Chapter 1: The Maiden [Nats Rumble]
Apr 3, 2023 14:27:43 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, bloodiedfox, and 4 more like this
Post by Technical Perfection on Apr 3, 2023 14:27:43 GMT -5
New Jersey. April 2nd, 2023.
It would be a month before the fires of Beltane would be lit. The lesser known points where worlds cross. Where the boundaries are at their weakest. Where my responsibilities would be at their greatest. Few from the milling crowds of what would be considered “normal” society, a society I understand and a society of whom their interactions with myself are always of the tensest nature. For there are many who fear the unknown, fear the cold touch of death and are as yet surprised when I come to provide their last journey to the gates. Some plead, some beg, some prostrate themselves before me and beg for mercy. And they will find none. For I am the final word. And yet one things bothers me. One thing jabs away in the back of my mind, causes me constant consternation. Though I am nearly certain that this is the natural order of things, how they have always been and always will be, that nearly has been a thorn in my side for far too long. Why should a Goddess doubt? Maybe it is my destiny to ask for an answer. And as destiny is part of my own personal demense, surely I must succeed in such a quest.
And so it is that I find myself in my favoured copse of trees, my chosen spot to conduct such a divination. I had informed both my dear husband to take care of our beautiful son, a boy who at such a tender age, entering his second decade on the earth, requires a deal of care and answers for his own intriguing mind. I, however, needed peace and quiet. Time to reflect on my thoughts. And time to conduct a little ritual I have stored for just this situation. I carefully patted down a patch of flat ground and dropped a small bundle of branches as kindling atop it. Using a method as old as man’s command of fire itself, I reached for a stone and slid my ornate dagger from its sheaf. Striking firmly and cleanly, eventually I began to create small sparks and the kindling was set alight. I warmed my hands upon the fire and reached into my knapsack, first producing a selection or candles, three crimson red, three midnight blue and three a deep rich purple and lit them, placing them in a circle around the fire. I the grabbed my flask of Sacrament and imbibed heavily, letting the herb infused alcohol warm my system.
I watched the smoke rise from the fire. I cannot tell you for how long. The candles burned brightly releasing thick clouds of colour, the vibrant and varied hues melding into each other freely. I stared, intently into the melange of reds, blues and purples and drew my full concentration to bear upon them. And then the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched. Studied, almost. I turned away from the fire for a second, my eyes darting around to look from where I was being spied upon. Nothing. I was alone. I turned my gaze back to the ritual, warily. The mists formed shapes, images. I could swear I saw a woman within them. Full of chest and thin of waist. Long, flowing hair. Was she what was watching? She turned to me. It may have been hard to discern a face but I knew it was watching. And in a calm, controlled voice one word was spoken.
“Come.”
This perturbed me. I am not one giving to following commands. And yet… and yet this word bit through to my very soul, compelling me to obey. Is it possible that this voice would provide me answers. I closed my eyes for a second and concentrated.
I fell.
Having a stern temperament I did not fear the fall. Ordinary people cannot take a fall for thirty, forty seconds without panic setting in at some point of their descent. I, however, made sure that when I landed I did so in as safe a way as possible. Years of training in how to fall assisted me in this. But everything seemed so distant, so far away. The fire still warmed me. But the clouds of smoke engulfed the entire area. All I could see was colours. I breathed in. I focused. It took all of my strength to concentrate on my surroundings. And I silently cursed to myself, “I should have known. I should have known I would be lead here.”
Elsewhere, A time like every other time.
One does not end in this realm by accident. Being as I am free to come and go as I please, there is some degree of destiny that must be assigned to my arrival here. I scanned the local area to see if there were signs of whose territory this was. The forest seemed oddly devoid of life. I listened for the cries of deer, the grunts of a boar or the low growl of a bear. There were none. The noises of children laughing or people engaging in sports? Also none existent. I looked up to the sky. And a broad smile broke across my face as I spied a raven fluttering across the tree line. I noted where she were flying and with my resolve refreshed, I set off to follow her path. It lead me deeper into the forest. It was straining on the eyes, the thick coverage of the foliage near blotting out the ambient light. I walked on, undeterred.
It was an arduous walk, half fighting my way through the dense woods but after some distance I discovered a break in the tree line. I cannot say that I was expecting this but given the unusual geography of this realm I can only presume that it was meant to be here. Inside the clearing, lit by a small oil lamp resting on the inside of the window was a small log cabin. The my corvid guide was sat proudly atop the chimney stack. This is where I am supposed to be and so with the confidence of conviction I rapped my knuckles against the wooden door.
“Come in!”
I know that voice. That accent. It felt familiar. Too familiar. I stepped through the door and into…
Newark, New Jersey. April 2nd, 2003.
A small, well furnished apartment. Posters hung on the wall were of the legends of the Goth genre. Bauhaus. The Sisters of Mercy. The Cult. Mixed amongst them were a large theatrical release poster of Nosferatu the Vampire and two photos. One was of a late middle aged Irish-American couple and the other was of an agonizingly beautiful gothic giant of a man, his long black hair brushing over his perfect six pack abs and his stylishly dressed girlfriend.
My parents. Sean. Me.
“Do take a seat.”
The Maiden was at repose across the black leather couch in my old lounge. Her long black hair was quite the contrast against both the porcelain paleness of her skin and her flowing white dress and the deep red of the blood stains that marked both her dress and the sides of her face below her mouth. Her smile was broad, welcoming. I sat in the matching arm chair and observed, as I am want to do. Ebullient in a way that I cannot recall myself ever being, at least not outside the confines of my own personal living space.
“Ah, Goddess, I’m sure you have some questions for me,” the Maiden cheerily pointed out. And I did.
“Yes,” I replied calmly, “I am not one who is used to being uncertain. And yet there is the merest shadow of doubt in my mind. And I cannot figure it what it is, where it came from and why it is there. My mind is usually ordered.”
“Your mind,” the Maiden retorted, “Is not as ordered as you may think. To believe you have the answers to every question is unnatural. You are Natasha Niamh Fitzpatrick-Murphy, am I correct?”
“Well, yes.” I noted a slight wobble in my voice. I shall have to correct that later.
“As am I. Well, except the Murphy part. Not yet anyway. And my, did we pick a good man?”
She chuckled. It wasn’t a question.
“Of course, I am only a part of what you are. A part, I may add, that a casual observer may have thought that you have been ignoring. But the full explanation of that,” she paused for a pointed second, “Is far more complicated than I think even you, Goddess, understand.”
I was rather taken aback, “How so? What am I failing to grasp?”
“Allow me to explain,” the Maiden responded, allowing herself a moment to think it over, “Or at least explain as much as I understand because I do not have access to the full story.”
“Because you’re only a third of who I am?”
“Well, tradition would imply that. Of course as I cannot leave this apartment I cannot verify this.”
“Wait, you cannot leave?” This news shocked me. “What keeps you here?”
“SHE has to invite me out.”
“By She, you mean me?” This confused me a little.
“I would imagine so, Goddess. When your passions raise. When you think of the things you love. When the vital nature of what makes you FEEL love, then I may leave. But when you act cold, steely, unforgiving and uncompromising,” the Maiden sighed, “In here I must remain.”
“I love to fight. I feel alive when I inflict pain upon my enemies. The glory of victory is something I actively enjoy,” I retorted, summoning every ounce of conviction I could muster, “Whatever the odds. Whatever the number of my opponents I face. I love combat. Surely I tap into your resources?”
“Not like you used to,” came the almost resigned response.
“What do you mean ‘Not like I used to?’”
She sighed again. A little world weary. Otherworld weary, perhaps.
“Do you not see the problem I have, Goddess? I may remain young forever but I need to experience more. I would like to hold our son once more. To hold my love again. It is a desperate experience I live, Goddess. You’ve been too cold to Sean. Too absent a mother. And too efficient a fighter.”
That HURT.
“So you’re trapped here? Trapped in this space?” I attempted to hurriedly change the topic. She was right. Of course she was. But to hear those words leave my aspect’s lips? I wanted to move on, and quickly.
“What must I do? I cannot change who I am.”
“You can. You must. Regain that love for combat. That love for… blood. Battle is not all about winning. You can dispatch forty opponents and never truly enjoy it. The Mother cares less for your passions and all about winning. And I’m not sure she’ll be pleased at your recent record. You need to step from the smoke into a ring full of bodies and truly LOVE inflicting pain upon them. That, THAT is what sets me free. And you can provide that.”
“I see.” See may have been the wrong choice of words. Begun to realize, possibly better.
“And then return home triumphant to your loves, to Sean, to Damien, return in glory but return as a loving wife, a loving mother. Be hailed by your followers and admit you love the attention. Call Chris.”
“Call Chris?” I raised my eyebrows. I am loathe to including my accursed brother in law, the smug preening peacock of a man who dared to marry my sister.
“And rub it in his stupid fucking face.” I let a slight grin form on my face. It’s at least reassuring that my antipathy runs throughout my constituent parts.
“But… that would mean…” I do not enjoy calling that man. Even if it is only to get him to put my sister on the line.
“Admit to yourself. You’d love that.”
“I... would.” She is right. Uncomfortably right. The Gods are a notoriously petty bunch and as much as I like to put on a face that I do not stoop to their level
“You should leave here. I cannot provide the whole answer you seek, but should you talk to the others maybe we can form a complete picture,” the Maiden spoke with a certainty. There are things she knows and there are things she cannot by her very nature, “Then that nagging thought that so shades your existence might disappear.”
“The other two?” I asked, knowing the threefold nature of us Goddesses.
The Maiden shrugged before answering, “Presumably.”
“I should leave this place and find the Mother.”
“Do so, Goddess. Natasha is counting on you.” That phrasing was odd. And oddly specific.
“But I, WE, are Natasha,” I replied, adding a little extra stress onto that “We” as I most definitely am Natasha, in whole, even if I have maybe neglected a part of what defines my character as a whole.
There was no direct response, only a coy, “Goodbye, Goddess. And never forget.”
As I exited the door, the following sentence hung in the air and cut deep into my memories, ones that I have tried to suppress.
“LET ME PLAY.”
It would be a month before the fires of Beltane would be lit. The lesser known points where worlds cross. Where the boundaries are at their weakest. Where my responsibilities would be at their greatest. Few from the milling crowds of what would be considered “normal” society, a society I understand and a society of whom their interactions with myself are always of the tensest nature. For there are many who fear the unknown, fear the cold touch of death and are as yet surprised when I come to provide their last journey to the gates. Some plead, some beg, some prostrate themselves before me and beg for mercy. And they will find none. For I am the final word. And yet one things bothers me. One thing jabs away in the back of my mind, causes me constant consternation. Though I am nearly certain that this is the natural order of things, how they have always been and always will be, that nearly has been a thorn in my side for far too long. Why should a Goddess doubt? Maybe it is my destiny to ask for an answer. And as destiny is part of my own personal demense, surely I must succeed in such a quest.
And so it is that I find myself in my favoured copse of trees, my chosen spot to conduct such a divination. I had informed both my dear husband to take care of our beautiful son, a boy who at such a tender age, entering his second decade on the earth, requires a deal of care and answers for his own intriguing mind. I, however, needed peace and quiet. Time to reflect on my thoughts. And time to conduct a little ritual I have stored for just this situation. I carefully patted down a patch of flat ground and dropped a small bundle of branches as kindling atop it. Using a method as old as man’s command of fire itself, I reached for a stone and slid my ornate dagger from its sheaf. Striking firmly and cleanly, eventually I began to create small sparks and the kindling was set alight. I warmed my hands upon the fire and reached into my knapsack, first producing a selection or candles, three crimson red, three midnight blue and three a deep rich purple and lit them, placing them in a circle around the fire. I the grabbed my flask of Sacrament and imbibed heavily, letting the herb infused alcohol warm my system.
I watched the smoke rise from the fire. I cannot tell you for how long. The candles burned brightly releasing thick clouds of colour, the vibrant and varied hues melding into each other freely. I stared, intently into the melange of reds, blues and purples and drew my full concentration to bear upon them. And then the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched. Studied, almost. I turned away from the fire for a second, my eyes darting around to look from where I was being spied upon. Nothing. I was alone. I turned my gaze back to the ritual, warily. The mists formed shapes, images. I could swear I saw a woman within them. Full of chest and thin of waist. Long, flowing hair. Was she what was watching? She turned to me. It may have been hard to discern a face but I knew it was watching. And in a calm, controlled voice one word was spoken.
“Come.”
This perturbed me. I am not one giving to following commands. And yet… and yet this word bit through to my very soul, compelling me to obey. Is it possible that this voice would provide me answers. I closed my eyes for a second and concentrated.
I fell.
Having a stern temperament I did not fear the fall. Ordinary people cannot take a fall for thirty, forty seconds without panic setting in at some point of their descent. I, however, made sure that when I landed I did so in as safe a way as possible. Years of training in how to fall assisted me in this. But everything seemed so distant, so far away. The fire still warmed me. But the clouds of smoke engulfed the entire area. All I could see was colours. I breathed in. I focused. It took all of my strength to concentrate on my surroundings. And I silently cursed to myself, “I should have known. I should have known I would be lead here.”
Elsewhere, A time like every other time.
One does not end in this realm by accident. Being as I am free to come and go as I please, there is some degree of destiny that must be assigned to my arrival here. I scanned the local area to see if there were signs of whose territory this was. The forest seemed oddly devoid of life. I listened for the cries of deer, the grunts of a boar or the low growl of a bear. There were none. The noises of children laughing or people engaging in sports? Also none existent. I looked up to the sky. And a broad smile broke across my face as I spied a raven fluttering across the tree line. I noted where she were flying and with my resolve refreshed, I set off to follow her path. It lead me deeper into the forest. It was straining on the eyes, the thick coverage of the foliage near blotting out the ambient light. I walked on, undeterred.
It was an arduous walk, half fighting my way through the dense woods but after some distance I discovered a break in the tree line. I cannot say that I was expecting this but given the unusual geography of this realm I can only presume that it was meant to be here. Inside the clearing, lit by a small oil lamp resting on the inside of the window was a small log cabin. The my corvid guide was sat proudly atop the chimney stack. This is where I am supposed to be and so with the confidence of conviction I rapped my knuckles against the wooden door.
“Come in!”
I know that voice. That accent. It felt familiar. Too familiar. I stepped through the door and into…
Newark, New Jersey. April 2nd, 2003.
A small, well furnished apartment. Posters hung on the wall were of the legends of the Goth genre. Bauhaus. The Sisters of Mercy. The Cult. Mixed amongst them were a large theatrical release poster of Nosferatu the Vampire and two photos. One was of a late middle aged Irish-American couple and the other was of an agonizingly beautiful gothic giant of a man, his long black hair brushing over his perfect six pack abs and his stylishly dressed girlfriend.
My parents. Sean. Me.
“Do take a seat.”
The Maiden was at repose across the black leather couch in my old lounge. Her long black hair was quite the contrast against both the porcelain paleness of her skin and her flowing white dress and the deep red of the blood stains that marked both her dress and the sides of her face below her mouth. Her smile was broad, welcoming. I sat in the matching arm chair and observed, as I am want to do. Ebullient in a way that I cannot recall myself ever being, at least not outside the confines of my own personal living space.
“Ah, Goddess, I’m sure you have some questions for me,” the Maiden cheerily pointed out. And I did.
“Yes,” I replied calmly, “I am not one who is used to being uncertain. And yet there is the merest shadow of doubt in my mind. And I cannot figure it what it is, where it came from and why it is there. My mind is usually ordered.”
“Your mind,” the Maiden retorted, “Is not as ordered as you may think. To believe you have the answers to every question is unnatural. You are Natasha Niamh Fitzpatrick-Murphy, am I correct?”
“Well, yes.” I noted a slight wobble in my voice. I shall have to correct that later.
“As am I. Well, except the Murphy part. Not yet anyway. And my, did we pick a good man?”
She chuckled. It wasn’t a question.
“Of course, I am only a part of what you are. A part, I may add, that a casual observer may have thought that you have been ignoring. But the full explanation of that,” she paused for a pointed second, “Is far more complicated than I think even you, Goddess, understand.”
I was rather taken aback, “How so? What am I failing to grasp?”
“Allow me to explain,” the Maiden responded, allowing herself a moment to think it over, “Or at least explain as much as I understand because I do not have access to the full story.”
“Because you’re only a third of who I am?”
“Well, tradition would imply that. Of course as I cannot leave this apartment I cannot verify this.”
“Wait, you cannot leave?” This news shocked me. “What keeps you here?”
“SHE has to invite me out.”
“By She, you mean me?” This confused me a little.
“I would imagine so, Goddess. When your passions raise. When you think of the things you love. When the vital nature of what makes you FEEL love, then I may leave. But when you act cold, steely, unforgiving and uncompromising,” the Maiden sighed, “In here I must remain.”
“I love to fight. I feel alive when I inflict pain upon my enemies. The glory of victory is something I actively enjoy,” I retorted, summoning every ounce of conviction I could muster, “Whatever the odds. Whatever the number of my opponents I face. I love combat. Surely I tap into your resources?”
“Not like you used to,” came the almost resigned response.
“What do you mean ‘Not like I used to?’”
She sighed again. A little world weary. Otherworld weary, perhaps.
“Do you not see the problem I have, Goddess? I may remain young forever but I need to experience more. I would like to hold our son once more. To hold my love again. It is a desperate experience I live, Goddess. You’ve been too cold to Sean. Too absent a mother. And too efficient a fighter.”
That HURT.
“So you’re trapped here? Trapped in this space?” I attempted to hurriedly change the topic. She was right. Of course she was. But to hear those words leave my aspect’s lips? I wanted to move on, and quickly.
“What must I do? I cannot change who I am.”
“You can. You must. Regain that love for combat. That love for… blood. Battle is not all about winning. You can dispatch forty opponents and never truly enjoy it. The Mother cares less for your passions and all about winning. And I’m not sure she’ll be pleased at your recent record. You need to step from the smoke into a ring full of bodies and truly LOVE inflicting pain upon them. That, THAT is what sets me free. And you can provide that.”
“I see.” See may have been the wrong choice of words. Begun to realize, possibly better.
“And then return home triumphant to your loves, to Sean, to Damien, return in glory but return as a loving wife, a loving mother. Be hailed by your followers and admit you love the attention. Call Chris.”
“Call Chris?” I raised my eyebrows. I am loathe to including my accursed brother in law, the smug preening peacock of a man who dared to marry my sister.
“And rub it in his stupid fucking face.” I let a slight grin form on my face. It’s at least reassuring that my antipathy runs throughout my constituent parts.
“But… that would mean…” I do not enjoy calling that man. Even if it is only to get him to put my sister on the line.
“Admit to yourself. You’d love that.”
“I... would.” She is right. Uncomfortably right. The Gods are a notoriously petty bunch and as much as I like to put on a face that I do not stoop to their level
“You should leave here. I cannot provide the whole answer you seek, but should you talk to the others maybe we can form a complete picture,” the Maiden spoke with a certainty. There are things she knows and there are things she cannot by her very nature, “Then that nagging thought that so shades your existence might disappear.”
“The other two?” I asked, knowing the threefold nature of us Goddesses.
The Maiden shrugged before answering, “Presumably.”
“I should leave this place and find the Mother.”
“Do so, Goddess. Natasha is counting on you.” That phrasing was odd. And oddly specific.
“But I, WE, are Natasha,” I replied, adding a little extra stress onto that “We” as I most definitely am Natasha, in whole, even if I have maybe neglected a part of what defines my character as a whole.
There was no direct response, only a coy, “Goodbye, Goddess. And never forget.”
As I exited the door, the following sentence hung in the air and cut deep into my memories, ones that I have tried to suppress.
“LET ME PLAY.”
