Werewolf - Tides of Change
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 A tale of inspiration...

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Ralunim
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Posts : 740
Join date : 2011-04-14

PostSubject: A tale of inspiration...   Sun 24 Apr 2011, 6:13 pm

So, you want to hear a story, do you? Hah! Fantastic! I know just the story for a young one, such as yourself. My story, to be exact, if you'll pardon my indulgence. There's a lesson in it, too, as can be found in any good story.

It all took place some five years ago, back when I was but a student of the fine art of acting. I mean that in a figurative sense, for I had long since graduated by then - rather, I was beginning my saga upon the stage! King Lear, a favourite from my youth, and the role of Edmund was to be mine. Naturally, you can imagine my delight at it all.

Mr. Underfoot, however, was a blight of a director if ever there was one. I could not understand his frustration with me then, though now I see he simply lacked any vision. No, here was a man who was always demanding more his actors, more volume, more feeling, more everything. We thought for certain that he was going to drain us dry - though there really was no way around it, we were hardly going to throw our chance at the big time away because of one man being a right royal pain, were we? Never!

And so, poor lad that I was, I worked tireless into the night rehearsing my lines, at all hours and in all sorts of positions. Sometimes with my fellow artists of the stage, but more often without. The times we shared together were some of the best I've had, if not the most strenuous. I was in love, you see, with a marvellous actress, no less, cast to play Regan. Ah, I know what you are thinking; that surely she could not be the fairest of them all, to be cast for a character as cruel and manipulative as Regan. The thoughts of an idle dreamer, though I could forgive you for thinking so. Cordelia is much too easy to play - true genius, true skill, lies in making the villain more desirable than the maiden. Ohh yes. Many times leading up to opening night, when all our fellows had left, did I stay at her apartment, making love to her as the warm summer rain pelted down the windows.

But even with such artistic actors to work with and refine my performance, it was all vanity - nothing would please Mr. Underfoot, and his frustration brewed only more within me. I was beginning to lose sleep, such was my dedication, and night after night after night I went over the same lines. Eating became something that happened on occasion, every ounce of my being devoted to perfecting my performance! Eventually, I began to believe that it was destiny to be trapped seeking perfection, the very apex of acting infinity that no muse would come bestow upon me.

I remember clearly the lines rehearsed that fateful night, as one always does. The rain poured down from on high, and thunder boomed in the distance.

"Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law
My services are bound. Wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue?"

Oh, you should have seen it with all the sinister and charming bravado that could be so artfully mustered -

"Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Who in the lusty stealth of nature take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to th'creating a whole tribe of fops,
Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:"

It was then that I first looked out my window, and that was when I noticed her - our mother, and my muse - Luna, pregnant with inspiration. Without sense or reason, I flung open the balcony doors and dashed out to greet that Gibbous moon.

"Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund
As to th'legitimate. Fine word, 'legitimate'!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top th'legitimate - : I grow, I prosper;
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!"

Who needed Mr. Underfoot when I had the moon?! Now my soliloquy culminated with a glorious howl that stretched all the way to my muse in the sky, as my clothes became soaked through with rain. Oh, that catharsis! Beyond sense or reason, I knew that she was listening to me, looking down with admiration as a mother does when her child performs. I needed no stage, only her ear, and the ears of my fellows, who howled in unison with me across the cityscape.

I did not notice the change take me, because that was when Luna truly inspired me. The world was opened up to all my senses, multiplied to magnitudes beyond reckoning! There were colours indescribable flashing through my vision as a mottled and ever shifting parade, whilst every breath, every beat of the world resonated in my ears. And oh, the smells! To have been without that most magnificent sense for so long, it was as if I were discovering colour for the first time! Of course, it was not all wonderful. I remember vaguely trying to tear my hair out whilst I still had hands, I could feel the thickness of the gauntlet press in on me from all sides, and when I did, there were flashes of a time long past, but yet to come - visions of the heavens opening up, when mighty Luna claimed the day and at once filled this world, and the shadow, and all things in between, casting her glorious shine down upon us all, and I howled a maddening howl that echoed throughout the world, to tell of the judgement, of the purity of it all, caught up in the flash of fang and claw, the articulation of that savageness into primal poetry the likes of which would either grant me that sweet release, or otherwise be the death of me!

When I came to, my apartment was a mess. At first I was not sure whether I had dreamed it all or not, but I soon knew for certain that I was not mad, nor afflicted by some haunting nightmare. I had seen something else that night, another world, which was to become my world, as it has yours. Oh yes, with the spectacle of a performance that I gave that night, my pack had no trouble finding me. This is a dark world we live in, but my rebirth into it gave me purpose I had not thought I would find. Inspiration can be found in the most unlikely of places, and sometimes that artistic performance is what will make the difference between all your fellows rising to the challenge, or meeting your collective untimely end.

So now, I howl - when the Hosts would scar our world, I howl! When spirits innumerable threaten balance, I howl! When the machinations of man impose upon our land, I howl! When pack is pushed to breaking point, I howl!

For Glory, for Amahan Iduth, and for Urfarah dead, I howl!
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