Some (very long) time ago we started roleplaying in the manner that we would become most accustomed to-avatar style. That is to say, we created avatars of ourselves (with badass superpowers) in the alternate universes. World of Darkness was (and is) our most common system, and we have had various incarnations of ourselves throughout. This is not a normal way to game, but we used it as our way of living out our fucked up revenge fantasies and making fun of each other-which in our misanthropic minds, is the purpose of gaming anyway. Anyway, we went through a lot of iterations as our avatars, from the initial foray into a mind numbingly violent coterie of vampires to mixed troupes that would make any self respecting White Wolf ST clamp down on his temples and chase aspirin with Bacardi 151.
It is from one of the mixed troupes, the one we affectionately refer to now as 2.5, (2.0 is the one without all the retcons) that my Nephandi truly came into being.
The Nephandi personify rape and nihilism and corruption; they are the servants of the Wyrm, a sort of 'Well we can't say Cthulhu' kind of deal that is responsible for the world spiraling into an abyss of castrated children and cheap plastic goods. I guess it is easier than blaming ourselves, in the real world, for the same problem. Anyway, the Nephandi are a faction of magick users that are riding that roller coaster into oblivion with both hands in the air and a rock hard dick.
At that point in my life I still spent most of my time seething and hating women and popping yellowjackets because I hadn't really worked my way up to speed yet. I had really begun to master the fine art of manipulating people, especially girls, and had recently lost my virginity to a heroin junkie named Maribelle (I think) in northern california. So this worldview made a lot of sense to me, a giant pack of broken lies cobbled together with hope and fuck juice, and while I played this character (in tabletop and IRC-I often integrated the two campaigns) everything that he said, I believed, because it made sense to me.
At some point later in my life, I had to make a difficult choice. I made that choice, and I am happy with my decision-it has resulted in me becoming the man I am today. But to say that the part of me that seethes with entropy died is a straight lie-it lives. I simply turned away from the sickness in my heart and aquired, slowly, over years, a measure of self respect and decency. And so my Nephandi sort of became my connection to that before time; as I got better, he got worse, until he became the literal avatar of genocide and atrocity on earth.
I, on the other hand, became a fairly nice guy with a taste for threeway sex.
You would have to look hard to see the similarities in us now, although they are there. The gulf between us has widened, but it is still merely the breadth of a single tarnished silver coin. I have moved beyond bitterness and nihilism, but I can still see him there, as I often suspect that he can see me-he is a psychadelic spirit mage, he has stuck his dick through the glory hole in the 4th wall. I do not think he would approve of me, but fuck him. That sick bastard sold his soul for power and it cost him all his friends and any chance at love or belonging. In the end, I think I keep him around just to remind me of that.
I'm sure it isn't just for the mental torture porn. That probably has nothing to do with it.