History

French Colonial Chad

1916

Amein was born the sixth son of the village chief Abuttoo of the Wassabi people a moderately powerful driver of the Massi nation, who powerful tribe of the Massi nation, who dispairingly suffered from the attentions of the French Jesuit missionaries.

The times in these lands were peaceful, there we’re millions who were dying in colder lands to the north, the lands were rich after three wet years, and fat cattle graze With their hides shining in the strong yellow sunshine.

On the day of the Amein’s birthing the witch woman Attuni hovered around over the grunting and gasping woman sprawled in the dust of the heart, eye’s intent. This would be a difficult birth, labor had started before dawn and noon had come and gone with the dusk coming quickly. The woman clawed at her hugely distended belly, with growing, frantic jerks, all the while Attuni sat, watching, waiting. The girl is strong Attuni mused to herself, it has been much time and still she’s fighting, but soon she must tire. The young woman screamed once, long and hard. Attuni put an ear to the heaving belly, she felt the muscles contract in a seizure and heard a long, wet, tearing sound. A river of blood coursed out from the girls legs and the large head appeared in the opening of torn flesh as it was forced out with powerful contractions to slop unmoving on to blood and worse. The girl shuddered, rolled her eyes, then fell limp on the bloody, muddy floor      -she did not move again.

 Attuni quickly grabbed up the infant and pounded it on the back. One great black clot of blood coughed from the child’s mouth on to her and oozed to down her pendulous, withered black breast. The child eats blood, the evil spirits have come this birth, and they must be sated with the life of this devil child. Attuni held up her bone knife to plunge into the child’s chest when sunlight burst into the hut. The chief‘s eyes widened at the scene. He roared, the burst into the hut flinging aside the hide flap and striking Attuni with his fists sending her reeling across the hut And slamming her through the wattle thatched wall. Attuni came to her feet screeching curses through bleeding lips. “ you’ve spawn a devil child, see he has killed your Woman. “Nooooo!” Abuttoo thundered, “You have killed her crow!” Attuni, still down on one knee in the dust looked up at the chief raising her chin defiantly “ Your wrong fool!  He’s a devil child, The evil spirits father him now. I curse this child!  May death stalk those he loves And deny him its final peace.”Inarticulate with rage, Abuttoo grabbed up an ox yoke leaning against the hut and struck Attuni in the temple. Her eyes glazed over, and she toppled to the manure littered dust, twitching               -She would not move again.

Abuttoo start over the body of the woman gazing down of her bashed in temple. Flies were beginning to buzz and probe the sticky black and gray ooze of Attuni’s brain. “No, witch” he rumbled “ He will been named Amein…..... Lifetaker."

Nineteen years later

Amein sat under the naked Gourd tree watching the cattle chew on the yellow dry grass stems mindlessly and moan dispiritedly to each other. Soon he would have to leave the life of a proud Massi warrior and join the elder ranks; it would be a sad time for him, as he would have to cut off his beautiful long black hair. No more would the women of the village sneak out of the settlement to meet him at night with their yearning of young passion sparkling in their eyes, and brag to the other women of their amorous adventures and giggling of love

“Love!” he spat, such foolishness, or so he thought. All his life had been one loss after another .Every time he fell warmth or affection for another the ancestors gathered those up most close to him, almost out spite. His father died when Amein was of the age of five in a skirmish with a rival tribe that moved into the lands when the dust blew for five and one seasons. All of his brothers have yielded in life during various fights before he reached the aged man would. When he was twelve he was passionate the inmates the fed year before young girl called the Eska of the same age, for she was the daughter of the successor chief. He stole a kiss from her; she giggled and fled looking over her shoulder saying louder than words that pursuit should be rewarded somehow.

 He heard a scream and came crashing through the dry brush under growth to see her arched convulsively on her back and to her left the slim form of death slivered into the thick underbrush. He stood there for several minutes transfixed, she gasped, sobbed, and thrashed in the dried sticks and rocks. Her heels beat frantically in the dust and her head turned erratically from side to side. Slowly, and inexorably to fits subsided, until with a low sigh she lay there staring up at him. As he gazed into her eyes, he saw her life force splutter and expire, he could have but sworn that he heard shrill voices laughing hollowly in the air around him, with flickering shades flittered around the edges of his vision he spun around and still nothing, so I’ve been desiccated landscape around him. There was only ghostly mocking laughter trailing away into the oblivion. 

Now, years later he sat watching cows as was his duty to his people, his family. Family?  He had none!  It seemed that anybody he reached out to would be ripped from his grasp, he was alone in this world and a sad cynical melancholy not usual in one so young had settled over his heart. He did not love, he does not dream of love for it would be the doom of another and only death was his constant companion, it’s a murmuring voice’s. The elders of the village shunned him, and would speak only when necessary to him and whisper behind his back with fear in their eyes. What did they fear of him?  He was a warrior, certainly, and killed two men with the spear, but they were warriors as well with many victories to their names and did not treat each other with the same fear they had for him.

 One year later

 With tears of rage and shame been angrily dashed from his eyes she strode away from the village with jeers of derision and howls of hatred by ringing in his ears. How could he have been so foolish as to soften his heart, if only momentarily.

 The elders were arguing as to whether to allow him to be an elder, and it was strange this was strange as normally this honor would be for automatically bestowed on a man’s twentieth year, which would fall less than one seasons turning. Still, they argued, with only old Kubito defending him. Kubito claimed that Amein was a loyal and true member of the village. Kubito said many kind things that afternoon and some of these were unknown to Amein, He stood witness to the discussion as was custom. He could fill the glimmer of affection rising up in his breast, unbidden. No!!! 

The angry snarling in the air rose around him, the eldest turned to face him. They could hear it to!?  Nebulous shades of gray and black swirled around him and streaked for Kubito Got There was some violent maelstrom of wind and shadow where Kubito stood. Chunks of flows and worse sprayed from the spinning, funnel of fury to shower down upon the village elders. It was then that a morbid time descended brave Amein with the elders covered In the old man gore Got it was basically if their own mortality and decaying license plate on their bodies as was Kubito’s. 

“The curse!” came one hoarse cry, then as quickly as the fear had seized the villagers, that fear transmuted to rage with its focus being Amein. “Seize him!” shouted one “kill him” shouted another.  “Silence!!!” thundered the chief. “Amein, you have been loyal and true to these people so I would not have your blood on my hands, but you cannot live amongst us for you have and mark of Attuni curse on you.” Kubito paused, looking down at a frightened young man “You are banished on pain of death ."

"Who's curse?” Amein stammered.

“Leave or die Amein! The choice is yours.”

 Two months later

 Heading north, moving mostly at night, Amein with only his wooden spear and knife for protection stayed well clear of civilization, he did not enjoy being jeered at four force back from all spat upon some us that he would rush to repeat the experience. Then one night Amein came across a cure for a new law will need decided to risk unpleasantness. As he drew nearer He saw a man who appeared to being gnawing at another struggling figures chest. “What evil is this,- heart eater?” With that, he brandished his wooden spear and set himself.

 The feasters head reared up To face him, and what a face indeed, his eyes were a hard glossy black, his features regular with his skin white like the Jesuits who visited the village and from his bloodied maw protruded two impossibly long fangs. A Zamboti! I soulless one! The beast man roared and rushed at him in a blur – too fast for any mortal man to manage. Amein knelt down that could be spends his driving to his chest and then at the spear He had driven into his killers own heart. Like a post split asunder the two fell off each other. Amein fell towards the ground and as he gazed up to the heavens and his ancestors gazed back. The fall to earth seemed an eternity, He fell through the earth towards its very core and those spirits who had awarded in his love and roll him as a puppet moved inexorably towards him to charities flesh and sell, he was these-finally. The Jesuits were right, there was a hell and he was hurtling right for its teeming center.

Like a shot of white hot lightning through his body, He’s held shouted into an eruption of agony. Colors coursed through his world. Light and pain surged and racked his body, with jolt after explosive jolt, he’s very soul was wrenched into eternal damnation. The thirst!!  It was all Amein would know, could know. He clawed upwards to the single thought of sating that all consuming dreadful thirst. His tongue sent to his brain a sharp pain with a wooden salty taste, his eyes opened he was gorging himself and the blood and freely flowing down to this be wounded in the chest of his murderer. Gasping, he sat up and gazed upon the frozen face of the young man his own age. Nothing moved on that paralyzed face, save, as those eyes. Like black pools, old, wise, evil and filled with a sad languorous regret.

 Brujah mayhap, Assimite,” A woman’s voice crooned behind him, speaking in the tongue of the Jesuits. “Drink, mine young, brave hunter, for tonight in the assuring of mine own existence, I bequeath unto thee respite from those who would haunt thee – perchance thou would live long enough to master thy fiends,” Not bothering to turn around Amein fell upon his stricken prey. The beastman did not move again-Amein did not care             

       Giovanni Title        Ameins Bio                      Dr Amein's Chat-line         

   Rituals                     Wraiths and retainers