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The Wandering Wizard

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Posts posted by The Wandering Wizard

  1. Eddie’s Words

    in Creator's Corner

    Posted

    1 minute ago, Edema Rue said:

    A poem:

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    Stones,

    Mountains of them,

    Piled on my back.

    Too much pressure,

    And surely,

    I’ll be crushed.

    But I’ve been crushed before.

    And with time

    To heal,

    I’ve learned

    Just how much

    I can bear.

     

    So hand me a rock,

    Then another,

    And another.

    Maybe I need

    To be weighed down

    To remember

    I can fly.

    Chain me to the ground

    So that I remember

    That I am free.

     

    Break me,

    Then give me time to heal.

    Test me,

    Then remind me I am strong. 

    Leave me,

    Then show me I’m not alone.

    Tie me down,

    And I will stretch my wings

    And fly.

     

    Today.

    Today I will try.

    Today I will not give in.

    Today,

    There is no struggle too great

    For the hope

    That hides

    My fear.

     

    But yesterday,

    The rocks broke my back.

    And the chains kept me down,

    And the pressure

    Was too much.

    But today is so bright

    And so I wonder

    Is the light

    Worth the despair?

    Is this hope

    Worth the hopelessness that will come after?

     

    It isn’t

    A hard question;

    Today,

    I can laugh.

    The sun is so much brighter,

    After living in darkness.

    The smiles are worth so much more,

    After all the pain.

     

    And the rocks

    On my chest,

    The ones sending cracks,

    Through my heart,

    Are reminding me

    That I know how to fight.

    “More weight,” I say.

    More weight.

    I am not afraid to shatter,

    And that

    Is why I can survive

    Anything.

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    More weight is a quote from The Crucible, which I'm in right now. (yes, the guy who says it dies immediately after, but that's irrelevant :D)

     

    It's beautiful sis ❤️‍🩹

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  10. The Hunger Games Chat Thread

    in Hunger Games

    Posted

    2 hours ago, justice magician said:

    Hi! 

    Is the cyotverse one done yet? I haven't been following it since my character left.

    Yes Cytoverse is done. Life was kicking our butts so it finished a bit sloppily. But it’s done. Anyone still living can leave the games that is still living cuz the rebellion took over and freed everyone.

    0

  21. Eddie’s Words

    in Creator's Corner

    Posted

    3 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

    Thank you all!! I really enjoyed writing it :) 

    Tomorrow:

      Hide contents

    Yesterday,

    I was nothing.

    Yesterday,

    I was below rock bottom.

    Today,

    I am more.

    Today,

    I am hope incarnate.

    And today,

    I choose life.

    And laughter.

     

    I choose to love,

    Rather than to seek to be loved.

    I choose to care,

    Rather than to seek to be cared for.

    I choose to love with no conditions.

    I choose to let my regrets fall to nothing.

    And I choose

    To smile.

    Yesterday,

    It was all I could do to survive.

    But today…

    Today, I will find a way to thrive.

     

    A moment of pain

    Does not define me.

    A moment of weakness,

    Is not all that I am.

    A moment

    Or a day

    Or a week

    Or a month

    Or a year

    Or a decade

    Or longer

    Can be overcome.

     

    There is potential to change.

    There is hope.

    Pain

    Can bring change.

    Regret,

    Can bring progress.

    Darkness

    Reminds us

    Of the stars.

    There is no darkness

    So complete

    That the light is lost forever.

    There is no pain

    So eternal

    That there will never be joy.

     

    Remember the joy.

    Let the fear turn to faith.

    If you see no light in the darkness,

    Just remember,

    You shine.

    And if you cannot find light in yourself,

    Then I will guide you,

    Until you can find your own way.

     

    Yesterday,

    And all the yesterdays before,

    Do not determine,

    Tomorrow.

    And I am watching for tomorrow,

    And all the tomorrows that come.

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    @Kajsa, it gets better. It doesn't always hurt, even if it feels like it always will. <333

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    I don't know what to say but thank you dear sister. Thank you for giving me hope for tomorrow and for the next tomorrow and all of them. Just thank you <333

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  24. Eddie’s Words

    in Creator's Corner

    Posted

    48 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

    Okay, I don't know what the light this is, or where it came from, but I kinda love it. (yes I understand that it's very weird, confusing, and not particularly exciting. I don't know why I love it, I just do.)

    Guardian:

      Hide contents

    It was dark. But it was always dark, and the boy supposed that his task was only made more crucial by the darkness.

    Still, he wished for more light. All he had was the fire. Pure white. A droplet of light itself, flickering on an altar built from shadows, shining brighter than the sun…he’d never seen the sun. He wasn’t sure why he knew what the sun was. No one had told him. He didn’t know why he knew about something he would never see.

    There were a lot of things the boy didn’t know, though of course he didn’t know what he was missing, as he’d never known it. He didn’t know the word “friend”. Or “brother”. Or “sister”, “cousin”, “mother”, “father”, and any of the thousands of other words there are to describe people. 

    He could remember a voice.

    He remembered a voice…

    “Do not let the fire die,” the voice had told him. “The darkness must not overcome you.”

    And so the boy kept his fire. It needed no wood. It flickered enticingly, and the boy lost many hours watching it the way another might watch a beautiful woman. It was his solace and his comfort. His muse, his meaning, his purpose for living. 

    Although…there were times when the boy wondered if he really was living. This was not life. He knew that. It was silent, and though he’d tried speaking to himself, it felt like a betrayal of something holy. So he stayed silent. And he was alone. He didn’t know who should be there, only that no one was, and it wasn’t…quite…right…and it was extreme. His world was one of pure darkness and pure light. The fire, and the shadows. And he was between them, trapped in a world between all that was good and all that was bad. During those times of doubt and fear, the boy often thought about leaving. 

    He wondered what he might find. He wondered who he might find. He pondered the joys and the sorrows that the unknown was sure to bring. But he always choose to stay. Not because he was afraid of the unknown. No. He didn’t stay because of the fear of what was out there. He stayed because if he didn’t, his fire would be smothered. And if he lived to keep the fire alive, then he could not let anything distract him from it.

    Because something didn’t want the fire to live. The Shadows. The boy had lived all his life cloaked in shadows, but they were simply present. Unfazed by anything, untouched by the light of his fire. But the Shadows…they were something different. Angry. Eager for revenge. Filled with hate and destruction. 

    And they wanted his fire gone. 

    The boy didn’t know why. All he knew was what the voice had told him. He must not let the fire die. He must not give in to the darkness. So the boy fought it. In the beginning, he fought tooth and hand, sometimes curling over the fire, allowing it to burn him so that the Shadows could not reach it. Because the Shadows could kill the fire. All it would take was a single lax moment…they would taint his fire and it would fade into nothing, or worse, it would become like them…

    But the boy grew. He learned. No one taught him, but he learned anyway, because he had fixated on that fire in the way that young boys often find a focus they can’t explain or ignore. Or perhaps it was simply because he was bored.

    Regardless, the boy learned. He learned to weave simple creations from the light. The first thing he learned, in a moment of absolute terror, was claws. There were three Shadows converging on the flame, and something in the boy tore as he realized he might fail. It felt as if he were ripping something loose, and suddenly there were glowing claws at the ends of his fingers. He tore through the Shadows much easier, then. And he felt them hiss and crumble, not just run away.

    He didn’t learn how to dismiss the claws for a very long time. But in that time, he experimented, trying to find that same feeling of pulling something free…he never did feel it. But he found a better way of doing things. Without the crude and undisciplined yanking that comes with emotion, he learned to seduce the light. 

    What an absurd notion.

    Seducing fire.

    But that is what the boy did. And the next time the light formed, it felt as though it were a gift being given. The boy liked it better that way. He was no thief in the night. The fire was his lover, and what was hers was his, and what was his was hers. And since he had nearly nothing, to the boy that meant his life, and that meant his love. He gave her his heart, and she gave him the means to protect him…

    After the claws was a pair of thin, glowing daggers. The boy practiced before his goddess. He didn’t need to sleep, didn’t need to eat. He didn’t dare wander into the darkness, and to sit was to be complacent, and to be complacent was to endanger the fire. And so he moved. At first he was jerky. Messy. Ugly enough that he was ashamed to be seen by his fire. So he practiced facing the darkness, the warm light at his back. 

    And so it was that the boy learned. Through lonely mistakes before a goddess he loved. Through light, and through Shadows.

    After the daggers, the boy learned to let the claws fade to nothing.

    Then he learned to use his daggers without them.

    Soon, three Shadows at once was an easy feat. And the boy thought, for a moment, that he’d figured out some grand secret. That nothing would change. That he would finally be able to protect his fire with ease…

    But the attacks increased. They came more often, and they came in bigger groups. And so the boy learned more, and worked harder. And his Goddess, his Light, his Flame and his Desire…she watched. All things he did were in her name. She knew him perfectly. When the boy sat, it was to lean against her altar. When the boy wept, it was she who kept the darkness in his heart at bay. When the boy laughed, it was because of her flickering light. When he made a promise, it was for her. Always for her. 

    But the daggers were not the boy’s finest weapons. For though he used them well, he did not love them…and the fire knew it, or at least the boy believed she must. Because after a particularly exhausting fight, the boy was leaning against the altar, trembling from the pain of a dozen shadowy wounds, and he closed his eyes. Just for a moment, mind. It was barely more than a blink. And when he opened them, the daggers had disappeared from between his fingers. So tired was the boy that he hadn’t even noticed…and on the ground next to him was a sword.

    Ah, but to call such a thing a sword is to call a grand saga a story, is to call a hero heroic, is to call a person a human. It is true, on some level, that it was a sword, but it was so much more than that. It was slender and fiery, and fit his hand like it had been made for him. Which it had. It was a gift from a goddess. And in it, the boy found a second thing to love. 

    It was harder to use than the daggers. At first, it seemed large and unwieldy. When the Shadows attacked, the boy would summon his knives, terrified that he wouldn’t be able to protect the fire. And between attacks, he relearned how to stand. He learned how to hold it. He had a base instinct for how it ought to be, and beyond that…he guessed. He made mistakes. 

    But time and practice are powerful things.

    And the boy found himself dancing with his blade. He prayed to his fire, thanked she who had created all, and used all that he was to defend her.

    And in thanks, she gave him a second blade. And so he started over again.

    ***

    The girl saw a light, floating in the darkness. She walked toward it, and saw that it was a fire. Pure and bright and warm…and she wanted it.

    And suddenly, before she’d even seen movement, there was a pair of glowing white blades at her throat, held by a boy with black hair and pale skin and dangerous blue eyes. 

    ***

    “What are you?” The boy asked suspiciously.

    “I’m…I’m just a person,” the strange creature who was not a Shadow said. “Like you.” She raised hands, hands that looked like the boy’s. The boy tightened his grip on his blades.

    “What do you want?” The boy asked. He was angry. This…this person had brought change. He ought to kill her, this new threat to his fire, but…but she was defenseless. And she could speak. And she wasn’t a Shadow.

    “Y-your fire,” the girl whispered. “It’s so warm.”

    The boy was quiet, then, and sure. She was here for his fire. And so she needed to die. But his blades, always so warm and excited, were cold in his hands. A sign? From his goddess? But he had to protect her, had to…the blades began to warm again in his hands and he turned from the girl, scanning the darkness…there. It was bubbling, and that meant Shadows…from the size of the bubbles, he guessed ten, at least. He shoved the girl back and advanced on them, keeping her in the corner of his eye. She was an unknown in a world where he knew all things. If she took even a single step forward, he’d kill her and be done with it; if she wanted to hurt his fire, she must be removed.

    ***

    The girl stumbled back and gasped. The boy sprang into motion, leaping over the fire and slashing at…shapes. Shapes formed of darkness. Tall and lithe and deadly. They converged on him, and the girl couldn’t move, sure that he was about to be…

    His blades flashed, cutting through the shadows. He danced around the flame, always keeping himself between it and the creatures…and watching her too, she realized. He was a servant of death, slicing through the monsters with a precise sort of grace. More than once, he got hit, and the shadows blended with his blood, turning it a dark scarlet on his white skin. But he never slowed, never paused, never let them get past him.

    The girl found herself unable to look away. As he fought, he was more enticing than the fire itself. He was so alive, so warm, so deadly and so beautiful. 

    And then, almost as suddenly as it had started, it was over. The girl hadn’t moved. Quick as a blade slitting a throat, the boy was before her again, frowning. “What…what are you?” She whispered. 

    ***

    The boy thought about the question. He thought for a long time. “I am a person,” he finally decided. “And I protect this fire. Leave.” He was tired; there had been twelve Shadows, and they’d been growing cleverer recently. He had a deep cut on his shoulder, and several in his side. He needed to practice, to make sure this would never happen again. And he needed to pray to his fire. Once again, he considered ending the girl…but at the thought, his blades grew cold enough that he shivered.

    He glanced at the fire. Didn’t it want to be protected? It surely knew all things, and so it surely knew if this girl was going to hurt it…

    The girl looked at him curiously. “Why do you protect the fire?” She asked.

    And the boy didn’t answer.

    “Who taught you to fight like that?”

    And again, the boy had no response.

    The girl skipped closer to him, hesitant and flighty. She reached out, and touched his hand.

    And for the first time

    The boy felt flesh 

    On

    Flesh.

    She was soft and smooth and sweet. She opened his fingers, and the boy was trembling too hard to stop her. His blade clanged to the ground. And then she opened his other hand, and instead of holding his weapons, he was holding her hands. For the first time, he was holding something that was not a piece of his fire. And that something was looking at him with wide eyes and a tiny smile. And that something was a girl.

    He looked back at his fire, begging his goddess for help, begging her to let herself be protected. And then the girl put a hand on his cheek, and he looked back to her, and for the first time he was afraid for himself rather than his fire. 

    And he named the girl First, in his mind, because she was the reason he had so many firsts, all at once. And First laughed. And the boy felt himself smile.

    And First took his hands and led him into the darkness. 

    And the boy left his blades, another first.

    And when First formed an arrow from the darkness, his first thought was for the fire, always for the fire, and he yelled, and he tried to run back, to run home, to run to his goddess and defend her as he always had, as he always would. But his feet caught in the darkness, and he fell.

    And First raised her arrow. 

    And amidst all the terror, the boy renamed her Last, for she was his end.

    And as the girl brought her arrow of shadow into his heart,

    The boy begged forgiveness of his goddess. 

    And the boy was gone.

    And Last laughed. And she returned to the fire, leaving the boy to die alone. Nothing to protect, and no one to protect him.

    And Last took her arrow, dripping with blood so red she could have sold it as paint, and she stabbed her darkness into the light.

    And as the boy had died,

    Silent,

    Alone,

    So the fire died too.

    And Last let the darkness take the arrow back.

    And she smiled, thinking of the boy and his blades. And she left, to find another light in the darkness.

    And the boy’s body grew cold.

    So very cold.

    And for the first

    And last

    Time,

    There was no fire to warm him.

    No voice to guide him.

    No blades to distract him.

    He was dead.

    But he wasn’t gone.

    The pain remained, and in his silent body the boy was desperate and hopeless.

    And ashamed.

    There was such shame.

    He had failed.

    His fire was dead. His goddess had trusted him. Had counted on him to know that she must be protected, regardless of what it seemed like she was saying. He should have been better, he should have been stronger, and the boy wanted to open his mouth and wail his misery into the darkness, only it wouldn’t open, and he couldn’t move, and he was dead.

    He was dead.

    He knew that.

    But his emotions lived, and burned in his heart, burned hotter than the arrow Last had driven into him…

    It took time. Lots of it, though the boy knew of no way to measure it. 

    But the burning…

    The aching…

    The pain, the pain, the pain.

    It was hot and ragged and…

    And pure.

    Pure as fire.

    And the boy’s bones steadily became an altar.

    And the boy’s heart, always burning with conviction for the goddess he had once served, eternally guilty for his failure…it felt like fire.

    But it wasn’t until he heard a voice that he truly turned to a flame.

    It was the same voice. The one that had told him to protect his fire, so long ago…

    And it told him to burn.

    “Burn hot, and burn bright, and never die,” the voice told him. It didn’t mention his failure. It didn’t acknowledge his death. It simply gave him another chance.

    And though he missed his blades,

    And his goddess,

    And the life from before,

    The boy understood that change is inevitable. And so he thanked the voice for a second chance, to guard not another fire but his own.

    And so he burned. 

    And so he fought a new battle.

    It was so dark…but it was always dark. The boy knew the darkness. And he refused to let it touch him,

    For he was light itself.

    Also, I drew this on my hand during church today when I was about halfway through writing it :P 

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    image.thumb.png.2863f24ed9cd1f458f11d5d7d758d072.png

    :) 

    Oooooo ❤️❤️❤️

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