Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies

His Green Kingdom

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Blissey:


Home; where the trees swayed just how you remembered them. The birds sing that very same tune. Where a mother’s gentle voice soothed your wounds, and a father’s guiding hand showed you the way. The smell of freshly baked bread, and the crackling of a homely fireplace. Countless hours lost in the spoils of your innocence. Lost in the hills, there was a virtue in ignorance during these times. For the briefest of moments, these memories and feelings intersect. The world suddenly feels smaller again, and in your very essence, you feel it. Your Green Kingdom.

Marry laid under a strange roof, the hammering of unforgiving rain rattled the already creaking foundations of the Lady’s Rest. Yet all the while, he thought of home. Marry was not plighted by sadness, nor was he blessed with happiness. He walked the line that narrowly separated these feelings apart. A condition that was irrevocable, for it was his Green Kingdom that tore at his being. He didn’t quite know what to make of his condition, was it something to grieve for? Or was this something he should appreciate?  Within the murk of his room, a candle was lit by him. The shadows illuminated the walls like puppets, vanishing momentarily under the bright flash of thunder. The body which shared his bed beside him sturred, yet did not awaken. Wrapped within his embrace, Piper slept soundly. Was home a person, and not a place? Was it where, when he slept, he slept soundly in another’s arms? Ruminations that distracted him from his condition, a temporary solution to a feeling that might never fade.

Yet still, even in his lover’s embrace, he thought of home. Staring up into the oaken carapace of a ceiling, his eyes rested upon a spider sowing a web. How many webs had this spider sown? In how many different places? Vagrancy. A treasured trait that everyone but Marry could hold. He longed for that, though, he could never shake away the thoughts of Luirwood. Though many nights and days were spent traversing the woods of Barovia, Hazlan, Dementlieu. In each intricate detail, each tint of green and each falling leaf did Marry so desperately seek out a similarity. Be that as it may, the trees swayed in divergence. The birds sang a different song. No green was greener than home, he thought. No matter how hard he believed he had found home in his lover, in Piper. No matter how truly he had believed that Luirwood was but a past memory. His Green Kingdom crept into his mind like an illness, or a reminder, of what he once had, who he once was, and who he could have been.

Blissey:


He danced that night. Not even the stars nor the radiance of the moon penetrated the veil of midnight, all except the embers of the campfire. He danced for a shadow he did not know existed till he felt it's hands grasp him. One at his waist, and one interlinked between his fingers. How had he not felt this connection before? One he had feigned, one he had ignored. Yet it took one dance, the illustration of his figure etched into the stark grey face of a rock. Yet he was not alone, his shadow was there too. It felt familiar. For once, even by himself, he did not feel alone. But this was no friend of his, this figure was alien, incomprehensible and entirely devoid of the virtues of life. It knew only Marry's fears. It knew who he was right down to the marrow within his bones. The shadow whispered, voiceless. It spoke only through memory, only through the thoughts and feelings Marry had so desperately defended, ones he had so painstakingly forced down to the darkest caverns of his brain.


'She was not safe. She will never be safe. Fight all you can, and in the end, they will die. Your pain will be permanent, etched into your skin and within your eyelids, you will see them. She called out to you, but you did not defend her. She died within the womb, you were selfish, ignorant. You let her die.

But there is one more, one more love you seek to protect. Protect her you may, but you know, in your bones, in your mind, she will die too. One day, she will call out your name, and you will not be there to protect her. To defend her. To love her. To share a bed with her one last time.

Your failures are your fears. You succumb to them like a foul poison when it enters your blood. You would lay down sooner, curl into a ball and cry. To die knowing you did nothing. That is your destiny. Yet you are stubborn. You will fight with all you have and all you can give. With your blade, you will fight truer than any before you. Truer than any of your kin. For you love her, like no one else.'


Yet here Marry was, facing the shadow which whispered this bile into his ear. With a gulp of the saliva within his mouth that had all but dried, sharply his voice croaked. It was true. All of it. For so long, he had fought himself. He fought the idea that failure can be defeated just like any other enemy. For so long he had been wrong, the words cracked him and sealed the wound in a cycle that maimed him far worse than any blade. It cut and tore, his viscera and guts spilled out before him and were soon sucked back up into his gut. Over, and over. Till it stopped. Till he stared into the shadow that shared his figure. You are right, he thought. And no sooner did the shadow's presence fade. No sooner did it return to where it had been born. Within Marry, within the Hollow.

Blissey:

The winter night set in. No snow, nor rain gnawed at the silence which enveloped the grove he stood within. The birds had all but left their songs half-sung, the cracking of distant branches ceased and the howls of animals that roamed the night were silenced. The only sound was the dull whistling of the wind, the swaying of leafless trees. He stood alone, or rather, he stood with his back turned to something. His Shadow. The mildew on the grass had dried under the chilled air, and there it stood. A manifestation. The evocation of the Other. The Other of whom? Of someone. The Shadow of someone he knew, all familiar yet not at all. It was a mirror into something colder, darker. The purple eyes that bore into Marry's skull weaved stories without the uttering of a single word.

Was he afraid?

No. For fear of the Other, your Other self was a choice. The self that preserves and holds onto the scars that wound you so deeply, cares for them like a sweet child was not a figure to be feared. So few in this world are allowed to face such a being. To truly face one's own self, and to behold the physical reflection of the thoughts that send your blood running cold. Your mouth becomes dry and there is nothing left to swallow but your fear. There was nowhere left to look but into the eyes that bore your secrets unto you.

Did he accept who he was?

He knew who he was. He knew who they were. He knew what secrets they knew. He was only truly afraid of himself, of the secrets, the pain, guilt. He had faced them. He knew what fears came next. What pain would torment him, what wounds would maim him. Only when you know the fears that haunt you already, will you know the fears that come after.

Was he willing to pay the price?

With the arrow aimed at his heart, he accepted it with open arms. The price? Understanding who you are. The reward? Accepting who you are.

"Fire away."

The air cracked, nocked and released. The arrow sailed through the air, piercing the final semblance of who he once was. It dropped dead, cold and unmoving. It was the final crack that had shattered the blackened window. His eyes peeled open, and there stood his shadow dancing in the midnight. This time, he danced too.

Blissey:

--- Quote ---21st Day of the 11th Month

This new. I have never written a journal before. I hate writing in common, it's messy and a little less elegant than Hin in my most unbiased opinion. I've seen Piper writing in her journal before, she seems to get sucked into the words she writes. The things she writes must be very personal, but I don't pry. Writing out your feels, or recounting a day's evens might do me a lot of good. After all my training, after I've finally felt like I've settled in who I want to be and do, I have space in my mind to think about things that are a little less overwhelming. For the first time in a long time, my mind was clear. Thoughtless. It's a strange type of clarity to have something like that, especially when you're not used to it at all. My mind moves so fast sometimes, it's hard to keep up with myself. Words tend to spill out faster than I can think, but that's the old me. The old Marry.

What's even stranger is how different things are now compared to when I first arrived. I was weaker then, naive and a little headstrong. I didn't take things in my stride, I took things for granted, and worst of all I didn't think before I spoke. Some may not understand, but when you come from a life that was simple and you're thrown into a world where choices often lead to life or death situations, it's incredibly daunting. It's easy to get wrapped up in the bad and forget the good. I've made so many memories here, did things I never thought I would. Fighting a dragon, quelling undead, doing battle with incredible warriors and actually standing a chance. If I ever went back home and recounted my tales to my family, they wouldn't believe me at all. Another fib told by Marry.

I miss them dearly. A lot actually, so much sometimes. Every time I wake up, I think of what could be happening at home. Ma's cooking a great big breakfast, Pa howling in frustration at some minor inconvenience in the ranch, not to mention all my siblings running about causing amuck. But of all those good memories, I don't think I would go back. Not without Piper. Home isn't home without her now, I couldn't imagine not waking up to her face in the morning or falling asleep with her in my arms. If this is what love is, then I'm content. She's been my north star throughout my journey here, something that has always focused me and grounded me. Sometimes I wonder why she's even with a dope like me, but I guess that's what love is. Loving someone for who they are entirely. Even through Tilly's passing away, we kept strong for each other. I think it's because we both know what it's like to be lonely in an unfamiliar world, somewhere so unlike home. To be lost in a place like that, it's hard to escape the hole that it puts you in. We pick each other up, dust ourselves off and carry on with our chins held high. Some people may say love makes you do strange things, but all of the things I've done for love I haven't regretted. Not once.

Signing off,
M.B 
--- End quote ---

Blissey:

His hatred was a weapon, he thought. His fear was a tool, he thought. With gritted teeth, needled eyes he cut and tore. But all tools break, and the harm he bore unto others was harm he bore unto himself. He was marooned upon a boat with the sails drawn down, the wind pushed and tugged. Battering and crashing into the waves of his untamed ocean. His tools were broken, shattered. His weapon, maimed and worn by blood. They failed him. Their shattered pieces at his feet. He felt the torrent of water suffocate him, it closed in around and encircled him hungrily. It beckoned to him, a siren's call to put the pieces back together and continue. Fix the tools, clean the weapon. And though he did, the water around him only narrowed. It grew closer, prowling. Hunched under the tall grass, waiting.

Yet, his gaze only regarded his hands, his tools, and his weapon. It was only until he looked up into the sky, the vast horizon and vista of stars and luminescent displays that he had seen it. His north star. Its shine bore a light upon the dark recesses of his ocean. The light had cast away the prowling beast which had surrounded him, and now, the oceans had all but calmed. Gentle waves rocking him. Across the azure blue seas, illuminated, others rode upon their boats. They stared up into the night sky, at their own star. In the maelstrom of hatred and fear, there was a serenity that overtook him. A sense of clarity.

The sails were drawn, and the wind guided him. There was only one direction he could go now. The deep ocean was no longer plagued with frivolous wind or coarse waves. It had its rhythm, as did he. That was the way it was meant to be. A harmonious dance, a rhythmic stepping to and fro. His hands had left the wheel, he surrendered to the wind that guided him. As he closed in, the star's luminosity blinded him. There was only white now, a serene spectacle of nothingness. For a moment, all was quiet, the world was but a muted silence. A familiar presence graced his senses amidst the quiet. She held him tight, arms wrapped around his frame. Then another presence settled just behind him, out of reach but ever watching. It was darker, it's eyes bore sinister intent. He was not threatened, for it's eyes were a reminder of his tools and his weapon. Though the looming rumination of losing this serenity, the peace which had engulfed him and the one in his arms, he was not afraid. Even if it had lasted but a moment, he had still felt it and that was enough. He was content with the inevitability, with the uncertainty of how long it might last. As long as he felt the light of his north star, even with its light dimmed into but a tiny speck, Marry would forever sail the calm seas of his ocean.   

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