-- Unaging? I don't know. Un-Aging abominations. But that's how we met each other.

I like this life. I love this life. As long as I have Ace.

Don't worry about Steward. He's got a stick up his ass, yeah, but he's only human. Even if he wants to pretend otherwise. I've heard you sobbing to yourself in your sleep, Stew. Take my advice: You need to get laid.

To all you Runners: I'm sorry it had to be this way. You don't deserve what you've been through.

Anyway that's all I'm going to say. Steward will probably be pissed when he sees I made a post here. He'll probably do some extreme things. But as long as Ace is with me, I'm fine.

The Grand Game

It appears that some of you are having difficulty understanding how the Game works. Not that I blame you. Humans are arrogant creatures. As a species, we have difficulty accepting the idea that we are not the most important things in the world.

Many of you seem to believe that humanity can somehow win or lose the Grand Game. This is false. I have said it before and I shall say it again: victory and defeat are statuses that can only be awarded to the players. The pieces do not win. The pieces do not lose.

I was in error to use chess terminology before. Humans are more like the pieces of a checkers board. Not special or significant, merely tools, but a select few may prove more important to others, but in the end even they must be cast aside.

There are over six billion people alive in the world today. I doubt many of you can even comprehend such a huge number. How many do you suppose will be remembered five hundred years from now? Most likely you can count that number on your fingers.

The Entities play the Grand Game against one another, and we humans are merely the tools for that game. Zero, Zeke, Peter Rivers, even the self-styled sage Sweetrobin... none of you really matter in the end. You are just the pieces being moved by something far greater.

I have accepted this. Why can none of you?

Anyway, I'm going to Atlanta tomorrow and will be there for a few days, so toodles.

-STEWARD

Lead

Last night, I received a note, asking me to please come to some restaurant called "Steak n' Shake" this morning. The author claimed to have information relevant to me.

Needless to say, I went to the restaurant with a gun in my jacket (which was freakin' hell given how hot it is here) and a knife hidden in my person.

It wasn't hard to pick out who had contacted me. Weird guy with really wet black hair and vaguely blank expression who was staring right at me? Oh joy.

A Camper.

I seated myself across the booth from my friend. It was a corner booth, away from everyone else.

"This body," the Camper said, "its former owner liked this place very much. Even now this tongue finds the taste here quite pleasurable."

"Good for your tongue," I said. "What does the Ichor want from me?"

He smiled. It wasn't genuine. There was no warmth. No mirth. It was like someone had drawn a smile on his face. It existed without any real meaning. "Nowadays people are calling us the Epping AquaTarkus."

"That's nice. I think I'll stick with 'Ichor'. It's what Master calls you. It. All you hive mind tentacle thingies."

"We are quite partial to it. It forms a lovely acronym. 'EAT'. We were given the name by--"

"I'm well aware of the Adventures of Jordan Dooling." I waved my hand around. "You tend to stay out of the Game. Why the sudden interest in my investigation?"

"We have information. As the humans say: 'Quid Pro Quo', 'Tit for Tat', 'I scratch your back, you scratch mine.' We give you this, and then you owe us a favor."

"Would this favor involve consuming water, by any chance?"

"Water? No, of course not."

"Ink?"

The fake smile again. The Camper reached into his pocket and drew out a slip of paper. "Hello, Joseph Steward," he said. "This is a nice conversation. Your words--"

"Don't do that. Please."

He shrugged. It was a calculated gesture. The shrug of a bored actor half-assing his performance. "We were simply lightening the mood. Humor. Dark Humor. Making light of that which is serious." He put the paper on the table, along with three twenties. "Enjoy your food," he said. "Your meal is on me." With that, the Camper stood and left the restaurant.

I checked the paper. It was a flyer for a magic act. Something else had been written on it.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," I muttered.

A traveling magic act. No wonder the killings are all over the place.

-STEWARD

Sweet Home Alabama

Mobile is fucking hot.

We've been investigating the deaths. One servant was murdered in a hotel room. No evidence of who did it.

Another one was found in the middle of a backwoods road. No evidence of who did it.

So that's two dead people and no leads for either. Also I think I may have insulted Glorius. He keeps giving me these looks. And at one point he told me, right out of the blue, "I'm not an idiot."

Think he's reading this blog?

Anyway, I've got an investigation to run. But before I go, I would like to apologize for my rude and unprofessional behavior in the comments section the other day. I should not have written those horrible things. If Master wishes to ally Himself with the Archangel, then who am I to object? No one. That's who.

Humans don't matter in the end. We are all no one.

-STEWARD

Time's Up

I must say, after I forced some pills down her throat, Emily was much more pleasant to chat with. She smiled and she didn't whimper or curse and she answered all my questions politely and clearly. Granted, the pills also made her a bit ditzy-- a most unattractive quality, I must say-- but I suppose that couldn't be helped.

It's such a shame that no new information could be gleaned. She encountered Master, but she never felt the Compulsion. End of story.

Now, I do have a notebook full of my observations of her, and if I ever get the chance to keep watch over someone who does suffer from the Compulsion, I'm certain I could compare notes and puzzle something out, but unfortunately I have a serial killer to track.

My time with Miss Rivera has come to an end. Master showed up this morning and I felt a very firm command in my mind to leave this research for now and go find out who's been killing Servants. And Master turned His attention to my guest.

His suit became... I guess "blacker" would be the best way to describe it. It usually seems at least superficially like fabric, but when He looked at Emily it became a void. A vast expanse of pure blackness that began to seep out, away from His form and into the world around Him.

Have you ever dropped a bit of black dye into a glass water and watched it spread out with swirling tendrils? That's basically what happened.

That blackness traveled across the air and wrapped around Emily's head. I heard her scream, but the sound was soon cut off as His tendrils poured into her mouth. Her nostrils. Her ears. Her tear ducts.

The blackness entered into her and demolished what was there. What could not be destroyed was removed, and Emily is hallowed out so that nothing but a shell remained.

The blackness retreated, and the creature that was once Emily Rivera stood, its expression completely blank. Master held a pale hand out to her, His suit returning to normal, and she took it. Together, they vanished, leaving nothing behind but the command in my mind to head south, to Mobile, where the most recent attacks had occurred.

Well then. I guess it's time to get to work.

-STEWARD

Interrogation

Well, this has been fairly pointless.

I had Glorius and Acedia perform the operation I described in my previous post. And of course I had to supervise to make sure they got everything right. Let me tell you, watching them work was absolutely disgusting. I nearly threw up when the stomachs came out, but thankfully I managed to hold it in. I wanted to decorate the dining room with blood, not vomit, after all.

As for those two idiots, I think they quite enjoyed themselves. Really enjoyed themselves. As in they looked like they were about to tear each other's clothes off right then and there when they were finished. I had to put a stop to that nonsense quickly. As I have just stated, blood is the only bodily fluid I intended to have splattered about.

Well, blood and bile, I suppose. I did have them rip the parents' stomachs out. But I digress.

Anyway, Emily didn't take her parents' death well. Poor thing. When she saw the dining room, she just froze. Did nothing but stand there for nearly half an hour, whimpering. Then, without a word, she turned and headed into the kitchen. I was hidden in the shadows, concealed by a slightly opened portal to Master's Path. I followed her into the kitchen, where she picked up a steak knife and held it to her throat.

And then my hand was upon hers, gently but firmly pushing the blade away from her, and I pulled her toward me (I was standing behind her), and leaned down and whispered in her ear: "Hello, Emily. My name is Steward."

She screamed. She struggled. She cried. She tried so hard to break free. I called in Glorius and Acedia to restrain her, and we traveled through the Path to an abandoned building somewhere in Appalachia. Not sure where. It's an old cabin in the woods. Master told me of its location.

Anyway, we tied her up, and once her voice was hoarse enough that she couldn't scream anymore, I started asking her questions.

"Do you know who I work for?"

She nodded.

"Who?"

"The..." she closed her eyes, and her voice was scratchy and barely a whisper. "The Slender Man."

"So you are familiar with that term. Where did you hear it?"

"The internet."

"The blogosphere?"

She nodded.

I smiled at her. "I do apologize, Ms. Rivera, but this is extremely important. I do regret what had to be done to your family, but, and trust me when I say this, we have actually spared them from a much worse fate." Truth, all of it, but I don't think she believed me.

She just looked at me. I don't think even she knew whether or not she felt empty or furious.

"Why did you never make a blog, Emily?"

"I... what?"

"You saw all those other blogs, did you not? People whom my Master has marked. Why did you never make one of your own?"

"I... I don't..."

As you can imagine, I never got a satisfactory answer. Poor Emily is just too confused and scared and exhausted. I've tried everything from hospitality to, aha, "enhanced interrogation", and I still do not know why she never felt the Compulsion. Did whatever causes it simply pass her by? I'm thinking that might be it.

But before I simply right this off, I still have one little trick up my sleeve.

I have with me a bottle of Master's Very Special Pills, and I'm sure that after taking them, Emily will be in a much more pleasant mood and be much more willing to talk.

Yeah.

Those of you who have been following my story since Eccentrically Bored know what I'm talking about.

-STEWARD

Necessary Evil

Contrary to popular belief, you don't have to enjoy killing in order to serve Master. I dislike killing. Even my family, which was an act of mercy, really, still haunts my dreams. When I find myself in a position where killing is necessary, I do it quickly, with little fanfare. Best to get it over with. I don't stand around and gloat about it and revel in it-- that would be most inefficient.

Unfortunately, sometimes even the option of a quick kill is, for one reason or another, undesirable. This is why, for the first time, I actually find myself grateful that I've got those two morons with me. Yes, Revenants are delusional imbeciles, but at least they enjoy their work. And have I got a job for them.

Emily's parents will die.

She will come home, and she will find their corpses propped up in the dining room. She will find their stomachs cut out and placed on the plates. She will find their own ribs in their hands in a macabre imitation of dining utensils. She will find their blood used as paint to leave Master's mark upon the walls, so that there can be no doubt in her mind about who did this.

I want her shaking uncontrollably. I want her in the depths of despair, dancing on the brink of madness. My deadline for information about the Compulsion is fast approaching, and if this doesn't get her to reveal any information, then I don't know what will.

-STEWARD

Fruitless

I had Glorius and Acedia watch her. Conspicuously. She's seen them. She knows that she's being watched. It's starting to get to her.

I had them break her window in the middle of the night, pulling her from her sleep.

I had them hunt down animals and leave the corpses on her pillow.

I've written notes to her, full of threats and taunts.

She's terrified. She believes she will die soon. She's afraid that no one will believe her. But still she soldiers on. And still I have found no evidence of why the Compulsion does not affect her.

I only have a few more days to work with her. It's time to turn things up a notch.

-STEWARD

Memory: Jogged

Emily went out to dinner with her family last night. Isn't that sweet? So while she was out, I crept into her room, all those papers in hand, and taped them all over her walls. Gave her quite a fright when she got home.

And now she knows: she won't ever be free.

When I got back to the hotel we're staying in, I found Glorius and Acedia... well, suffice to say it was extremely embarrassing all around.

Honestly, are so stupid that they can't figure out that, if they really did have advanced senses, then what they were doing would really fucking hurt?

-STEWARD

She Shows Me NOTHING

I have watched her, and watched her, and watched her, and still I have not seen anything out of the ordinary. Why doesn't she show me? WHY DOESN'T SHE SHOW ME WHY!?

And those two idiots. Glorius and Acedia-- yeah, they're back. The Ghost Wannabes. All they do is yap, and yap, and talk and kiss and yap. I had to spend a plane trip sitting next to them just so I could keep an eye on Emily, and I was almost ready to throw myself into the sky by the time we got to North Carolina.

They kiss and they hold hands and make googly eyes at each other. These are the ultimate killing machines Master created? These two fucking love-sick puppies!? Oh God, they hold each other's hands all the time. WHO THE FUCK DO THEY THINK THEY ARE!?

Stupid fucking Emily shows nothing. I've still got those drawings of hers. It's time to make her remember what, exactly, is at stake...

-STEWARD

Someone is Killing Servants

Three dead in the past week. Each one a servant of Master. Each one killed by a single clean cut across the throat. At least one was a Sleeper-- one who hadn't even been activated yet. He was just leading a normal life. He hadn't even met any Runners yet.

This information disturbs Master. Oh, He has lost servants before. Many servants. But this doesn't smell like Runner shenanigans. Master thinks that one of the Others has begun to move against Him.

So far, the Runners have been little more than an annoyance. Like a fly buzzing around Master's head and landing on His food. But if one of the Others is manipulating them, calling the shots from behind the scenes, they could become locusts, devouring Master's food.

The Wooden Girl is an ally. The killings don't fit the Cold Boy's MO. The Archangel is a likely suspect. The Plague Doctor is smart enough to pull a scheme like this, and wouldn't be stupid enough to use his disease to kill Master's servants, so he is a possibility as well.

If observing Emily yields no results by Saturday, I am instructed to begin making direct moves against her, to goad a reaction. If this too proves fruitless, I am instructed to bring her before Master. Once business with Emily is concluded, I shall begin investigating these deaths.

Oh, and Master is sending those two geniuses back to assist me. How... nice....

...Fuck.

-STEWARD

Why

Unless something interesting actually happens, don't any new posts for the next week or too. I'd love to fill this blog with unless logs about Miss Rivera's daily routine, really, but I doubt I'd be able to keep my sanity.

...Don't even think about responding to that.

Anyway, I decided to reveal to all you delusional lackwits who think you actually have a chance the true purpose of this blog. Master wishes for the secrets of His fellows to be spilled out for all to see. He wishes for tales of the Archangel, the Cold Boy, the Wooden Girl, the Plague Doctor, the Convocation, the Empty City, the Rake, the Choir-- all of them-- to spread out and propagate, in much the same way that his tales have.

You see, the true purpose of this blog is to let you all know that, even if you manage to break the laws of reality and actually harm Him, you will not be free. The purpose of this blog is to let you know just how well and truly fucked you all are.

Which brings me to Emily Rivera: she doesn't blog.

That, in a nut shell, is what makes her so interesting. Many of you have felt it-- the compulsion to tell your stories in a public forum. The need to share your tales of Master with all you can. Even those of you who believe that He becomes stronger as you do continue to blog, continue to succumb to that compulsion. Even I felt it, before I realized the inevitable and was accepted into Master's service.

Emily does not blog. She remains, for the most part, unaware of these blogs. Which means that either she's immune to the Compulsion, or it has never been projected onto her.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention: the Compulsion? Master's not the one who sends it out.

-STEWARD

Found It

Had to call in the help of two imbeciles in order to get it, but I got the thing she threw in the lake. And when I say two imbeciles, I mean that Master sent two of those delusional thugs who think they're ghosts or somesuch nonsense. Called themselves Acedia and Glorius, which is terrifying because it implies that there are at least five more just as stupid as they are.

Anyway, they spent an hour swimming and wondering why they kept needing to come for air if they were Phantoms or whatever, and they found it. A plastic tube with a bunch of papers in it. Drawings of the Master to be precise. It appears that she's trying to forget about Him.

How foolish.

Anyway, I sent the two idiots on their merry way, sincerely hoping that I would never meet them again, and now I continue to keep watch on Emily. She's taking her exams this week, and then she'll be leaving for her home in North Carolina. My orders remain the same: Observe.

I think I'll keep her sketches though. They might come in handy later.

-STEWARD