Post by Lantlas on Apr 24, 2006 13:39:16 GMT -5
OOC NOTE: I only posted this before Ace did his because I have to work tonight, and probably won't make it home in time to do so. I'm sorry, Ace.
What does it take for someone to devote himself or herself completely? Believing what they were told as they were raised, learning through the experiences they were fortunate or unfortunate enough to encounter? Everyone encounters their own path; some walk up a mountain and others ski into a valley without putting forth any effort at all. Those who need to give effort still feel the need to clarify the ground they have covered by either coveting the struggle they should’ve gone through, or by embracing standards to earn the favor of those who have.
The idea that one must go through a darker time than the enemy he will one day battle is something that’s engraved in the heads of all humans. Everyone will be trying to gain a psychological edge by explaining what they have seen and attempting to use it to their advantage. No one believes that someone who has never had to suffer is capable of achieving greatness, or of intimidating his or her opponents. It becomes a competition to whom has had it the hardest, who has suffered the most, and who was betrayed by the most people. The more blood that has been shed in front of their eyes is believed to be the definition of strength. The more wounds suffered to the core of the heart are believed to achieve immunity from pain. They draw from this, tell their opponent things like “you don’t know what I’ve been through,” not realizing how frivolous they sound while saying such things.
No one knows what the next person has been through, because they have not seen it through their own eyes. Humanity is so limited in their comprehension of understanding each other that if they haven’t experienced it themselves, or maybe seen it in a movie, then they can only imagine it if the event had occurred within their own lives, within their own families, and with their own details, happenings, and endings. They often say, “well I never would’ve done that,” not realizing that they do not know, for they’ve never been presented with the situation. Many draw from this individuality of suffering, and inside they build themselves in a false pillar of strength. What doesn’t kill you was not a mortal blow, or indeed it would have.
There used to be freaks of society. Ones that the commoners would pass by and scoff, kick them in the legs, perhaps yell at them to get a job. Maybe those of the underground, persecuted for what they believe, how they feel, or with whom they go to bed. Minorities of society survived through the aid of the few who were like them. In this day and age, however, it has become a trend to be different, to be in pain, to be in depression. The idea of fitting in is ancient to having to feel that much worse than the person next to you. It becomes competitive in so many ways that some hurt themselves simply for the attention. To be normal anymore is to be a freak, because everyone is so concerned with wearing their falsely shattered hearts on their sleeves for the world to see, so they can draw from the attention and the empathy they receive for those they manipulate into pitying them. Honor is forgotten; a true battle of skill, determination, and heart is overshadowed by the need to be a freak.
At the same time, however, it is quite ironic that those who’ve banded together for having similar tragedies take place in their lives often group together to mock those who are different from they are. Almost as if it’s in their instincts to not only inflate their own egos by building on the pessimism of their outlooks, but by degrading those who’ve had different tribulation. In their hearts dwell hatred for their fellow man on the very same principles for which they used to fight, and the cycle of human hypocrisy spawns once again. For they used to fight over their differences, now they fight over their glaring similarities.
To not be a human is almost a blessing, and to watch humans create conflict for nothing more than the need to fight makes me glad I’m not one. At the same time, when they do find love, when they cherish another so much that they are willing to spend the rest of their mortality with that one person, to multiply and carry on a legacy, it makes me wish I knew how that felt. Every day I looked at Devon, Terry, Emerald, or any other who has touched my Elven soul in ways that are still foreign to me, I begged to feel mortality. Hell, I begged to feel the things that humans can feel, even if that meant giving up my ability to withstand much greater tribulation than any man could bear. Despite my disgust with them, sometimes I wish I were one. Maybe then, and only then, could I truly be loved in return?
Humans spend their whole lives trying to figure out how to live longer, stay younger, and become immortal. The days they are given are spent worrying about the future instead of taking in everything they already have surrounding them. Ignoring the love that exists within them, the beauty in their everyday lives is overshadowed by their greed and desire for something more, something better, and always more time. Most humans are also entranced by the thought of eternity, and through divinity they are promised this. They seek a greater power, which will eventually bless them with the gifts they are unable to find in their lives. It is to believe in something so much, to desire forever.
They do not understand what being immortal and eternal is. The fear of death is non-existent, but sometimes the wish for it arises through your heart. Instead of a circle, it’s a never-ending path, watching old things die and new things take its place. Yet you remain, through everything that changes, through all the differences. I fear this is why the love I’ve given cannot fully be returned, for as my love will age, I will not. She will grow older, have her children, become a grandmother, and die peacefully in her sleep. I will still look like this, and I will watch yet another one I love die in front of my eyes.
As I’m sifting through the ashes of what once was my locker room, I can’t help but make these associations. Through destruction, there is rebirth. From the ashes, rises a phoenix. Arise a new existence, clean of its sin and memories, its heartbreak and pain. What a new beginning that would be. A small glimmer catches my eye, and I push the ash away. The first tag team championship I held with Devon Drake, before everything started collapsing once again. I hold the small piece of metal left from it, and recall the dark path I once treaded after Devon’s knife was in my back. There was a bright light, and for a moment there was nothing. Clear white, no floors, no ceilings, no burnt memories of the past. I then heard a voice, one that soothed the hatred in my blood.
“My son.”
I turned around to see a beautiful creature standing before me. A goddess, if I’d ever seen one. A flowing white dress, fading blue hair, with a glow surrounding every step she made. A hand extended, and she pulled me to my feet as I dropped the piece of metal. Engaged by the mystique, I managed to find my voice.
“Who are you?”
“I am Narenwyn,” she responded. “I come at the time when you need me most, where your most precious gift has been taken.”
How did she know of my gift being stolen? What did she know about whom I was, about where my life was, and about the situation in which I was?
“What do you know of the emblem that was taken from me?”
“I’ve always known where it is, young Lantlas. Ever since the day I gave it to you.”
“You mean you’re…”
“Yes, my son. I am your mother. It was I who created the Elven stone for you, but I fear you never received the message to what it means.”
“To remind me of who I am and where my destiny lies?”
“To show you the path in which your destiny lies, but to give you the choice to go against it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Elven stone holds the key to all the answers of the Elven Path. The Elven race, wisest of all creatures, holds knowledge that would succeed the humans by dozens of lifetimes. We, however, are the last remaining of our kind. Most left this world after the Western year of 1945, when something so powerful that even the Elven blood could not withstand it was used in tactic warfare. The Elven kind will always protect their kin, but as you’ve experienced, it is not in your nature to end life.”
“Where are they now?”
“I do not know, but that is not important at this current time. There is something you must know about the Elven stone, for it will help you with the current problem you have. This happens with all immortals, where they come to the point where they wish to be mortal, in order to grow old with a mortal they fall in love with, and die happy. Is there someone like this in your life?”
“There was, but she does not seem to love me.”
“And you think becoming a mortal will change that?”
I wanted to say yes. I was dying to say yes. Anything to grasp on to that thin, splitting rope that would possibly mean it wasn’t over.
“The Elven stone can give you mortality, but be warned, my son. Once you choose that as your path, it can never be changed.”
“What am I to do until I come to this decision?”
“What you have been doing, Lantlas. Your competition in the human wrestling fulfills your need to do something you love, and the other half is seeking the corresponding love from another. You’ve struggled with both, but you’ve seen great success in this wrestling.”
“That may come to an end if I don’t perform at my absolute best.”
“Do not let one part of you scare the other. The Elven in you is only trying to protect you, to keep tribulation away. It is what has kept you alive through everything. You have all the ability you need to achieve the goals you desire. You are the keeper of the Elven Path. The last Son of the Immortal, and the Child of the Earth. I will always be with you, Lantlas. Whichever destiny you choose, my love will be with you.”
The brightness disappeared, and I had returned to the remains of my locker room. Narenwyn was my mother, and I somehow knew in my heart she was taking care of Emerald, wherever she was. The material losses inside my locker room became irrelevant, as I knew the hardest turns in the Elven Path were soon approaching, beginning with my battle with Ace Anderson.
“I am the eternal child who walks this path,
The immortal kin of a race from the past
In this existence, perhaps I will walk alone
Son of the immortal, the Child of the Earth.
Faced with my greatest challenge, a champion
One of greatness, self-proclaimed and self-perceived
The Elven Path twists through the darkest of hours
Betrayal long kept, I hold the strength inside.
To accept my destiny, or to reach out
To grasp unto something fate may have for me
The Elven stone holds all the answers I seek
One man of flesh and blood has stolen this piece.
For this crime, unleashed is a side he met once
Acknowledged or not, he knows of my power
I end championship matches, I stand alone
Soon I will stand alone at the pinnacle.”
Faced with a decision, I would most certainly be after this dream match took place. The power would be in my hands whether I would continue treading down the Elven Path, or if I would for once and all, become a mortal human being, and take the chance that love may yet exist in my life. No matter the result, Narenwyn will always be with me.