Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies
Markal's Mind
bloodless:
The small tome shows its age with the worn leather binding, the faded ink on yellowed pages and ruffled edges. It’s not a book that was well loved by its owner though it is extensively used -- beyond the cover page marked with a simple “Property of M.S.” sprawls a gnarled script, the product of an unsteady hand. Deciphering it is its own challenge for although written in the common language, no consideration was given to any potential readers. The letters seem to lead a life of their own, jostling for position with their neighbours as sentences meander across the unruled paper page after page, skipping over the occasional ink blot or smear with unconcerned ease. Adorning the text are small scribbles around the loosely followed self-imposed margins and later on the occasional full page set aside for illustrations of complex geometric shapes, surprisingly neat and evidently aided by some kind of ruler, annotated by unclear abbreviations…
--- Quote ---There’s so little to entertain me here, I might as well get started on this idea. If nothing else it will help pass the time. But where to begin? The early days seem as good a place as any, and perhaps keeping to chronology will help me tease out some hitherto hidden truth of the past.
My earliest memories are of bare papered walls and drafty halls. The meagre seat of power for a local lordling, overlooking from his fortified hill the village huddled beneath. He was ever fond of retelling our grand lineage, nevermind that almost nothing of it remained for us. It was just the sort of man my father was...
--- End quote ---
bloodless:
--- Quote ---Fate is a funny thing. Are we fated to the trials and tribulations that befall us? Some would certainly say so, seeing them as either a test to be endured or punishment to be received. I am not so sure anymore. After all, is it not in man's hands to wrangle success out of the cruel and unforgiving elements? I look upon the desolate and empty manors that mark the landscape and I cannot help but wonder, were they just not strong enough? It certainly feels like fate is what has driven them to ruin, and driven us to the brink of it. But what if...
--- End quote ---
bloodless:
--- Quote ---I don't remember the incident, only a sudden start followed by a sharp pain. At the time I must have been around seven years old, going on eight, but of the following weeks I have only the vaguest recollections. They feared for my life more than once, I was later told, and even managing that much was considered a small miracle. None of the healers we had access to could do much for my other injuries, however... It is strange sensation, recalling those days. Remembering the boy who cared more about running around with his two best friends than tending the gardens; who could hardly sit still without nodding asleep or staring out the window when it was time to learn. They are as if memories from another life, a different person. Fate is a funny thing indeed, whether you wish to curse or smile at it.
--- End quote ---
bloodless:
--- Quote ---The months following took their toll as I could no longer indulge any of my passions, however childish they might have been. I remember the looks most vividly, the furtive glances, the quirk of restrained lips, the twitch of the nose. I learned to ignore them with time, of course, but I still feel that old yearning on occasion, still buried somewhere in my breast. To scream for them all to stop, to simply resume as they had before. But things had changed and there was to be no going back. The choice, I remember my uncle patiently explaining one particularly restless night, was on me to raise my chin and adapt, or continue languishing in self pity, making a mockery of our noble blood. Little did I know what else he had to share...
--- End quote ---
bloodless:
--- Quote ---It was an easy hook to swallow. So easy, in fact, that I grew angry with him. Why had he waited so long before reaching out? Why was I left to suffer both pain and indignity? Thinking back on it, I don't think I can explain any better than he did, nor would I do otherwise in his shoes. Misery is an invaluable teacher, and a supremely personal one. It separates one's childish wants from their real and present needs. With the pain of misery at my back, I was spurred to begin my new study with vigor I had never before possessed. It took a long time for my damaged hands to learn to write again, and longer still to match the intricate calligraphy of the old diaries, but I was motivated, and by hook or by crook, I succeeded, made stronger for having endured my fate up to that point. And that was just the start of it...
--- End quote ---
Navigation
[0] Message Index
[#] Next page
Go to full version