Friday, October 2, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Beloved
Because of the vicissitudes of life and the banning of several players from Toxia, it's doubtful that many of the stories begun in Envenom will ever be finished. Grrbrool Lykin sent me the lyrics to "Beloved" by VNV Nation and I am posting them below as the ending to his and Joah's story. Let them also be the ending to many of the tales of the roleplayers who met and told stories in Toxia.
It's colder than before
The seasons took all they had come for
Now winter dances here
It seems so fitting don't you think?
To dress the ground in white and grey
It's so quiet I can hear
My thoughts touching every second
That I spent waiting for you
Circumstances affords me
No second chance to tell you
How much I've missed you
My beloved do you know
When the warm wind comes again
Another year will start to pass
And please don't ask me why I'm here
Something deeper brought me
Than a need to remember
We were once young and blessed with wings
No heights could keep us from their reach
No sacred place we did not soar
Still, greater things burned within us
I don't regret the choices that I've made
I know you feel the same
My beloved do you know
How many times I stared at clouds
Thinking that I saw you there
These are feelings that do not pass so easily
I can't forget what we claimed as ours
Moments lost though time remains
I am so proud of what we were
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Grant me wings that I might fly
My restless soul is longing
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
My beloved do you know
When the warm wind comes again
Another year will start to pass
And please don't ask me why I'm here
Something deeper brought me
Than a need to remember
My beloved do you know
How many times I stared at clouds
Thinking that I saw you there
These are feelings that do not pass so easily
I can't forget what we claimed as ours
Moments lost though time remains
I am so proud of what we were
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Grant me wings that I might fly
My restless soul is longing
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Moments lost though time remains
I am so proud of what we were
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Grant me wings that I might fly
My restless soul is longing
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Moments lost though time remains
I am so proud of what we were
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Grant me wings that I might fly
My restless soul is longing
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
VNV Nation
It's colder than before
The seasons took all they had come for
Now winter dances here
It seems so fitting don't you think?
To dress the ground in white and grey
It's so quiet I can hear
My thoughts touching every second
That I spent waiting for you
Circumstances affords me
No second chance to tell you
How much I've missed you
My beloved do you know
When the warm wind comes again
Another year will start to pass
And please don't ask me why I'm here
Something deeper brought me
Than a need to remember
We were once young and blessed with wings
No heights could keep us from their reach
No sacred place we did not soar
Still, greater things burned within us
I don't regret the choices that I've made
I know you feel the same
My beloved do you know
How many times I stared at clouds
Thinking that I saw you there
These are feelings that do not pass so easily
I can't forget what we claimed as ours
Moments lost though time remains
I am so proud of what we were
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Grant me wings that I might fly
My restless soul is longing
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
My beloved do you know
When the warm wind comes again
Another year will start to pass
And please don't ask me why I'm here
Something deeper brought me
Than a need to remember
My beloved do you know
How many times I stared at clouds
Thinking that I saw you there
These are feelings that do not pass so easily
I can't forget what we claimed as ours
Moments lost though time remains
I am so proud of what we were
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Grant me wings that I might fly
My restless soul is longing
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Moments lost though time remains
I am so proud of what we were
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Grant me wings that I might fly
My restless soul is longing
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Moments lost though time remains
I am so proud of what we were
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
Grant me wings that I might fly
My restless soul is longing
No pain remains, no feeling
Eternity awaits
VNV Nation
Friday, April 24, 2009
Veritas
It's been said that the best place to hide something is in plain view. What needed to be hidden, in this case, was me. I needed to go back to the City without the knowledge of a single soul. I would have normally chosen to travel under cover of night. The darkness of Toxia, however, was not my friend. There, in the wee hours of morning, the City fitfully wakes and it's denizens roam freely. I knew I must return, but I would go in the hazy noonday brightness, instead.
I unfastened the bodice of my gown and began to pull off my skirts, shrugging out of my petticoats and dropping my clothing on the floor in a heap. I made quick work of my corset and garters, pulling off stockings, and then finally my chemise. I couldn't afford to be seen in my usual attire; I needed clothing that would draw no attention. I rummaged through Kryss's things until I found black leather trousers and a long coat. It was the uniform of the City and assured I would go unnoticed.
On the docks of the mainland, I waited impatiently. The ferry was late in arriving, and when it did, I purchased passage with a munitions shipment and one or two unfamiliar lycans. The ferry travelled swifly, much more quickly than I had supposed it would. I stood beside stacks of crates watching the water slowly swirl from blue to green.
As I disembarked, I gathered my thoughts and headed straight for the Library. It was no longer home to the Omega Institute, but housed a faction named the Illuminati. The streets were empty and the Library, once I had stepped inside, was quiet. A dark haired man sat with his head bent over a pile of maps that were laid before him on the large, oaken Library table. He paid me no mind.
Opening my hands, palms spread before me, I began to pulse, looking for the remainders of a death struggle. From the hearth to the landing to the balcony overlooking the street I roved, watching.
But there were no ghosts.
No shadows.
No impressions left by the mark of violence.
Not one life had been lost.
It was, in the end, a lie.
My Beloved was alive.
I unfastened the bodice of my gown and began to pull off my skirts, shrugging out of my petticoats and dropping my clothing on the floor in a heap. I made quick work of my corset and garters, pulling off stockings, and then finally my chemise. I couldn't afford to be seen in my usual attire; I needed clothing that would draw no attention. I rummaged through Kryss's things until I found black leather trousers and a long coat. It was the uniform of the City and assured I would go unnoticed.
On the docks of the mainland, I waited impatiently. The ferry was late in arriving, and when it did, I purchased passage with a munitions shipment and one or two unfamiliar lycans. The ferry travelled swifly, much more quickly than I had supposed it would. I stood beside stacks of crates watching the water slowly swirl from blue to green.
As I disembarked, I gathered my thoughts and headed straight for the Library. It was no longer home to the Omega Institute, but housed a faction named the Illuminati. The streets were empty and the Library, once I had stepped inside, was quiet. A dark haired man sat with his head bent over a pile of maps that were laid before him on the large, oaken Library table. He paid me no mind.
Opening my hands, palms spread before me, I began to pulse, looking for the remainders of a death struggle. From the hearth to the landing to the balcony overlooking the street I roved, watching.
But there were no ghosts.
No shadows.
No impressions left by the mark of violence.
Not one life had been lost.
It was, in the end, a lie.
My Beloved was alive.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Endings
I walked the edge of the cliff and stood looking over the sea, a sea unmarred by toxic spillage, though it was not a peaceful shore. Too much had happened in this new land and my heart was turning to stone because of it. Insurrection in the Alpha Institute… petty squabbles among the Praetors and the Legate… a Choi and Constantine who professed to have been ever only angels… it made no sense. Constantine talked of curtains and dreams, killing kitten after kitten in his failed attempts to open a portal to who knows where.
It was all too much, too soon after the flight from the City. I had done much of late that shadowed my heart with regret. I could no longer depend on Nareth, for she was not herself. Whatever remained of Omega’s Chylde lay deep in the belly of a ghost, growing into some unknowable thing. Our attempts to restore her had failed. The moments of her passion had been followed by insufferable anguish for me, and Desdecardo had made it clear: there was no easy freedom from thralldom. I was not unaware of the distrust with which most of the Institute viewed me because of this. Thus, I did the only thing I could… I sought refuge in the Tree of the Garden until all my desire was replaced by life and fire. I felt my wings unfurl. I was thrall no more, but the cost was great.
Now an even greater weariness lay upon my shoulders, a weariness from which I could find no rest. I’d heard the reports from the City, read the letters… Grrbool was dead. A picture drawn in crayon from Brit seemed to say only that Grr and Omega had left the City for a while. Ethan, however, would have sheltered Brit as best he could. The news in the letters though... I couldn't believe the truth of it. Grr and Omega’s bodies had been found in the Great Library. Their remains had been burned and carried away from the City.
Denenthorn hadn’t even wept.
Yet I still hear Grr’s cry to the moon.
He’s not dead.
He can’t be.
It was all too much, too soon after the flight from the City. I had done much of late that shadowed my heart with regret. I could no longer depend on Nareth, for she was not herself. Whatever remained of Omega’s Chylde lay deep in the belly of a ghost, growing into some unknowable thing. Our attempts to restore her had failed. The moments of her passion had been followed by insufferable anguish for me, and Desdecardo had made it clear: there was no easy freedom from thralldom. I was not unaware of the distrust with which most of the Institute viewed me because of this. Thus, I did the only thing I could… I sought refuge in the Tree of the Garden until all my desire was replaced by life and fire. I felt my wings unfurl. I was thrall no more, but the cost was great.
Now an even greater weariness lay upon my shoulders, a weariness from which I could find no rest. I’d heard the reports from the City, read the letters… Grrbool was dead. A picture drawn in crayon from Brit seemed to say only that Grr and Omega had left the City for a while. Ethan, however, would have sheltered Brit as best he could. The news in the letters though... I couldn't believe the truth of it. Grr and Omega’s bodies had been found in the Great Library. Their remains had been burned and carried away from the City.
Denenthorn hadn’t even wept.
Yet I still hear Grr’s cry to the moon.
He’s not dead.
He can’t be.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Musée des Beaux Arts
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
W.H. Auden
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
W.H. Auden
Sunday, April 12, 2009
The Inventory of Goodbye
The streets of the City were nearly empty. I’d walked up and down Luxuria and Superbia, but had seen only a few individuals. Here and there, someone stood alone on a corner or in the shadow of an alley. It had all happened so suddenly. The Tyrant had come and most of the Institute had fled. Tonks, Pens… Redd and Attie… all gone. Choi had taken Nareth… or rather Dana… out of the City, along with Constantine, to a land reputed to be even more violent than the City itself. I sighed, filled with sadness and remorse; I felt I should have been able to do something to avert it all, but there was nothing I could do. Even the Lady had failed. I stood gazing one last time into the flames of the Library hearth, then headed quietly to my room at the top of the stairs. As I slowly opened the door, I gazed at what had been my home for well over a year: the small narrow bed, the wooden writing table, the hi-backed chair… all worn and meager furnishings, but well loved. I neared the bed, took off my armband and lay it flat on the coverlet, tracing my finger along the Omegan insignia for a moment and thinking of the many remaining I yet held dear. Still… I had to follow her. There really was no choice for me. I turned, left the room, and closed the door behind me.
I have a pack of letters,
I have a pack of memories.
I could cut out the eyes of both.
I could wear them like a patchwork apron.
I could stick them in the washer, the drier,
and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?
Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss.
Besides -- what a bargain -- no expensive phone calls.
No lengthy trips on planes in the fog.
No manicky laughter or blessing from an odd-lot priest.
That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow.
Blessing us. Blessing us.
Am I to bless the lost you,
sitting here with my clumsy soul?
Propaganda time is over.
I sit here on the spike of truth.
No one to hate except the slim fish of memory
that slides in and out of my brain.
No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown
brushing my body like a light that has gone out.
It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems,
meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need.
Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path -
all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox.
The monotonous dead clog me up and there is only
black done in black that oozes from the strongbox.
I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs,
of two who were one upon a large woodpile
and ignite, as I was once ignited, and let it whirl
into flame, reaching the sky
making it dangerous with its red.
-Anne Sexton
I have a pack of letters,
I have a pack of memories.
I could cut out the eyes of both.
I could wear them like a patchwork apron.
I could stick them in the washer, the drier,
and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?
Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss.
Besides -- what a bargain -- no expensive phone calls.
No lengthy trips on planes in the fog.
No manicky laughter or blessing from an odd-lot priest.
That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow.
Blessing us. Blessing us.
Am I to bless the lost you,
sitting here with my clumsy soul?
Propaganda time is over.
I sit here on the spike of truth.
No one to hate except the slim fish of memory
that slides in and out of my brain.
No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown
brushing my body like a light that has gone out.
It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems,
meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need.
Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path -
all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox.
The monotonous dead clog me up and there is only
black done in black that oozes from the strongbox.
I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs,
of two who were one upon a large woodpile
and ignite, as I was once ignited, and let it whirl
into flame, reaching the sky
making it dangerous with its red.
-Anne Sexton
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