Beginning Notes – A Greeting

To my dearest lord and savior, Parashaminalami

All hail the overlord Kali in her good pleasure as she has seen fit to allow me to live yet another cycle of our moon. I owe my life to her good pleasure, to our great Archon, and the 365 spheres of her delight.

What follows are the notes of the dear late Natash, by his sometimes life partner and progeny born, Valparaiso of The Americas. Contained within are the last few entries in his last journal. I, his old friend Valparaiso, have collected these journal entries and tried to make the best sense of them for you, oh Parashaminalami. They were somewhat confusing, so I have broken them down into suitable chunks (or segments) so that none will be confused… Not that anything would ever be confusing to you, oh great one.

I was to meet our dear friend Natash today, this Elembivios (or Eilmí as it is sometimes called), at dawn, at Saint Andrews to celebrate with the Greater area Wiccan Coven. Thirteen thirteens of witches in all. There was to be a volunteer feeding, and possibly, if the right person presented herself, he was to turn his first centennial dhampir disciple this millennia. Alas it was not to be, and as such as the situation sits now, all engagements have been cancelled for both he and myself, as I have thrown myself headlong into the mystery surrounding his disappearance. Mayhap I can grasp at some answers in my searching.

I have only added this brief greeting at the beginning of my letter as a summation of what I have found, in this assemblage of the ramblings of this last remembrance of our late friend Natash, what you would call your humble servant. He knew of the old ways, and was always submissive, and had the old knowledge of our miraculous and stupendous history. His personal journal entries bear no date nor time to relate to anything that one would call a reasonable order. They are simply an account of his last days and how he spent them, and a few extraordinary events and accounts that transpired along his most recent time with us. There are some things that unfold that have no explanation. Yet, for the sake of continuity of the work, I have placed them in the most orderly manner possible.

This journal was gathered mostly from his manor, near Savannah, Georgia, where I now find myself. I had not seen him in over four seasons so I do not know how long he had been gone. It was a ramshackle manor, all but one of which was let out to renters, being split into a five-plex. There was the hallmark older colonial woodwork, mixed and mashed almost pell-mell into larger and more modern furnishings. No temptation into feng shui afflicted my friend in his renovations of this place. Large armoires here and there were combined with stainless steel trappings, and that was arranged inharmoniously with the decor of 1960's wallpaper and 1980's blonde wood floors. The renters were sheep, who knew nothing and could tell me nothing, but the house told me a little. As you know, I share one of the small gifts of the Apollonian, so I questioned the non-human inhabitants as to what may have happened to him. Most helpful was a Fiddleback who told me that it had been almost two whole moons since the dead one (meaning our Natash) had been seen.

And this is where I truly begin my tale. It is of one of us, a true Brahmaparusha, who lost his way, due to curious circumstances. But in the recounting, I would do ill if I thought that my interpretations would suffice, so, in order to do it the justice that it merits, it would behoove me to let our protagonist tell his own story and not edit the actual text, save for grammar and spelling. Though it grieves me to do such, to let his memoirs reach the eyes of someone other than his own self, I must do so – that his truth be known.