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| Blood, Power & Hope | |
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| Topic Started: Dec 1 2009, 03:26 AM (429 Views) | |
| Empath | Dec 1 2009, 03:26 AM Post #1 |
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December 2nd. 2009 11:30am. ____________________________________________________________________________ Harsh orange sunlight scorched the ground beneath her feet as she walked the deserts of Castile, Spain. Carrying her screaming eight year old son on her shoulders, tears streamed down the woman's weathered, tired face while she cried out in prayer. "Señor Jesús, contestan mis rezos, Señor Jesús, contestan mis rezos." "Help my son..." Her cracked, sore, dry feet bled with every step further, but she was not deterred and she knew Manuel Alfonso Rodrigo de la Rocha was her only chance, and her only hope in helping her son and the horrible affliction he had suffered since birth. Her legs felt heavier with each passing minute and the air in her lungs seemed to become thinner from the exhaustion of her son upon her shoulders. Falling to her knee's in tears, Selma clutched the dirt beneath her and begged the heavens for the strength to continue on. With a deep breath and her last bit of faith, the long haired Spanish woman pulled herself up from the ground, wiped the tears, sweat and dirt from her eyes, held her crying son tighter and walked forward vowing to not stop until she had reached the monastery atop the holy hills outside of Castile. After hours of walking the lonely and barren desert Selma arrived at the foot of Castile's holy hills where the monastery stood high, placing her now sleeping child on her knee, she knelt down, held her hands to her head blocking the cruel light of the Spanish sun and gazed at the beauty and hope of what was before her. Picking her son up and cradling him in her arms, Selma walked to the monastery gate and rang the shining gold bell, ringing echos cascaded up the hills and tunnels of the mountain side, crashing against the walls of the church high above her. All there was to do for her now, was to wait. Wait and hope and pray. The chill of dusk filled the air, and the sun began to sleep behind the hills, as the door of St. Teresa of Ávila monastery opened. Standing on the other side she could see a short man in brown and yellow robes, pulling her son from the ground next to her Selma ran to the man, dropped before him and cried. "Please, please help my son, he cannot learn and cannot listen, he is like an animal and has anger and screams. Please, please, allow the great Brother Manuel to heal him, and make him a child of god, please, please help my son, please take him to Manuel. |
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| Empath | Dec 27 2009, 08:04 PM Post #2 |
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"I will take you, but your faith must be strong and your legs swift, it is almost night and prayer is about to begin." said the monk. Walking up the trails of the mountain side, Selma held her sleeping son to her chest while looking over the hills. Seeing the light from Castile in the distance she dreamed of the day when she would return with her son and all would see him, as everything she knew he could be if Manuel would help. "Come in and quiet your tongue and your mind." the monk said to her in a low voice. As the monastery door opened Selma was amazed at the beauty of what was before her, it was much larger than she imagined, with gold accents lining the walls and towering statues. The sound of flowing water filled the room but she could see no waterfall or stream of any kind, no water at all. Taking her hand in his, the monk led her down a long corridor and up a winding staircase. "Enter the room, and tell Brother Manuel of your sorrow, I am sure he will bless you with his gifts, his kindness and his love." with those words, the robed monk released Selma's arm and walked away. With great caution and a trembling hand the tired Spanish woman opened the door before her. Without looking around or really taking the time to look over the muscular bare chested man before her, Selma broke into tears, laid her child at the mans feet and began to tell him of the boy's afflictions. Listening to her words and feeling the cascade of emotions that resonated from her body Manuel knew her heart was pure, the love of her son was strong and her faith in the abilities of the man before her were great. Brother Manuel spoke for the first time to the woman. "Hold the child in your arms, and wake him from his sleep, keep him in your embrace and think of only the love of a mother, I will give you the help you seek, it will take time and you must be patient, your heart must not grow weary and your faith must remain unshaken. If he screams, if he cries, do not waver your mind." Selma sat in the middle of the stone room quivering as she clutched her young son, standing at the window, quieting his mind the tall Spaniard looked over across the hills that had kept him safe all these years. Walking to the mother and child before him, he stood behind her and gently placed his hands upon her shoulders. Manuel had practiced his abilities in this monastery for years, he knew how to mold shape the emotions of any mind, the ways to build walls in the heads of those who suffered the curse of instability, and he knew it came with the price of blood. With unshakable concentration and a thrust of mind, the Spaniard channeled all he could and sent it flowing through the child that lay before him, with screams and moans the small boy shook and winded in his mothers arms as Manuel sent emotion after emotion pulsating through his body, though he had done this many times it never seemed to get any less exhausting, his heart raced and his blood seemed to boil with every push, but the Spaniard knew what he had to do. If he wanted his actions to be permanent he must clear the mind of any emotion before implanting new ones, this was no quick task. As he stood, arms pressed to the fear-shaken woman Manuel felt the warm blood begin to flow from his ears and roll down his neck, this was feeling he knew well, and the harder he concentrated the more the blood flow. |
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| Storm | Dec 27 2009, 09:22 PM Post #3 |
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Ororo Munroe was no more. In truth she never was. The woman who held and carried that mantle was nothing more than a mask, an illusion created by man in a feeble attempt to name and define the vessel which housed the Goddess. Yes, in the beginning, even she was fooled by the confines and assumptions of those who birthed and raised her. She lived her life thinking she was nothing more than the flesh and bone simplicity of what stared back at her in the mirror. As she grew however, and matured into her divinity, it became clear to all around her that a woman she was not. Times became difficult for her as she grew. She suffered as men must suffer, being made to run. Alone and without the knowledge of her true identity, she was mistaken for a lesser being. Those who saw her assumed she was of the mutants, as though some sort of extraordinary gene would be enough to explain her greatness. Grace and prosperity followed her though and, just as the prophecies foretold, as she gained control of all that she was she came upon her chosen people. It was there, in the most unassuming of places, that the Goddess came into her own. The inhabitants of that small African village, primitive as they were, led her to the truth of her divinity. They became her chosen people and she blessed them with bountiful harvests. Their lives became full and rich in her presence and, again as they prophecies foretold, she kept them safe from the corrupting onslaught of a seemingly more civillized people who wished to sully their lands and destroy their way of life. Those people, with their bulldozers and contracts, were beaten back by the winds and rain which always stood ready to obey the Goddess' commands. Some of them were even converted, pledging their lives and service to her in a glorious ceremony that filled the crowds with joy. The years passed and her followers became greater in both number and prosperity. From all corners of the world they came to her, ready to believe in her and her message of simplistic living. Times were good. She had blessed her people and they loved her greatly, but as with everything, time had it's effect on the Goddess. She was still young, still vibrant and powerful, but her mind became weary and her heart heavy and she began to look outside of herself for fulfillment and light. Once again, grace was with her and from the Earth was born an heir. Much like her, his divinity was not known at first either, but as he grew he too became divine. His control however lay with the hearts and minds of the people, something that the Goddess took as an instruction. Her time, however fruitful would come to an end when this boy became wise and powerful enough to take her place. All was not well however. In the autumn of his thirteen year, the control he had once displayed halted it's progress. Instead as his powers grew, he became increasingly despondent. Try as she might, her attempts were futile in pulling the boy from his darkness. For the first time in her life, the Goddess was without solution. Then, as it always had, the answer flew to her on the winds. One of her followers who had traveled abroad to spread the word came back with news of a healer, a man in Spain who was curing those who suffered from issues such as her heir, Atu, seemed to be stricken with. The sun had not set on that day when she arrived in Spain, carried by the winds. Some of her followers were with her, taken in a large reed built vessel, which the Goddess manuevered with the gusts. She sat the vessel down and when her people came back with word of the healer's location she was once again off. There was no time for pleasantries, and the healer would have to be made aware of the gravity of the situation. With a bolt of lightning summoned by her from the clouds,the Goddess created a hole in the roof of the monastary. Deities did not use doorbells. She landed gracefully beside the group. Looking she noticed the blood and strain an the man's face and realized that he was the man of whom she had been searching. "Upon your feet," she proclaimed,"The Goddess demands your presence. Be blessed and grateful." Her gaze never drifted to the woman or her son. There was no time to consider them, nor was their time for the man to waste on them. His abilities, she imagined, must be precious and the act of healing draining. She would not allow him to tire himself with the likes of the boy who was present. His sacrifice would be for the good of the world. "We leave at once," she said, as throngs of her followers poured into the monastary. |
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| Empath | Dec 30 2009, 06:51 PM Post #4 |
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Manuel could feel the child's mind becoming hollow of emotions, just a few more pushes and Manuel would be ready to begin his healing, to begin placing boundaries throughout the child's fragile mind. The strain on his mind and the blood on his neck were of no matter to him however, he was a healer, bringing good and peace to the world, if this meant that his gift came with a price, Manuel he was willing to pay it, willing to bleed and suffer the strain and the death he knew would one day come from it. With his hands on the frightened woman's shoulders, and the child now still, the time had came for him to heal. CRACK Lighting came through the high roof of the monastery in an instant, sending debris flying through the air of the calm and room. Manuel was ripped from the hollow mind of the child, by the chaos, this was not what should happen, once his work began Manuel was not to be disturbed until he was finished, any distraction could be disastrous to a mind void of any emotion, without feeling, whoever suffered the nightmare of a barren mind would simply be a walking zombie. Manuel could not help but open his eyes at the sound of the voice beside him. "Upon your feet," she proclaimed, "The Goddess demands your presence. Be blessed and grateful." said the woman standing next to him. How she had gotten there, and if the lightning and wind were because of her was of no importance to the Spaniard. Had she any idea what she had just done, destroying the mind of a small and innocent child, what kind of demon was this woman? "We leave at once" she proclaimed. Tribes of people came flowing through the doors of the monastery, like a current washing away the calm, the peace, and the purity of Spain's holy hills. "Hold your tongue witch!" Manuel said with the kind of anger he had banished from his mind and body many years ago. "Do you know what you have done, the pain and suffering you have brought upon a mother for her child. Your evil is not welcome here, your curse of wind and rain will not defy the hope that resides in me." With rage and anger filling his body, Manuel turned his gaze to the the small boy laying still in the crying, hopeless arms of his mother. Taking a step back from the demon beside him, the Spaniard leaned his bloody bare chest against the stone walls of the monastery and listened to the followers of the woman rush up the long stairs, making their way ever closer. Manuel knew he could not stand his ground in the middle of such chaos with his mind and his heart in such pain. With a hand pressed against the wooden door of the room, he looked back at the white haired woman. "If you are here, then you must know of my gift, and now I know of yours, but if the lives of your followers are important to you, then tell me what it is you want or you will see their saddened minds jump from the top of these stairs" "Why are you here." |
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| Storm | Jan 2 2010, 01:52 AM Post #5 |
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The Goddess' eyes went wide with rueful rage when the foolish healer proclaimed her a witch. To speak such things to a creature such as her was an unforgivable act. The villagers stopped where they stood, stunned and afraid at the thought of the Goddess' retort to such blasphemy. One who had the foolish nerve to act in such a way in the presence of the deity could only hope for the gift of a swift death. The winds calmed, ominously quiet as she descended, touching the floor of the monastary. "You dare speak to me in such a manner, you insignificant peon. While witches may seem beings of great power to the likes of you, they are far beneath one such as myself. Now stand." She proclaimed, the thought of anything but complete and total cooperation from the man absent from her mind. With a flicker beneath her eyes she called upon the winds, creating a gust strong enough to rattle the man where he stood. The man, in his great insolance, went on proclaiming the rights and wishes of the child he was in the process of curing, all the while doing nothing to honor the greatness that stood before him. He then threatened the followers of the Goddess. It was at that moment that she knew that even after the healer did her will, the sins that he committed would hold nothing less than a fatal price. After she was through with him, he would have to be dealt with in a public fashion. His concerns lay with the mentally weakened child on the floor and, under different circumstances the Goddess herself would have held a spot in her heart for the young boy, as it were however there was no time for such weaknesses. "You seem to misunderstand the opportunity that has graced your meager lives. You have been called to serve that which is greater than yourself. The sacrifice that this child has made will be for the glory of the Goddess. There is no greater honor, no greater calling. Your abilities will be used to secure the continuation of the divine lineage. There is a boy, my heir who is in need of your assistance. He will receive that assistance. Free will is not a luxury I will allow you at this point. Consider my response to your blasphemous assumptions a grace that you will not receive again. Now there is no time for continued foolery." She looked at the boy and his distraught mother, lying shaking on the floor. "Your sacrifice is an apprieciatted necessity." Then looking back up, the Goddess snapped her elegant fingers. The throngs of followers who had up until that point, been holding their ground, began to advance on the man. "Seize him. Any offensive act on your part, healer,will be seen as blasphemy punishable by death." |
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| Empath | Jan 5 2010, 04:50 AM Post #6 |
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The Spanish healer was shaken and tired as the trails of blood dried upon his chest. "You call me insignificant, yet you have came from your place in this world to disrupt mine, you have came to me, for my help and my gifts. My blessing do not come without a price." Manuel said while rubbing the blood on his neck. "My blood, this woman child; they may not mean much in your eyes, yet you claim yourself to be a Goddess, what kind of Goddess has no compassion. A true deity would not come here in such a manor, a true Goddess would honor the people of the world and their place in it. You seem to honor nothing but yourself. You are no Goddess." As woman before him became enraged, a wind swept over the holy hills and into the monastery, shaking the Spaniard. In this moment he knew what he would do. If his blood was to be shed for this woman then so would the blood of her people. Touching her feet to the ground, the woman started to explain her situation to Manuel. "You seem to misunderstand the opportunity that has graced your meager lives. You have been called to serve that which is greater than yourself. The sacrifice that this child has made will be for the glory of the Goddess. There is no greater honor, no greater calling. Your abilities will be used to secure the continuation of the divine lineage. There is a boy, my heir who is in need of your assistance. He will receive that assistance. Free will is not a luxury I will allow you at this point. Consider my response to your blasphemous assumptions a grace that you will not receive again. Now there is no time for continued foolery." The Spaniard was too enraged at the thought of the small boy, who now lay on the floor, forever emotionally crippled, to let the so called Goddess get away freely with the pain she had caused his people. As she went on her rambling situation about another boy, Manuel cut his eye and grabbed a firm emotional hold upon one of the now still villagers the woman brought with her. Filling the mans head with doubt, and anger against the goddess. "Seize him. Any offensive act on your part, healer,will be seen as blasphemy punishable by death." said the white haired woman. "I will not fight you here, I will not try to escape, I will not run. My powers are a blessing that you cannot exploit, you will never force my blood to spill. My gifts come from my God and that is not you." said the healer. As the men surrounded him, Manuel was still. "Look; that man, your loyal follower, he looks upon you with distrust at my hands. I will not alter his faith in you for longer than a moment however and it doesn't matter to me if you understand my reason for this display. Now your followers know how easily their faith in you can be shaken and that is enough." With a release upon his mind, the man came to the feet of the Goddess apologizing, while the rest of the villagers bound the healers hands. With a swift wind form the eyes of the Goddess they were gone from the monastery atop the holy hills and on their way to a new world the Spanish healer had never seen. closed |
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