Introduction: The curse of the Human Spirit

Introduction: The curse of the Human Spirit

1

3:00 am, welcome to the witching hour.

A full moon had come arise, casting a vibrant beam which reflected against the glasses upon my face, tired and exhausted… Thoughts of sleep madden the mind. I sat amongst my study the crackling of the fire giving calm as the magick of the hour took hold. Smoke billowed out of the chimney the only sign of life amongst the abode of the forgotten.

Once long ago, I was one of legend, a hero one may say. Yet I prefer the word hope…

Time had allowed for solitude and such the hero of the New World lived a quiet life hidden amongst the many citizens of her people. Truth be told all, and all the home was but an ordinary house. Victorian in style, rather old, like that of herself it came with all the quarks, and inconveniences that accompany such.

I sat alone, bathed beneath the glow of an ancient kerosene lamp, such a soothing ambiance for one who was burning the midnight oil. Even after two cups of coffee I was fighting seduction of my bed. Humming amongst myself, in a feeble attempt to drown out the whispering of tantalizing words of perversion attempting to lure me away from my studies.

Sitting at my desk with my pen in hand, I had been a state of frustration for well over an hour, for once again I found myself suffering from a severe case of writer’s block. The document was far from finished.  After nearly ten years of work it had all led up to this moment, files after, files of data, and text scattered across her desk in the unsightliness of fashion. The time to put such insanity to rest had finally come, her life’s work leading up to this very moment, and in the feat of her inspiration her mind had drawn blank… such a feeling is enough to drive the sanest of minds, to the point of madness.

Upon countless occasions I found myself taking a sip of brandy to wash away the burden. This was to mark the fifth such occasion in the past two hours. Once again, my mind had drifted to a state of daydream, this state of illusion had become all the common when one is suffering from the critical illness of writer’s block…

A log had sparked causing embers to scatter, and fall to the carpet giving the shag rug a rather nasty sing.  I was quick to stop out its remains, my loafers taking aim at the fiery embers which smothered under foot.  Yet another scar of beauty amongst the many throughout the trail of years…

With the kiss of the flames, the spell had been broken. I had been gifted with the grace of inspiration once again, and I have learned that when the call of a muse is heard; it is best not ignored. I dashed across the room, downing the last of my brandy, a reward for the nerves as I snatched my pen in hand, and began to eagerly write.

The child of the human spirit brings hope for the future of humanity. Ignorance of the past, history forgotten, and dismissed has compelled me to pick up the pen and document the stories, hardships, and literature of my era to pass along my voice in hopes that it does not fall upon the ears of the def or enter the minds of the daft.

Now retaining to that of the authenticity of the history of the world of magick; I have taken all the necessary steps to research the subject at hand. This was not an easy task may I add for the antiquity of the Magickal Community has become somewhat lost and tarnished. History long since lost, buried, yet by no means forgotten… All of which I can assure you shall be further explained with detail and interest.

To best understand the realm of Magick one might consider taking a class on metaphysics yet simply it is defined as such…

Magick: the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with will.

  • Aleister Crowley

With the muse empowering me from within my pen continued upon its journey, will and voice that of its own. This all but concludes my introductory statement however I feel that I should issue a noted warning from the Author.

This is a tale of sadness, horror, war, death and remorse not by choice of the author may I add but by necessity. I am forced to work with history and such deemed to wield my pen within the restrictions of its realms no matter how dark and grey they may appear. Yet within the morbid theme of war lies the magick of love, friendship, and hope. 

Now that the Introduction has conclude I hereby bring you:

The curse of the Human Spirit

A tale By

Raeona M. Wildman

 

The Old World: Last Breath

Earth’s last Breath

In her final moment she was beyond beauty

Glowing with radiance

She could hide her true self no longer

Shedding her mask

Soul bursting through the crust of her skin

Emotion set free

  • Mother Freyia’s Nursery Rhymes for the Sound of Mind

 

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Prologue: The curse of the Human Spirit

Prologue

 The curse of the Human Spirit

1

3:00 am, welcome to the witching hour.

A full moon had come arise, casting a vibrant beam which reflected against the glasses upon my face, tired and exhausted… Thoughts of sleep madden the mind. I sat amongst my study the crackling of the fire giving calm as the magick of the hour took hold. Smoke billowed out of the chimney the only sign of life amongst the abode of the forgotten.

Once long ago, I was one of legend, a hero one may say. Yet I prefer the word hope…

Time had allowed for solitude and such the hero of the New World lived a quiet life hidden amongst the many citizens of her people. Truth be told all, and all the home was but an ordinary house. Victorian in style, rather old, like that of herself it came with all the quarks, and inconveniences that accompany such.

I sat alone, bathed beneath the glow of an ancient kerosene lamp, such a soothing ambiance for one who was burning the midnight oil. Even after two cups of coffee I was fighting seduction of my bed. Humming amongst myself, in a feeble attempt to drown out the whispering of tantalizing words of perversion attempting to lure me away from my studies.

Sitting at my desk with my pen in hand, I had been a state of frustration for well over an hour, for once again I found myself suffering from a severe case of writer’s block. The document was far from finished.  After nearly ten years of work it had all led up to this moment, files after, files of data, and text scattered across her desk in the unsightliness of fashion. The time to put such insanity to rest had finally come, her life’s work leading up to this very moment, and in the feat of her inspiration her mind had drawn blank… such a feeling is enough to drive the sanest of minds, to the point of madness.

Upon countless occasions I found myself taking a sip of brandy to wash away the burden. This was to mark the fifth such occasion in the past two hours. Once again, my mind had drifted to a state of daydream, this state of illusion had become all the common when one is suffering from the critical illness of writer’s block…

A log had sparked causing embers to scatter and fall to the carpet giving the shag rug a rather nasty sing.  I was quick to stop out its remains, my loafers taking aim at the fiery embers which smothered under foot.  Yet another scar of beauty amongst the many throughout the trail of years…

With the kiss of the flames, the spell had been broken. I had been gifted with the grace of inspiration once again, and I have learned that when the call of a muse is heard; it is best not ignored. I dashed across the room, downing the last of my brandy, a reward for the nerves as I snatched my pen in hand, and began to eagerly write.

The child of the human spirit brings hope for the future of humanity. Ignorance of the past, history forgotten, and dismissed has compelled me to pick up the pen and document the stories, hardships, and literature of my era to pass along my voice in hopes that it does not fall upon the ears of the def or enter the minds of the daft.

Now retaining to that of the authenticity of the history of the world of magick; I have taken all the necessary steps to research the subject at hand. This was not an easy task may I add for the antiquity of the Magickal Community has become somewhat lost and tarnished. History long since lost, buried, yet by no means forgotten… All of which I can assure you shall be further explained with detail and interest.

To best understand the realm of Magick one might consider taking a class on metaphysics yet simply it is defined as such…

Magick: the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with will.

  • Aleister Crowley

With the muse empowering me from within my pen continued upon its journey, will and voice that of its own. This all but concludes my introductory statement however I feel that I should issue a noted warning from the Author.

This is a tale of sadness, horror, war, death and remorse not by choice of the author may I add but by necessity. I am forced to work with history and such deemed to wield my pen within the restrictions of its realms no matter how dark and grey they may appear. Yet within the morbid theme of war lies the magick of love, friendship, and hope. 

Now that the Introduction has conclude I hereby bring you:

The curse of the Human Spirit

A tale By

Raeona M. Wildman

Quotes

“War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength”

George Orwell, 1984.

Doctor Kane T. Metis

In the beginning Doctor Kane T. Metis lived far from a life of luxury. Born September 17, 110 to the nation Tanzanite. His mother Kansara Teval Asmid and father Reggie Kriston Metis did everything they could to make possible for the success of young Kane. Going so far as to uprooting their simple lives, to migrate to the land opportunity. The family of three immigrated to the Delphic Regime, when Kane was but a young child. There they quickly found residence in the welcoming capitol of Ashar. The three of them lived a rather standard life, like many of the proud nation. Grunt work was all but common and such Reggie had taken work at the local water treatment plant, leaving Kansara to tend to that of young Kane.

Kane T. Metis became a soldier of the Regime at the age of 18. In exchange for his service to that of his country, he was offered the education of a lifetime. Such opportunity is not easily surpassed. After years of attending University Under City of the Elite (UUCE) Kane T. Metis attained his Doctorates in the field of cybernetics; all at an impressive age of 24. His work within the community along with his devotion to his passion had earned him quite the respect alongside his fellow peers, and it was not long until he captured the attention of Empress Nyx.

War had consumed the great Delphic Regime and the need for soldiers was great. Doctor Metis was soon drafted upon a mission of top secrecy serving the will and testimony of his commander-in-chief. Such an assignment would haunt him till his dying days. Returning from the war in the year 139 a now sullen Doctor had become a changed man, his devotion to his country had vanished… Science, and solitude were his only desires. The Empress sought pity upon her child and such granted him asylum at Bearthorn Collage of the Magical, and Devin (BCMD) where man continued to work on his research.

The time residing at Bearthron was none to pleasing to the estranged Doctor. It was a rather dark time in his history, and one that he spoke little of. What he was willing to convey was the fact that the opportunity allowed him to focus on his research, and to do so undisturbed by that of the raging war of mankind; for such the case, he was grateful.

Chance had favored the good Doctor. It in the year147, the Doctor Metis had been offered an opportunity of a life time. One should take into consideration that the Empress is not a woman of grand gesture, yet she saw promise in the not so young man of science such she charmed him out of seclusion by building a monument in his honor.

Metis Laboratory Institute was founded by Empress Nyx who managed, and oversaw the construction of M.L.I. It was not long until the institute became the technological beacon of hope for that of the new world. The good Doctor worked at M.L.I.  for a total of 8 years where he taught, and assisted in some of the greatest industrial advances of the decade. Yet age had crept upon the man, no longer was he young, and such to preserve his knowledge he took on a portage. His final act before hanging his hat up for retirement.

Retirement came easily to the man, for after all serving one’s country comes with such luxuries. The Regime was more than grateful for his contribution, and such they supplied him with comforts that only the privileged could fathom. His humble abode was far from the shack of a house he had during his childhood. Aged, and comforted to a life of leisure he lived alone in a sturdy log cabin that was truly quaint, and quiet. The perfect sanction to spend one’s retirement.