Post by Dagvald Riddik on Feb 22, 2020 9:26:46 GMT -5
Editor's Note: This is a brief excerpt from a full length role play posted to Riot Star Wrestling
By far most significantly, Dagvald the lonesome contemplates the whereabouts of his estranged lover, Isabella. Nothing builds a more worthy legacy, a more genuine, long lasting legacy of personal accomplishment and success, than bearing even more successful children to an impossibly perfect, loving and gorgeous wife. Isabella was his everything. She was loyal and stood by him no matter how much he ran his mouth or caused trouble. He also defended her without exception against every threat to his beloved. She was easy to find when she ran her mouth, knowing her man would have her back. She was the only black haired Norwegian girl in the entire town.
Some say she was cursed by the ravens who perched atop the lighthouses on the fjords, overlooking the North Sea, to have hair the color of their vile feathers. Her mother was alleged to have had an affair with an Italian merchantman sailor while she was waiting for her husband to return from the coast guard in a northern coastal town. Whether there is any veracity to this claim outside the fact that both of her parents have red hair rather than black is highly questionable, but the looming specter of sin has followed this girl her whole life. This came off more like an allure to Dag however, and in senior year, he fell in love with the petite round faced girl two years his younger. Both already largely being ostracized beforehand, their union only pushed them further outside the realm of that which could be socially acknowledged, much to their shared delight.
Dagvald is a natural social outcast, and has always been such. Him and Isabella were happy to be outcasts together, dwelling in abandoned churches and sneaking out of class into closets or skipping school altogether. They’d use that time for far more productive things, like exploring the woods, playfully acting out the rituals of their ancestors, or practicing for the black metal band they wished they could start. Of course, much of their time together was also used for what you’d expect a teenage boy and a teenage girl to do in privacy. What they had was undeniably true love, until it was ripped away from them.
Earlier this very year, he remembered the twentieth anniversary of the night he and his Izzy lit fire to the ancient church they had often fooled around in. Clad in black makeup and dark robes, an improvised torch in his hands, Dagvald recited the phrasing he had practiced in his head. “This monument to the desertification of Europe seeks to bring the sands of subjugation to our strong and proud people. For centuries, it has poisoned us. Tonight we say, no longer.” With that, he tossed the flaming bundle of wood down to the pews from the pulpit on which he stood, watching as the flames fell perhaps ten feet to the floor. In the doorway, Isabella stood in amusement and playfully feigned horror as she played out the roles they had created for themselves in this dreadful play.
“A fire, a fire! Flames have risen to consume us! By Odin, how shall my dearest beloved escape these hideous flames,” she wailed, throwing the back of her hand to her face and playing along with the ceremonious roles they agreed to play in this blasphemous ritual. Dagvald looked down upon the silhouette of the woman he loved as it pierced the fire. The pitch black of midnight was so thoroughly corrupted by the orange light, he almost worried if it could scar the unmarred beauty of his dearest Isabella. Of course this fear did not merit any serious concern, as proven by the way the smoke billowed up, curling and furling around the raven-hair angel who had chosen him to carry her to Valhalla. He was so blinded with infatuation, he almost forgot to jump.
As he fell, his world collapsed. He had destroyed everything with a single spark. His life was a tinderbox and the heat ignited and eradicated it. Had he planned for this? Not consciously, perhaps subconsciously. Sometimes, our deepest, most hidden selves come through to the surface and assume control of our thoughts and mind. They disguise themselves as that which they are subverting, temporarily taking on the role of decision maker. We cannot control this; it happens when absolutely necessary because we can no longer resist the urge but cannot stomach to do it on our own will. Even though it is the path we must take, we must have a way of blaming it on conditions outside of our control.
Dagvald would have never consciously chosen to be arrested, or separated from Isabella, or sent to prison for ten years and exiled to America. Sometimes, however, destiny makes decisions for you. Sometimes, deep down, you simply know that you have to change where you are or where you’re at in life. Something inside is screaming out, but you just can’t hear it, until the day it finally takes over just for a split second and accomplishes everything it needed to with you even realizing. Sometimes, in order to build a legacy for yourself, you have to overcome yourself.
Some say she was cursed by the ravens who perched atop the lighthouses on the fjords, overlooking the North Sea, to have hair the color of their vile feathers. Her mother was alleged to have had an affair with an Italian merchantman sailor while she was waiting for her husband to return from the coast guard in a northern coastal town. Whether there is any veracity to this claim outside the fact that both of her parents have red hair rather than black is highly questionable, but the looming specter of sin has followed this girl her whole life. This came off more like an allure to Dag however, and in senior year, he fell in love with the petite round faced girl two years his younger. Both already largely being ostracized beforehand, their union only pushed them further outside the realm of that which could be socially acknowledged, much to their shared delight.
Dagvald is a natural social outcast, and has always been such. Him and Isabella were happy to be outcasts together, dwelling in abandoned churches and sneaking out of class into closets or skipping school altogether. They’d use that time for far more productive things, like exploring the woods, playfully acting out the rituals of their ancestors, or practicing for the black metal band they wished they could start. Of course, much of their time together was also used for what you’d expect a teenage boy and a teenage girl to do in privacy. What they had was undeniably true love, until it was ripped away from them.
Earlier this very year, he remembered the twentieth anniversary of the night he and his Izzy lit fire to the ancient church they had often fooled around in. Clad in black makeup and dark robes, an improvised torch in his hands, Dagvald recited the phrasing he had practiced in his head. “This monument to the desertification of Europe seeks to bring the sands of subjugation to our strong and proud people. For centuries, it has poisoned us. Tonight we say, no longer.” With that, he tossed the flaming bundle of wood down to the pews from the pulpit on which he stood, watching as the flames fell perhaps ten feet to the floor. In the doorway, Isabella stood in amusement and playfully feigned horror as she played out the roles they had created for themselves in this dreadful play.
“A fire, a fire! Flames have risen to consume us! By Odin, how shall my dearest beloved escape these hideous flames,” she wailed, throwing the back of her hand to her face and playing along with the ceremonious roles they agreed to play in this blasphemous ritual. Dagvald looked down upon the silhouette of the woman he loved as it pierced the fire. The pitch black of midnight was so thoroughly corrupted by the orange light, he almost worried if it could scar the unmarred beauty of his dearest Isabella. Of course this fear did not merit any serious concern, as proven by the way the smoke billowed up, curling and furling around the raven-hair angel who had chosen him to carry her to Valhalla. He was so blinded with infatuation, he almost forgot to jump.
As he fell, his world collapsed. He had destroyed everything with a single spark. His life was a tinderbox and the heat ignited and eradicated it. Had he planned for this? Not consciously, perhaps subconsciously. Sometimes, our deepest, most hidden selves come through to the surface and assume control of our thoughts and mind. They disguise themselves as that which they are subverting, temporarily taking on the role of decision maker. We cannot control this; it happens when absolutely necessary because we can no longer resist the urge but cannot stomach to do it on our own will. Even though it is the path we must take, we must have a way of blaming it on conditions outside of our control.
Dagvald would have never consciously chosen to be arrested, or separated from Isabella, or sent to prison for ten years and exiled to America. Sometimes, however, destiny makes decisions for you. Sometimes, deep down, you simply know that you have to change where you are or where you’re at in life. Something inside is screaming out, but you just can’t hear it, until the day it finally takes over just for a split second and accomplishes everything it needed to with you even realizing. Sometimes, in order to build a legacy for yourself, you have to overcome yourself.