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thefoundation2019-04-01 11:15 am
foundationmods) wrote in thefoundation2019-04-01 11:15 am
Entry tags:
WEEK 2 MINGLE - ARTEMISIA
Things had changed so rapidly in the past few days.
The loss of two of them hung over like a shroud, made even worse by the fact that an innocent person had been executed.
Was this....how the rest of the game was going to go...?🗈
The loss of two of them hung over like a shroud, made even worse by the fact that an innocent person had been executed.
Was this....how the rest of the game was going to go...?🗈
....Even if it was, there wasn't much they could do now. Yuuko herself hasn't shown up in public since the trial, and while some have talked to her, she's been...subdued.
Did the trial hurt her just as much as them?
Regardless, the island is still beautiful, if deadly. Summer continues, beaming down on all of them, the waves of the sea warm and inviting.
But even if things look bleak...
They have something in their hands that will soon lead to the Truth, and the heart of this matter.
And in the air...lies a heavy sense that everything is about to change.
CALENDAR | LOCATIONS | PRIVATE CONVERSATIONS | YUUKO PC POST | BIRDWITCH PC POST
More book top level things
...Let's see what happens with this.
[ There's bound to at least be something interesting that comes from it. ]
CHAPTER 1
...It would have been easier to accept my eventual fate, if the life I had led before then had been one of cruelty. Certainly, for my brother and mother, the life they led was a thorny one - my mother staying only to the house, my brother trying and failing to become a part of the community…
...Even for my father, his accent and strange ways to them made him an outsider, to say nothing of the fact that he had apparently brought a ‘foreign woman and child’ into a sleepy village…
...But I was treated well. I assume only because I was too young to see the hate and distrust, that I took after my father in my looks, and that like the child that I was, I was innocent and believed all I was told.
[She shifts on stage, gathering her thoughts before continuing.]
When I was young, I believed I was special. Living alone with my family in our small house a little bit away from the village, going to the river to collect water and playing in it with my family, who taught me and my brother to swim...these small delights of childhood seemed so special then, when I compared myself to the people around me.
And I was sure I was the only one among all the children, in the small school they had, that had two names.
I had an english, ‘christian’ name, of course. It was the name I used when among the others in the Village, but it was not the one used most. No, for that...it was my true name - the name that my parents had given me, a name from where my mother and father both considered their homeland…
...That name...is lost to me now, like so much of me. It has faded away, like my face, like my voice…
...Still, as I said before, my life was one of comfort. I lived, laughed, and played like any other child. True to the religion, my family also was very careful to be devout - the whole family always showing up for Sunday worship, despite the looks half of my family would get.
That, as father said, was something we did to pay respect to the town. To show that we weren’t ‘pagans’ in their eyes.
I remember asking why being a pagan was a bad thing, and he merely looked sad and told me I would understand when I was older.
The services were long and boring to a child, and I often fidgeted. Still, after the first couple of times of making a fuss and getting harsh glares, I quieted down - not because I was afraid of what the town would do to me, but because I did not want to be punished at home.
“Truthfully,” my mother would say in the language of her homeland, after my wailing died down from a punishment, “I always feel like fidgeting, too. But you have to bear with it, because they think it’s disrespectful to their god, [ ].”
I understood gods, at least. My mother was still devout in the ways of her homeland, even if it was a private affair, only done at night at home, away from any potential prying eyes. I loved the look of the gods better than the unknowable, harsh one that was always preached about on Sunday - their many arms and smiling faces were kinder to me, and more comforting.
It was during one of those sessions that I thought I might prepare something special for mother while she prayed. Taking a knife, I tried to cut some bread - and cut myself, letting out a pained wail.
Of course, my mother leapt to see what was wrong - and as she scolded me for trying to do something dangerous, she tried to stop my finger from bleeding.
She had scarcely noticed what had happened until she had bandaged me up, but as she wiped my blood off...she realized that a cut on one of her hands, which had happened from something similar...had completely healed up.
Being curious, she unwrapped my wound, and after giving herself a small knick, pressed a bit of my blood to it...and watched in amazement as it healed before her eyes.
I remember the warmth on her hands, love, awe, and a deep worry in her dark eyes as she told me that I had been blessed by the medicine god, and needed to show him my respects for my gift. As she taught me the new prayers I was to repeat in private, she also told me never to flaunt my blessing, nor to show them to the people in the village.
“They will not understand your gift,” she said fretfully, “and will think it came from a bad spirit. But you and I, we will know the truth. Only us. Promise me - promise me! - that you will only ever use it in the most dire of circumstances, [ ].”
I promised. And as I said the prayers clumsily along with my mother, I felt a deep sense of warmth inside of me.
Here, too, was another way that I was special.
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[ Yeah, that's what he's getting from this. ]
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Re: CHAPTER 1
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[He's waving his hand dismissively at the stage and probably being a touch too loud. He quiets down a bit, and after a moment of thought:]
The healing thing is pretty normal, though.
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...She's pretty sure there was something in the Foundation notes she went through, but...]
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[Even though in life he was a staunch skeptic, he knew enough about stories, of a child with miraculous powers in a superstitious village.
This poor girl]
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The song itself is also sad, too. Although he's certainly surprised. But he doesn't say anything, because it's a play and speaking up would probably be rude. ]
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As I grew, I practically forgot about my strange ability - for it never came up much in my day to day life. My blood did not heal myself, only others - and my mother was very harsh with me, so I tried not to incur her wrath if I dared to slip up.
Still, seasons turned - and I went from a tiny child to a girl on the cusp of beginning her journey to adulthood. In the modern era, I was about 13 - the age where some fathers would begin to look at potential suitors for their daughters, though my father refused. He wanted to think of me as his little girl for just a few years more, and I was happy to not see my father eyeing boys in the village, calculating the projectory of their lives and how it would benefit our family to have me as their wife, their family tied to ours.
Indeed, I had seen some fathers in the village do just that, and it bothered me - though I knew not why.
Either way, my brother was now nearly a man on his own, with him being older than I - but he was struggling even more. Few places would hire him, or let him work for them - even places in the village often looked at him like he were an outsider, and not a member of the village who had spent most of his life among them.
I...regret to say that I had little patience for his moods, his darker tempers. I was just his little sister, his fairer skinned sister who, while she had had some stares levelled her way...had never experienced the harshness of life like he had.
So I called him a layabout and all sorts of cruel, thoughtless things - we got into fights often, and I would often go in my room and pound on my bed, hot tears of frustration in my eyes.
It did not help that my mother was nearing her breaking point, too - practically isolated from the world, ‘accepted’ in only name only, she only felt safe at home...and home was beginning to feel like a wooden cage, tempting her with glances of the outside…
...Yet, still, whenever I remember my family, I remember feeling warm. I remember our happier times, instead of the worst of them. Though I have long forgotten their faces, their names...I still, still remember that love they shared with me, however brief it was….and I have never forgotten it.
...If only...that warmth had been enough…
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[He says this matter-of-factly, as though adding a mere footnote to the story.]
It never ends well when you put people like that together! It's really too bad.
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CHAPTER 1: END
I waved goodbye on the day of it, practically jumping in the carriage without a second thought, not thinking to spare a second glance.
Why would I? Much like any young child, I assumed my family was a constant, our home unshakable.
If only I had known...how fleeting things are….
...The dance was fine, even if I do not remember much. Whirling skirts, laughter, thumping music...I danced until my muscles quivered and my face felt sore from smiling.
It was a fun, beautiful time...and as I got on the cart to take me home, I was practically aglow with the light of the joy of life. I chattered happily to the driver, a man who had a daughter in the same village, and we talked of inconsequential things as we plodded home in the dark, the sun long since set.
...But, as we approached the village...I saw a light coming from inside the forest, near the river….and I knew, without a doubt, that something was wrong. So did the man, as he urged his horses onward, and…
[The smell of fire rises, along with the sound of a roaring fire - layered above the still playing song.]
...My house….the place I had grown up, the cradle of my family….was aflame.
I...stared at the dancing flames, which were just as joyful as I once had been, uncomprehendingly...and then, before I knew it, I was looking around in a panic, trying to see where my family was.
Where was my father? My mother? My brother? Even if our house was gone, they should surely be there, perhaps weeping in a pile, and yet….and yet, there was not even a single sign of them! Screaming their names, I jumped off the carriage - and the driver held me back from jumping inside the house, because -
Because if they were not outside, then they were inside, and I needed to save them. He dragged me back, even as I screamed and struggled and kicked and bit, reaching out with a hand to somehow, somehow bring them out…!
…
[The figure...begins to cry.]
But….I would...never see them again. I would never hear their voices, or touch them….I would never…ever come home to them….never…
[The noises change - from the smell and crackle of fire to the cold, dampness of rain and earth, a heavy, sorrowful smell spreading around them...]
...An act of god. That is what the elders of the village said, trying to comfort me as I wept and sobbed at their funerals. That the Lord had called them to his side, that they were fine in heaven.
Not one of those words gave me any comfort, as an orphan, adrift in the world without a loving family. Without even a single keepsake to remember them by, save the dress I wore to that damnable dance.
...I...wondered. If I hadn’t gone, would I have been able to save them? Even if I had died, I would have willingly done so. Even if they were hurt beyond repair, I would torn open my own body and had them bathe in my blood, so they could live….
...But such thoughts...were useless.
I was alive.
And I...was alone.
[And then, much like before...it fades out. With the smell of smoke and damp earth, of tears and rain, lingering...]
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Re: CHAPTER 1: END
This is a very sad story, of course. But what does it have to do with us? With this game? What's the point?
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[He just gives an expansive shrug. That's enough of an I told you so.]
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Hm.]
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This is relatable in some ways. A lot of ways. ]
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