Raise Your Glass For Those Who Were Sacrificed

For those of us who have stayed in London long enough to get some respectable cloths to warm our wretched bones and some shoes to keep our feet a safe distance from the cobblestones… we have done things, many of which are terrible. Unspeakable even. One doesn’t make it very far, or last very long, in London without doing something that may (or may not for those less scrupulous types) haunt them for the rest of their lives. You might not regret what was done, but you won’t forget either.

I stand before you fine, upstanding and grand citizens of London with my glass (of water) held high for those who’s tears, blood and bones, and very souls litter our path to greatness.

Ladies, Gentlemen, What have you… Raise your glass for those who you threw into the maw of fate, and for good or ill let their memory live on.

To the Heiress, the Comtessa, I was young. A fresh face to London. I couldn’t bring myself to come between &quottrue love&quot, even one as odd (and… final) as yours.
To my Cryptozoologist’s friend form the University. I betrayed you to those who would use me. I sacrificed you to show my loyalty to those who would later become my enemies. &quotEnemies&quot might not be the correct term… I just want to kill one… to see.
To those I killed in the name of the Alice. I chose loyalty over dignity. Its all in the game they say.
To the Alice, I couldn’t save you from yourself.
To my &quotArtist Model&quot… We didn’t need to know each others names. Walking hand in hand through the Tyrant’s Gardens, the silence and secrets are all we needed to share. I let Mr Eaten have you… Mr Eaten could have that wretched jewel thief, but I let &quothim&quot have you too. I may see you when I go &quotNorth&quot one day.
To Clyde the Malevolent Monkey, my first true partner in crime… I hope some piece of him lives on inside that crustacean. At least he(?) is not alone in his(?) carapaced weirdness.
To Mr Eaten. I have forgotten. I have failed. My hunger is gone. I wanted to know so badly. I still have the scars. I am getting better and I regret it immensely.
To the Denizens Infernal… I am deeply saddened that I might not get a chance to destroy every single one of you bastards in such a way that not even a feverish memory remains. Trash. Trash!

And most of all… To Mr. Bubbles XlX. Nothing and no one deserves to die like that. I am sorry. What I did was cruel and depraved even beyond my imagining. Hopefully your ever cheery mind lives on in that damnable vegetable. Mr. Bubbles l through XVlll miss you and hope you are swimming happily in a well illuminated beyond… Mr. Bubbles XX had less flattering things to say.

A shot of scotch to that - for those who fell and those who have yet to be felled. I drink to the Vake, may I spill it’s black blood and peg it’s hide to my wall.

A sip of absinthe to the drunken rat. She was loaded in every sense of the word. I didn’t mean to kill her. If I had the skills then that I have now…

A glass of Morelways '72 to the Repentant Forger. At this time my pursuit of knowledge was more important than our friendship. I should have just sold that d__d painting.
And another one - to the Bishop of Southwark. If he does what he wants to do, he’s in for a nasty surprise. Hell will be ready for him.
Wait, I’m not actually sorry about this. Oh well. I’m sure that one more glass won’t hurt me…
edited by Karaeir on 12/24/2013

[quote=Karaeir]A glass of Morelways '72 to the Repenant Forger. At this time my pursuit of knowledge was more important than our friendship. I should have just sold that d__d painting.
And another one - to the Bishop of Southwark. If he does what he wants to do, he’s in for a nasty surprise. Hell will be ready for him.
Wait, I’m not actually sorry about this. Oh well. I’m sure that one more glass won’t hurt me…[/quote]

Heh. I knew I was going too far with that blasted painting. Oh well. I didn’t get ruthless 11 by looking out for number two.

[li][/li][li]
edited by mblamar on 12/24/2013

Here’s to the Masters, for I am destined to betray them. I raise a toast to them in their own blood, a vintage worthy of a soirée between stars.

Sorrow. So much sorrow. For all those I failed to save… I still see the princess’s face in my dreams. So scared. So alone. I wasn’t fast enough to outrun the Thunder.
Alice… if only I had known then that when you smash the board, all the pawns go tumbling down same as the kings and queens.

And for those I failed to save from myself. Why, oh why did I pick up that knife? I should have known. Jack, with my mind and my skills? I should never have unleashed such a thing. Too much blood. Much too much.

I toast with a heavy heart to Alice, and those I killed in her name. I chose not to question her, and became a piece in her game, the Game, and naught came of it but death. I toast to Fluffy the Eighth, Eleventh, and Thirteenth, my not-so-lucky weasels that fell victim to a damnedly popular song. I toast to my once rather talkative rattus faber, who now speaks in clicks and scuttles across the floor. I toast to the Comtessa, who I left to her fate. I knew too little to judge… but sometimes, I wonder.

I toast to Whether Peculiar, who I set on a dark and narrow path to further my own progress. …I shiver, and raise my glass to a sous-chef. I do not remember what happened in that restaurant. Only the hunger. The smoke. The shrill whistles and pounding boots of Constables. Perhaps it is good that I do not. Perhaps.

Excellent toast, Hammond. Let me toast:

The Comtessa; I acted to save you from what I thought a fate worse than death, and I still pray I was not wrong.
The Repentant Forger, who I drove to unspeakable agony that sundered our Acquaintance for a long, long time.
The Music Hall Singer, who I frivolously betrayed, and who graciously forgave me.
The unknowns I visited when I tasted red honey–you know who you are, and if you share the Nemesis ambition, you understand.
The Talkative Rats I callously (and uselessly) killed in my quest for a Dark Carapaced Crustacean.
The Arabian weasel cruelly burst by my exposure to an unfortunate popular song.
The other pets I sacrificed to the Boatman to return from the slow boat ride.
Cheating in my duel with Chi-Lan. She deserved more honor.
[I *refuse* to toast the sorrow spiders I sacrificed to my St. John’s Lily–sorrow spiders should not be pets, and if I had my way I would exterminate every last one in Fallen London].

I have no other regrets, really. My main character has stolen often but has killed less frequently than some (K&C doesn’t count; that’s fun!) and beaten up recalcitrant gang members only as often as necessary.

Happy Sacksmas to all!

I will toast myself, as usual, with a glass of Broken Giant… regret and sorrow are burdens for lesser creatures. Those destined for greatness need them not!

A toast to Dumpstat the First, who earned a death worthy of a Bandit-Chief performing reconnaisance on the Big Rat. Hard to believe I miss our conversations.