Been awhile since I've posted to the list... this is actually something I wrote impromptu elsewhere, on IRC, but I thought I'd share. It's not Malkavian, precisely, but I've noticed that very little is these days. Opinions? Once upon a time, there was a small hamlet nestled snugly in the warm northern hills of a far-off land. And to a young man and woman of this village was born a boy, bright of eye and fair of skin, with a smile always in his heart and laughter on his face. His heart and his face shone so bright because of an Angel... For upon the day before his birth, the Angel had come to him and whispered into his ear, and told him the True and Ineffable Name of God. And upon the day he spake his first word, the Angel returned to him, and told him in no uncertain terms that the True Name of God was never to be spoken in vain, lest horrible darkness befall him and all he touched. But still, he carried with him the song of the Name of God within his heart and upon his tongue, and even without uttering it, its knowledge and its closeness filled him with a giddy joy, which he radiated to all he saw. As a young boy, everyone loved him; such a fair-haired and spry fay lad could not be found anywhere within the kingdom, and people travelled from miles around to behold his kindness and his innocence. It was told, even, that he may someday be a prophet; it was sometimes whispered that he may have been the son of a god, for noone knew the truth, and he could not tell. But as he grew in stature and wisdom, a great jealousy befell his fellow children in the village, and they began to taunt and tease him, throwing rocks at him as he would walk home from the market, and pushing him down into the mud. He would merely smile, and think the Name of God, and all would be alright; and he would continue merrily on his way. But the years wore on, and the cruelty of boys as they grew into men bore down upon him until he could no longer bear it, and his mother would often find him weeping, alone, in his room. And upon his thirteenth Beltaine, as the passions and fires of manhood began to burn within him, he did attend the Festival of the Flowers, where he may attend one of the young maidens there, and know gentleness and love as only the young do; but none would have him. It was said he was fay; it was said he was bewitched; it was said he was wicked. And so, with great sadness in his heart, he packed his things into a rucksack on his back and put on his leathers, and marched solemnly from his village with narry a word to his mother or father. Long and varied were his journeys, but those are all tales for another time. What matters is this: That upon his ninteenth midsummer, when all young men must partake of the Rite of the Wyld Hunt, he instead came upon a doe of his own; a beautiful maiden, with eyes as green as the Irish moor and hair of fire and gold; and he was so sticken by the sight of her that his jaw dropped slack to his chin. And in that moment of weakness, in that moment of shock, the only sound that was to come out of his mouth was the first sound that his soul had ever heard; the One True and Ineffable Name of God: "I Love You." The song of the Name poured out from his lips; coursing through the glade and echoing through the trees, and she simply smiled and blushed. And as the echoes reached Heaven, and resounded from the mountains, the Angels heard; and were sore afraid. And lighting crashed across the sky, for he had spoken the Name hastily, and in vain; for she was not to be his. But in his blindness and awe of her beauty, he did not hear the pealing thunder or the clarion call of fate; and so he consigned himself to pour his heart into the Name, wrapping it around him and forging it into a Truth, that its light could be reflected in her, and she could grow to repeat the Name to him. For many months did he try to win her love, but alas; it was not to be. She married a nobleman and ascended to a life of stature and society, and he was crestfallen. And so, he wanders from village to vilage, from glen to glade, from vale to moor; hoping, wishing, praying that someday he may find the Name that he hastily released from his lips, recapture it into his soul, and give it unto the soul that is his destiny; his other half. Many adventures he has had since then, but again; those are stories for another time. -Hentai [in vita non pacem est]