The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

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Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » April 29th, 2021, 1:30 am

Full Name: Jakell Lily Wormwood
Birthdate: 23 Flowerbloom
Birthplace: Eastern Baronies / Aedenshyr / Greatport
Birthsign: Fool


Image
Appearance
Age: 25
Height: 5’10"
Weight: Slender.
Eyes: Green.
Hair: Dirty Blonde, thick and generally messy as it's tucked under a hat or hood.
Skin: Sun-tanned.
Handedness: Right-handed.
Posture: Casual unless engaged in a conversation where he isn't joking. Most people can tell the young man stiffens with anxiety or nerves; leaning into the next jest to break the tension he's feeling.
Hygiene: Almost always clean shaven but doesn't mind a little dirt around the fingernails or travel blown hair.
Scent: Freshly cut wood, ginseng, wax, sweat, loamy soil.

Physical Description: A pretty boy, narrow blonde eyebrows top green eyes, tempered by laugh lines at the corners which throw off the youthful look. Nautical tattoos; some of questionable quality and content line his exposed skin with exception to his hawkish face. Calloused palms; toned and slender, if not a little boney around the knees and elbows - unable to put on much muscle no matter what hard labor he does. Cherry lips that are often chapped and dry from chewing on them regard you with a sharp smirk and you notice a single dimple appearing on his right cheek when that bent expression really shines.

Personality
General Health: Healthy, a little color-blind but recently suffering from a lack of good sleep, eyes a little sunken - fighting his demons. A tired expression, nearly constant these days.
Profession: Former sailor, woodsman, bowyer, carpenter, book lover and aspiring tinkerer, engineer. Will likely grow into something of a Jack of All Trades, Master of None, if given the chance.
Faction Affiliation: Former First Torian Legionnaire (never took). Former Reeve of the settlement of Highfield.
Languages: Decusian, Northryian - with a Greatport, Eastern Baronies accent.

Hobbies: Playing the lute, reading, pushing buttons, dice and other games of strategy or chance. Recently getting into poetry and learning more about the works of the Foundry and other innovative men.
Habits: Daydreaming and flirting; mostly with men - but not always.

Personality Description: A dreamer. Hopeful in a time with very little of it, even though he might display outwardly otherwise. Quick to laugh and poke fun at himself but also quick to dive into bouts of depression when things turn away from him.

History: Born in Greatport in Ashendyr, Jakell is the youngest of five sons. When he was still very young, after his mother fell to madness the family broke apart. His father, something of a drunk took the four eldest to the Stonewood to prospect and never returned. Jakell was told many years later that they perished in a mine collapse. Left in the care of an aunt Jakell found himself pressed into the service of his uncle's ship, the Black Cat, out of Greatport - first as a cabin boy, and then later picking up some skill in carpentry. There was a mutiny aboard a few years into his time aboard the merchant vessel and he found himself on the losing side, in support of his uncle, the captain. A measure of dark luck found him however as he was able to make the hard swim to the eastern shore, a sole survivor from those thrown overboard, as far as he knows.

With little reason to return to Greatport and new opportunities offering themselves in a new land, Jakell found himself swept up with other refugees headed towards the first province; piecing together the money for a ride aboard the iron engine into Rummbling Pass.

Strengths: A Dreamer, a jokester, a kind heart.
Weaknesses: A Dreamer, a Flirt, Cowardice, Often Lacking Words to Express Himself.

Governing Virtue: Honesty, Compassion.
Governing Throne: Pride - Lust.
Last edited by Wormwood on June 7th, 2023, 5:33 pm, edited 11 times in total.

Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

Re: The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » April 29th, 2021, 1:53 pm

The young man squints in the lantern light in the quiet back room of the Highfield tavern, sitting on the edge of a small bed, making slow strokes with a quill on a rough looking piece of parchment that rests atop a short dresser. His wide brimmed hat is off and his hair looks a little disheveled as if he recently returned from running through dense brambles. One hand reaches up to run a few fingers through the dirty blonde hair, after tapping the quill in thought, taking a moment to pluck a small needleless sappy pine twig from his locks, muttering.

"Flynn..."

He goes back to writing, pausing to drown a word in ink before scratching a new one next to it. After about a half an hour of thought Jakell reaches over and plucks a single purple lily from atop the tanned deer hide, resting over the straw stuffed bed and wraps it with nimble fingers around the rolled up, thin parchment.

With an exhale he leaves the note atop the middle of the small bed, rubs both his thighs with his hands in a nervous gesture and rises, finally collecting his ink pot and other things. Before he shuts the door he leaves a lingering look at the newly set up furniture and quietly makes his way back through the now empty tavern and into the late star lit night hanging over Highfield.

Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

Re: The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » June 4th, 2021, 3:43 pm

::In a dark space lit only by the stub of a fat candle short on it’s time, Jakell lays there with a quill in his hand, posed over a stack of stained parchment, regarding another figured wrapped up in a robe asleep next to him. His cheeks are streaked with dried tears, made more prominent by the grimy dust that settles on everything in the quiet space they reside, skin, the planks they are laying on – more of the dust dances about him on breezeless air as he continues to set pen to paper with a shaky hand, capping the small ink well::

Ma,

I know we haven’t spoken for a long while and I still miss you just as much as the day you left us. I thought we’d have all the time in the Light to catch up but I fear I might have landed myself a place in Hel for what all has happened here and before. People say your not watching; at least that’s what some more enlightened types have told me but I still hold out hope that you hear or read these words. At the very least I need to get these thoughts to paper to ground me for what is to come.

I made it to the first province Ma, just south of Tor. People are trying to retake it and I found my way here. I met some people, took to the woods like back near the Stonewood, mastered carpentry, built a village, tried to run it, even joined on with a rag tag faction of Legionarres for a short while before everything went to shit.

I’m in love, ma. I met a westerner, Flynn – and yes, that’s a man’s name. I know that’s not what you probably envisioned but I’m sure my brothers will carry on without me. You where right to joke that I had fairy blood; your little Jakell grew up with eye’s eager to take in the beauty of this world no matter what form it came in. I did fall for two women though; gave it my best go. One I thought I knew and another with hair like corn silk and a smile like sunshine, but she struggles in the same way I do – it was quickly made apparent. I’ll remember her kiss till my dying breath though. But Flynn, for all the shit I’ve piled upon myself and had piled upon him, he still stands by me and I’m happy in his arms. I only hope wherever we end up we all end there together. Maybe that is a fool’s wish but one I’m going to hang onto, for the love I feel for this man is not wrong – no matter what others might tell me.

But back to the nightmare I find myself in. So that woman I thought I knew?, not the pretty one. I was infatuated with her for the longest time. I even followed her into that Legion I spoke about earlier. She left me for another man, bigger, stronger, likely more able to protect her from her past I imagine she still thinks chases her. I didn’t take the breakup well; I was childish throughout, but I saw they made each other chaotic and it filled me with worry for what might be to come. I made a proper fool of myself in the end and ever after our relationship was confusing to say the least. We would flirt with each other and even lay in bed together here and there. It was clear we both enjoyed it; that little taste of what we had with each other before him. She once asked me if I thought marrying this man was right of her; she even bid on me for a date auction for Decus sake Ma! There where mixed emotions and gestures that sent my grief filled mind to the brink of madness. She often hinted that I should lay with the two of them in the decusion sense. He even took part in goading me, licking my ears, from time to time but I soon realized it was likely just amusement taken from seeing me tortured.

I found them once naked in the corn of the settlement I built and I think they felt slighted that I walked away and refused the encounter. Honestly? I wanted too, I wanted her, but I could not stomach the thought of rolling around in fields freshly sprinkled in sheep shit. Maybe that is where the real ugliness started? I’ll never likely know, or ever get real answers out of them now. Not that matters anymore. In any case, I had left the Legion at this point, not wishing to see them together or serve under him and raised a little village with a woman named Robyn, who oddly reminded me of the women I felt for. The love was platonic though, as Robyn struggles with the same attraction oddities that I do. Both of us working together laid the foundations for Highfield (the settlement) and what and who was to come. To clarify for you, at this point I was still working loosely with the couple that worried me, the village placed on land the Legion, I was formerly part of, chose to protect. I should have listened to others and just left them and built elsewhere but at that point I was just as neurotic and wary of those outside of the Legion’s grasp that this influence they had over me fueled my mistrust of others. I still felt safe at that time supporting their cause, and seeing stability brought to the meadows which I built upon, providing sanctuary for those that sought a simpler life. Even with all our history – I sought to make it work, I wanted it to work. My mind kept turning back to her though and then it happened.

After another argument I found myself in a situation to finally settle my heart and get a real answer from her once and for all. In my own bedroom, I caught her leaving a note of apology and we spoke, me begging her to stop changing openly in public in the village, or around me – that I needed that separation and temptation to be gone from my life. After what I thought was settled she began to flirt or joke, with me again, implying that she wasn’t wearing anything under a robe she wore, and that her single belt buckle if opened would reveal all. I jumped at the chance ma, like the fool I am. I figured I’d win out either way.. if she gave in maybe we could have a little more of what we lost together. If she turned away my hand I would finally get some peace, seeing her rage or eagerness to shove me off as a final confirmation that she only had eyes for the man she claimed her husband. It was the perfect situation to end things or perhaps start things anew?

She went back to him of course, told him everything.. and that chaotic, rage filled man barreled into our little town, into the tavern, us all already half-drunk after a game of dice and cold clocked me to the ground with one punch and then continued to kick me into unconscious. He also put down Flynn and another man, Laurent, who jumped to my defense. He joked with me before, about how he would beat anyone who touched his wife, but I still was taken by surprise of the brutality of the attack. I was angry ma, properly angry at him, for what he did to me, unarmed, half naked there in the middle of the village I had built, while other Legionnaires to my knowledge just stood and watched. It shook me to the core, even with my part in it. I was angry at her for her part in it; not for the loyalty she showed that man but for the inability to temper or judge the situation that she herself had put the two of us in and why I had acted the way I did, if only to save me that beating for the love we once shared. I’m no monster; I even apologized to her after she pushed me away and made promise that that would be the last time I ever attempted to lay a finger on her. In any case, I got my answer ma – that woman had no more care for my well being or perhaps saw the whole thing as a punishment long needed to be inflicted? Her stares since have been ladened with hatred and I know she wants me gone.

Since it was a public event, and in my book the crime of assault; I entrusted the situation with those that had made a proper home here in Highfield with me. Some people in the village took my confrontation with her badly, offering little to no compassion and even going so far as to request a vote for a new reeve. Before I could think the situation over, talk them down or give them a confirmation or denial of that request, a few of them left that same day, or perhaps it was the one after? They were seeking a leader free of flaws I think or perhaps one more ready just to accept a simple word whatever apology they had received from a meeting held with Legionnaire leadership.

I requested of Graelynn, a woman I had made ambassador, an apology directly from the man who assaulted me and I was scoffed at and made to feel like I was devaluing her work. Perhaps I was? I know what I wanted but the speed at which these people were ready to lay judgement, pass quick solution just to sweep things under the rug, was troubling to me. Graelynn after that encounter simply packed up and left, cleaning out her home and refusing to take anything from her tailoring room. I pleaded with her to understand that as ambassador, she should expect us to disagree sometimes, but I needed her to be open to honest talk, discussion and concerns I presented. She would hear none of it.

I didn’t have time to breath through this whole process ma, and I won’t lie to say I wasn’t happy when she threw up arms and left the settlement before I could agree to a vote for new reeveship. They would have readily seen me tossed out, or at least set me aside for what I would consider a sheep in wolf’s clothing; a woman by the name of Ramona that I valued but always held distant, not knowing what could come of her with the mysterious past and vague comments made towards her future in Tor. Ontop of all this she was a known witch, and I couldn’t possibly agree to having a magic practitioner take over, no matter how friendly and well meaning. I should have just come outright and spoke my concerns but at that point I still had worries of the reaction I’d get revealing her secret to the rest of them. All concern was lost for this woman though when I noticed farming equipment and every single alchemical weed and root was missing from the craft hall and when confronted she could only say “I ground up them in frustration”, when that clearly wasn’t the case. It was obvious she wouldn’t await my answer on an open vote for Reeveship anyway and was already in the process of taking what she thought owed from the settlement to strike out on her own. The next day I saw her packing up her things in the chapel and that was it, good riddance Ramona, witch of the order.

After another frustrating conversation with that man Lucien, seeking that apology in person without Graelynn at my side, and seeing it going nowhere beyond allowing him to talk over me and telling me “the world isn’t fair Jakell”. I ended up finally snapping back at his defeatism in my frustration. He would often welcome me during the breakup with Vera, his new wife, to beat on his barrel of a chest and I took the opportunity to do so again during that meeting. He grabbed me though in a hug after a few minutes of my pitiful blows and I reacted instinctively by kneeing him in his bits and biting his shoulder to break the grapple. I took off back to Highfield.

This encounter did earn me finally an open apology in our tavern and I returned one to him for my part for everything that came before and the unmerited kick; if it truly was just a hug he was giving to stop me. I must admit though as this point I was simply buying my time. I knew that Ramona, Grae and even an old friend Furio had turned to the Legion for support and I felt my time as Reeve drawing to a close in Highfield. Lucien returned a day later to inquire with me, with the recent departure of citizens what the village could still produce and needed, but it was less of a show of support and more of a “You either fix this” or your done Jakell gesture as his wife and even Furio threw in with him to intimidate me. The implication was that I should beg for the forgiveness of these women who so readily turned on me and welcome them back in, arms open. I asked for time to let the healing process and recruitment of settlers be a natural thing, but he demanded a quick solution – one I simply was unwilling to give. Opening the gates to random people ended me in this situation and I was no rush to see Highfield filled with witches, fleeing wives and other people with heavy baggage nestle into my creation again. It would be a place of close friends from here on out but the Legion clearly thought the settlement theirs and my vision for it was no longer relevant.

The ransacking of the Ursa encampment to the south of us also lingered in my mind. I know the Legion works with thieves already and it would have been easy for them to pick those gates, if they didn’t already have keys with Legionnaires posted there. If I had ebbed in my duties, like the men of the Ursa had with theirs, taking a break and vanishing into the woods for a time – I felt all my work would simply be taken from me. Their entitlement to anything within their scope of protection was astounding and the speed at which they expected results was again something I would never bend to.

I ended up reaching out to the folk in Tene, knowing they already had issues with the Legion and relayed my story to Renatus, Tyr, Erilian, and met with them twice before finalizing my intentions to move what I could from the village into storage and set fire to the shells of buildings. I was truly impressed with the citizens of Teneborough and what this man had set up to manage his company settlement and this just spurred me on to move quickly. They needed a carpenter and someone with sense to direct the builds of that place and offered me a seat on their assembly and other seats should I convince more of Highfield to follow. It will be one of the biggest, if not the biggest regret of my life not joining on with them and instead following the woman I was infatuated with into the ranks of the Legion. It’s funny how one rumor, given an ounce of truth can turn men blind. I fear I’ve found myself in a similar situation with nearly everyone that called me once, friend.

I did rush it, ma. My fear of someone else turning on me and running south to report my plans to the Legion filled me with dread and I may have mistepped by not taking a few more days. Any sense of choice or freedom would have been taken from me though if I lost that single advantage I had. I always had intentions to catch up with those I was unable to speak with, make an honest case for what I did, and safety store whatever property they owned until they could collect it. Most of the later really fell on Carmina, who had some boxes and a small hovel of art supplies we packed up and took to Tene with us; Cade only recently having settled into a room in the tavern. Everyone else had already taken their things and left.

Cade and Flynn knew the plans to torch the buildings once empty. I even had told Furio, a friend of mine above all others, before he decided to return to Prae after having lost faith in me. I had hoped to speak with Carmina but we never saw her and we did meet with Robyn and Franklin the night of, filling them in on the plan and freely letting them take nearly half of which was in the craft hall; anything they felt owed. She after all had made building the village possible. For all the people that came after I owed that woman the most and was heart-broken when she failed to see our vision of a life in Tene but how could I blame her with how quickly this all came about. Her involvement limited in the interactions and conflicts that lead up to this?

Any hate I had for Lucien had simply turned into fear at that point. I was truly terrified of him and his wife whenever I saw them approach the settlement. I had built a nightmare around me, one that had fueled my worst vices. Burning empty husks of buildings might loose me some friendships but it was a risk I was willing to take to bring a measure of peace to my spirit and open to us a new opportunity, outside of the grasp of an organization who caused me such dread.

I hope ma, you can see the situation I was in and how at the end of my rope. Was I being selfish, believing myself to be principal owner and builder of the settlement? Sure, but I had done the majority of the work to see those buildings raised. Prideful for my part in wanting an apology for the assault on me and others within the walls of our own village? Most likely, but for good enough reasons. Did I fail as a leader and put myself before others, most assuredly, but I also feel most people would do the same in the situation I found myself in. I know my heart is heavy with loss but I also feel free from the burdens that caused these vices to take me.

There is a little left to the story as much of the time since Flynn and me have just been held up alone, hiding from the rage that he knew would follow. After the burning of Highfield the Legion and others came armed and sought to recover us from the folk of Teneborough, ending with a fight that left those that granted us sanctuary and supported my actions, dead. We departed, worry remaining would bring more wraith down on the settlement; all of the property taken from Highfield ceased by someone able to work new locks already anyway.

Both Flynn and I turned to Pyrehome to speak with Patricia of the Black Wolves since she had just before the battle offered us terms for a trial. She even made a point of having me promise to construct a chapel in Tene, which I quickly agreed to for my part for not stopping the fire from carrying over to our already under used one in Highfield. I was readily willing to repent for that wrong and return to what I loved most, building.

It became quickly apparent to me after yet another meeting with Lucien, with her looking on, that all this trial would be is an opportunity for this murderer, this thug, to regain some face, no matter how much he insisted it was being done for us to answer to citizens of Highfield, of which he himself has kept us from. Left without anyone to defend us, Lucien after all, seeing to their deaths, Flynn and me now stand truly alone before a mob carefully whispered too; the narrative more easily turned their way when faced with an echo chamber like that; calling us thieves and criminals. I slighted the Legion, burnt buildings that I had built and for that I am to be put to death.

Ma, I even made an offer during this meeting to make restitution to anyone that felt wronged in Highfield (like we had planned to in the first place) but he clearly knew we had nothing left to offer, after seeing ceased what little we had left from the village; in all honestly, mostly my furniture. He wants us dead, me gone. That is all he ever wanted once I lit that first torch, and he’ll get it if I show up to this mockery of a trial. What is your son to do?

I know what I want to do, run, like I’ve done so many times before. Every nerve screams for me to run off into the mountains, wait for this man to finally implode and take those around him with him. Flynn is all that matters now. Not these people who think I owe them something; so easily willing to abandon us and unwilling to take in the scope of the real threat before them – seeing the husks of buildings as being more important than lives. Our lives and those so pointlessly lost in Teneborough.

If I burn in Hel it will be for those lives , cut short that I played a part in; for those people that saw the reality of the situation brewing here – people willing to put themselves in front of the firing line for what they believed was right.

There will be no solace now; none that we don’t make for ourselves. I’ll carry this rot of my soul for the rest of my days and that is heavier on me than the death that I fear quickly approaching. If we never see each other again, know that I love you. I hope Decus grants me some semblance of mercy but if we all are truly of his creation, it leaves me to wonder what really is in the hearts of men.

Your son,
-Jakell Wormwood
Last edited by Wormwood on December 18th, 2022, 7:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

Re: The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » June 7th, 2021, 1:58 pm

::A figure sits cross legged on a large flat rock looking out over the Pearl Sea, his back to another rock. Jakell regards the morning sun as it crests over the rough waves blowing in from the east, a hand pinning down a piece of parchment that rested atop a wide plank turned dried out driftwood – perhaps from some long-forgotten shipwreck. The capped ink well tucked behind an overstuffed backpack, ladened with tools and bedding held down by leather strapping.

Ma,

I made my choice. Flynn and me are to head up into the mountains to wait out this storm and try to piece together a life. I tried to bribe the templars to get back on the train in rumble pass, but they wouldn’t be bought. And really, I don’t have much back in Greatport to go back to, especially if the Torment has taken the city and region like they said in the papers. If we find a way through the mountains maybe I’ll make my way there with him. I don’t think he’s ever seen a city so large in his life and it would be something to show him around if everything works out.

Both of us are decent hunters, cooks, we know our plants, are both woodsmen – we have all the skills to make it work and the ability to lean on each other for most projects to come.

We have a little cabin set up in a small valley – it’s actually some old foundation that needs new woodwork, a fresh door, but the bones are good. I bought some sheep and a few hardy goats with some coin I had saved up and already have a shelter for them built off one side of the house.

I’m honestly looking forward to the peace and quiet, however hard it’s going to be. I just hope we don’t end up driving each other mad. He’s going to learn to love chess, so help me.

This province draws the self-righteous and entitled and the more time I give my thoughts, the less and less I feel like I owe anyone anything here and the more at peace I am at, having burnt my creation. In any case, any reputation I had here has been soiled beyond mending; people have simply lost their minds and I fear won’t ever see my reasoning behind what I did. Others blame deaths on us, when all we did was seek sanctuary from the storm we knew was coming. There is just no energy left in me to change minds and live constantly hounded by people fed lies; by themselves or by others. And I don’t intend to stand around, even if we escape with our lives after whatever shame fest of a trial this would have been – just to see Flynn or myself killed by someone seeking vengeance for a result not to their liking.

It’s time to think small and turn my efforts towards myself and Flynn, our small flock, and whatever happy existence we might have together. As shitty as this has all been I’ve never been so happy to be starting anew with him, distractions gone, ghosts distant and emotions that have since plagued me dead to Eden. Our love and future is all that matters now.

We will face this period of rebirth together, hand in hand – even if I have to be the one to fast ours together.

Your Son,
Jakell Wormwood

Image
((thank you Choop/Carmina for the picture!!!! ::hugs::))
Last edited by Wormwood on December 18th, 2022, 7:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

Re: The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » September 3rd, 2021, 9:34 am

*by the light of candles, wind whipping through the rotting teeth of the world around him,; a young man sitting alone writes*

When I was a child
I didn't hear a single word you said
The things I was afraid of
They were all confined beneath my bed
But the years have been long
And you have taught me well to hide away
The things that I believed in
You've taught me to call them all escapes
I know who you are now
I know who you are
I know who you are now
There before the threshold
I saw a brighter world beyond myself
And in my hour of weakness
You were there to see my courage fail
For the years have been long
And you have taught me well to sit and wait
Planning without acting
Steadily becoming what I hate
I know who you are now
I know who you are
I know who you are now
I have always known you
You have always been there in my mind
But now I understand you
And I will not be part of your designs
I know who I am now
And all that you've made of me
I know who you are now
And I name you my enemy
I know who I am now
I know who I want to be
I want to be more than
This devil inside of me

"Dear Wormwood
Song by The Oh Hellos"

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Qxy7S1oW9fg

Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

Re: The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » December 18th, 2022, 10:01 pm

*balancing himself on an elbow propped on the smooth edge of a table; gnawing on a left thumb, same fist clenched... the young man sits before the light of a propped-up hip lantern, deep in the basement of the newly renovated archives. His sleep deprived green eyes regard the edge worn sheets of paper before him, nervously tapping the ink pen repetitively into the borrowed ink well.

Seeking words.

The less than steady hand moves across to meet the top sheet of paper, bleeding wide a dot of ink before he is able to strike the first letter. Choking up as the simple motion of pen to paper brings him instantly to chest rattling, nearly silent and ugly tears. The red chapped lips pinch tight as he swallows once, exhales the pressure in the flat chest and finally turns his green eyes to the doorless stairwell to check for any signs of life before letting the hand move again.

Knowing in his heart of hearts the searching look wasn't due to a fear of someone seeing him in this state but deep down in hope of finding someone to listen. The warm tears the last thing on his mind at this moment as they continue to seep like water from a spring, deep and endless, speckling the paper and making the ink run in unexpected ways before the basement air can lend to drying it. *

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hey you - whoever might be listening,

I'm not really sure who I'm writing this too anymore or what this journaling will do but maybe it will let me release something that I'm not able too just walking around, playing at being myself.

The emptiness I feel as of late has been soul crushing. I'm not even sure if empty is the word. I can't chase the pressure in my head away. It's not emptiness, resignation? Lack of willpower? Weakness? Actual sin embodied - Hel itself knifing its way through my own head and body, knotting my insides till I'm frozen into inability, suffocating my words and locking my mind in a prison of ice.

I thought returning to Prae might help the aching solitude I faced after Flynn never returned to me but cabin fever holds nothing over the drain and shadow that I find myself existing under here. I expected to be hit with a wave of emotions, regret, fear but nothing could have prepared me for this.

Even my laughter, the jokes I crack read empty and hollow as they escape my lips. They give me peace for a moment before being followed by instant regret and a deep feeling to apologize to the receiver. Nearly always. What do I have to laugh about? What right do I have to happiness anymore?

I have my life; I have the time in front of me - I have nothing else but that meek hope that there might be some kind of future here still. It's fucking maddening to have that hope still. I wish I could chase it away, but I never much liked drinking myself into a stupor - it just leads to more regret in one form or another.

I deserve to feel everything I'm feeling. I don't deserve the peace of escapism.

I'm a fucking coward, I am - but it gives me some comfort to know I'm not willing to chase this way without understanding it. I still don't feel wrong in what I did. I can't remove myself from the pride I felt behind Highfield. It was my child and I grieve it and the good memories I and others shared when that beacon of vision and light was still growing and thriving. I can't distance that emotion, those memories from pride.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________
* the ink pools black on the paper in an odd shaped mark before the words continue, the young man taking a moment to let his mind wander - the pen resuming it's slow scrawl over the page. * ____________________________________________________________________________________________

I remember a sermon in Greatport that stood out to me when I still had my parents and we still went to practice. The robed man spoke of the early days of Eden, the first ten thousand years and the origins surrounding the formal birth of the Decusian Faith as a true religious creed. He went on to say the primitive men that were, were nothing more than directionless husks of flesh and muscle simply existing within the lush landscapes of Eden. While ignorant, they were considered to live, soaking up bliss, for they knew no natural predator, nor sickness, nor suffering.

A cataclysmic event befell Eden and all manners of diabolical creatures sought to inflict pain and suffering upon that of mankind. The most sinister of the these "Ill" were described as powerful creatures whom resembled men but were quite different from them in ways new to the world. These beings were by far the strongest of any creature that roamed the ancient lands, intelligent and cunning and instead of hunting early mankind to extinction, they opted to enslave them instead.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________
* another pause to the pen as the ink wells into a THICK "I" *
__________________________________________________________________________________________________

I... wouldn't be surprised if the "ill" themselves weren't just sin themselves; simply existing within, rotting the early men into a true understanding of their existence, of the real underlying tick of the world and the gift of time given to them. That rotting ugliness that drives men and women to madness in one form or another; to distract them from the real and important virtues that fill us with love and life, meaning.

I feel that rot in me though, tempered by the spark of light that keeps me going - that keeps my heart open, that keeps me forcing out these empty, fucking sad gestures towards people. I'm a fucking fool.

I wish a simple blessing could mend this all but I fear I've let myself open to the rot for far to long. I know my actions resulted in countless people losing themselves to that madness and I hate that something inside me refuses to buckle, to give in, to bend a knee to the hurt, betrayal, mistrust, rage, they might be feeling.

I can't imagine what goes through the minds of those about to burned at the stake. Does this emptiness I'm feeling just finally catch up to them, where they remain bound there, frozen at the scope of the reality they face in front of them - the sense of no way out, the endless tricks the mind plays before the pain of the actual death finds them screaming, reacting to something?

Maybe that is the "Ill" finally freeing the soul from the torment the body and mind brought upon itself over a lifetime of sin and rot and not them. Morbid I know, but I can't help shake the truth I feel behind it.

The burning of buildings aside, of course I feel for the loss that resulted, every loss - any death is a mark on the world, and my soul, and for what it matters, I will never shake that I played a part in those deaths; especially of the people of Tenebrough who so willingly accepted us, me at my lowest. I knew my fleeing to Tenebrough might spark and give reason for others to collect on older vengeances, but I couldn't imagine what would happen that day. It turned my fears and pride upon itself, made my blood run cold - I knew I had stepped over a line that I could never return from, even as distant from the murder I was, forever to be followed by the resulting pain of countless others. My hands had, have blood on them.

If you're reading this and your still filled with rage, vengeance at the time of my continued existence, I hope whatever becomes of me finally does give you some semblance of peace. I could lie to you, bow, beg for your forgiveness but I don't see how that could mend the open wound, that in the end - your mind has to close. Maybe these words help?

Returning to the hills and my little cabin would only freeze and hollow away the little flicker of light I still feel in me. I won't let you have that but I also understand your want of it.

It is all I really have now and it's easily taken should you reach out.

Yours,

Jakell Wormwood





Way Out There - Lord Huron
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAbqaW_xLlQ

I'm a long way from the land that I left
I've been running through life and cruising toward death
If you think that I'm scared you've got me wrong
If you don't know my name, you'll know it now
I belong bodily to the earth
I'm just wearing old bones from those that came first
There are many more flames when mine is gone
They will build me no shrines and sing me no songs

I'm a long way from the one that I loved
I've been tending old flames, lamenting what was
Drifting in a land time forgot
If you think that I've changed, you know me not
I belong bodily to the earth
I'm just wearing old bones from those that came first
I been unraveling since my birth
Gonna wander out there and see what I'm worth

Find me way out there
There's no road that will lead us back
When you follow the strange trails
They will take you who knows where
If I found a way to stay with you tonight
It would only make me late, for a date I can't escape

Find me way out there
There's no road that will lead us back
When you follow the strange trails
They will take you who knows where
If I found a way to stay with you tonight
It would only make me late, for a date I can't escape

Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

Re: The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » December 19th, 2022, 12:02 pm

*a few hours later, the young man wakes up after falling asleep hunched over onto his folded arms, atop the table; grateful for the sleep no matter the new aches in his kinked neck and shoulders.

Lips a little dried from the tears earlier and the general dehydration of his state. He reaches down to find his waterskin empty, regarding it for a moment and the stairs. Something keeps him from leaving the quiet basement as he reignites the small hip lantern with a match and slides another piece of paper from a crude leather ledger, barely more than a cured piece of soft deer hide, wrapped with a strip of the same material. He pulls out a small tin and presses a small wad of accadia tree gum onto the top of the lantern.

The pen follows; ink well uncorked before him as the battered writing implement once again goes to work, laying out his thoughts. *


Graelynn,

Let me first say to you, I'm sorry to be back among you all here in Praesidum. Word of my presence can't be easy and I'm also sorry that you're learning it second hand. I've only been in the fort a couple days now, maybe a week? The days sort of blend together when your keeping low and trying to get caught up with the flow of things in Prae. I've spent most of it here down in the new archives reading through the news editions, old and new. Trying to glimmer out any information that might help me, us - the state of things. I've avoided most people because of this but recently got swept up by souls wishing to help or meddle. I'm not quite sure yet but I am thankful that people that have never met me care enough to help, even if it's not for me but you and the others that still are struggling with what is. I'm unsure though if this is what is best.

I'll try not to make assumptions of what you're feeling. I've heard very little yet beyond that you still hold me in detest. It might be hard for me to tread that though in this letter, so again, I apologize if I say something that irritates things even further. I hope your willing and able to give me clarification if that happens, but I also understand if that's not something you think I'm owed.

My first thoughts are to put these words to paper rather than speak, in person. You already know I sometimes struggle to find words on the spot when things become heated, stressful. And as a coward, because clearly, I am one... I do these things I believe because I feel backed into a corner, even if it is one of my own making.

I would imagine this following apology matters little now but I'll speak it none the less. I know I tried to apologize for it back when it happened, but you saw threw me and looking back even I knew my words were empty with how I acted following them. Those attempts to keep you among us in Highfield and the failure written in red letters across my forehead should have been clear as day to me. I didn't have a chance in high Hel to sway you without taking the actions you suggested, and you made that very clear, but I was blinded by pride, anger, ill.

I loved Vera and never forgave Lucien for taking her in a way I was only beginning to feel; back before any of us joined the First Torian, before Highfield was even a glimmer of thought somewhere in the back of my mind. I considered them both friends up until that beating in the Grasshopper, but the rot inside me, the jealously, the envy, the feeling of being second, of being cheated of my chance to prove my love to her, before he pushed into our world. It was maddening. I couldn't let it go that she chose him, his attraction, his strength, his brutalness won out over me.

You were right back in Highfield.

You were right to side with the married couple. My history aside with them I overstepped myself, froze, fell into my vices and then got angry when I, and my lover, rest his soul, was beaten for it. You were right, I should have stepped down as Reeve of Highfield, maybe even passed leadership off to another Legionnaire, you, or someone else at that time that the village could come together on agreement with. I was unable to due this, and it just led to everything that followed. But you know all this and now retelling it just feels hollow and again pointless like I mentioned above.

I hope Highfield did bring you some joy and sense of safety in the time we did share together. I truly enjoyed, loved, your presence there and at the time saw a future together and a friendship that could have lasted. Although you came to us with shadows chasing you, I'm still glad I took the chance and opened the doors. I know this might be a regret of yours now, but I wanted you to know that.

Now what I don't think I'm going out on a limb for - your sister, Josephine and what happened in Tenebrough.

My mind is holey cheese after the solitude up in the hills without anyone, but I hope I had enough sense before I ran from everyone here to have expressed by condolences for her loss to you and yours. I think I did, I'm pretty sure at least but I'm also sure at the time it likely rang empty with how you felt. I wish I had at that moment the energy and will to write a letter like this. But I also think I was still bound up by my own demons and fear to express this with any semblance of meaning. I hope time allows you step back and read these words of a fool with even a measure of compassion but again, I understand if you don't think I am owed even that after the death of her.

This may not help my situation or our relationship (and it may flat out condem me to Hel in your eyes), but I want you know I was aware what fleeing with Flynn to Tenebrough might do and how it could have enflamed the situation even more then the burning of Highfield ever could have. I don't know if you knew, assuming you do by now though, that Rentaus reportedly put a hit out on Vera in the early days of us being in Prae, coming down from the Rumbling Pass. He was apparently put off by the low prices she charged for her copper tools. This is all going on the word of Vera, which whom I imagine you trust as even after all this - I still do. Word got out, the situation was handled by her and the hitman - things quieted down and I don't think there was anything more too it other than my knowledge that Lucien made it clear that given the chance he would still bring Mr. Rentaus' head and place it before her.

With knowing this, I still made the move for Tenebrough. I want you to know however that it truly was the only place I felt safe within the valley at that moment. I had seen people dragged out of Prae with rope around their necks to be murdered outside of its walls for lesser slights and I felt no other ties to organizations in the valley other then maybe the Wolves, which at that point clearly were acting as wardens in word and deed towards us. I hoped and saw maybe something of a future there and maybe I could make a difference given enough time to collect myself - no matter the odd ally I sought to make among that assembly.

That night when it all happened my blood ran cold, I couldn't have prepared myself for that battle as I hid within a cabin, watching it, proving myself again a coward. If it's not clear, I think I did this to try to goad Lucien into a conflict but again, I never expected it to turn into what it did. It was absolutely horrific how quickly things spun out of control.

I imagine you think, especially now, the blood of your sister is on my hands, even though I was absent from that battle, and I can't fault you for it. I feel her loss, the loss of every man and woman that day and I fear my soul will forever be tainted by each death. I'm not sure how I can atone for my part in it or even if it's possible. I can't fathom what she meant to you, knowing only the times she entered Highfield to share a drink and time with us. I try to put myself in your shoes, if it was one of my older brothers that died due to the resulting actions of a former friend, but I fail to grasp at anything of substance to say to you.

I think my only hope is you would take the time to sit with me and tell me what she meant to you. I need and deserve to hear what was taken from you. I think I owe you that and more. I hope you can sense my sincerity behind these words; as selfish as I have proven myself there is very real grief behind what happened and the pain I have caused you and others. Please, grant me this conversation if you are able to find it within you.

I struggle to think of anything else I can offer you beyond a measure of vengeance in whatever form that takes. If this is all that is left to you however, I think I may understand. There is a hollowness to me after all this, that has only eaten away at my soul and the little light within. I struggle to find anything to fill it.

Again, I'm sorry if I have made any assumptions but you now have my thoughts.

I wish you peace,

Jakell Wormwood


*The young man folds the letter and seals it with the small wad of melting acadia tree gum, now heated up by the little lantern. Producing a small, finely made throwing dagger from deep within the heavy backpack at his feet, Jakell pushes the flat of the pommel into the wax and upon pulling it away you can see the crude shape of a grasshopper become more visible as the gummy sap hardens.

He holds onto the letter for the proper time and place.*

Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

Re: The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » December 20th, 2022, 12:31 pm

*The night following the letter to Grae, in a different part of Praesidium but under the light from the same hip lantern, Jakell continues his writing, taking another sheet of paper and pressing it flat. He stops from time to time to pinch his nose, pondering words and to listen to that tightness in his chest that ebs and flows like waves crashing into rocks along the eastern shores of his home*

Viola,

I know we never got a chance to know each other well and as poor as my memory is, I don’t remember if I was able to express to you, before I vanished, my regret in the part I played with what happened in your home of Tenebrough. There is no excuse for how long you had to wait for this apology.

I was, and still am, humbled that Mister Rentaus and the assembly chose to listen to my accounting of what I was facing at the time and agreed to take us in after I so recklessly set fire to Highfield. We didn’t deserve the sanctuary of your home, but I want you to know that Tenebrough for us at the time was the only place we felt safe in all of Praesidium Valley.

However, this may condemn me in your eyes - I did know that in fleeing with Flynn to Tenebrough might have given cause for other parties to collect on older vengeances I thought I had understanding of. As a result, I had and still have blood on my hands - and I won’t ever be able to shake that shadow looming over my soul or expect others to see me without it. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened that day; I could never have envisioned the extent of what my pride, jealousy, fear would help cause. My blood is still cold and the light left in me less because of it.

If I can do anything - I am at your beck and call, at the time of your choosing. I would be humbled however to sit with you and at the very least, if you wish no word from me, to listen to what pain I have caused you, and let you recount what you have lost. I can promise you I will listen to every word and remember them for the rest of my life.

I don’t know if everything I say rings empty to you; If I was in your shoes I wouldn’t be surprised. If you want nothing to do with me I also understand and I hope whatever becomes of me brings you some measure of peace.

Yours,

Jakell Wormwood


P.S. - Again, I don’t deserve the aid but if you're willing I would like to write letters to anyone still around from Tenebrough but I fear I don’t have much time left to do so. Your assistance in providing names and places I could reach them with letters would be priceless to me so I could have that opportunity.



*folding and sealing the letter with yet more of the gummy sap, he presses the pommel of the knife into the gray wad, leaving the imprint of a grasshopper - the letter is kept close to him for the right time and place of delivery*

Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

Re: The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » December 20th, 2022, 2:12 pm

*More tears follow as Jakell continues an hour later, writing on the back of another drafted letter he never intended to send. A piece of faded black material wrapped around his left hand, as he writes with his right. From time to time the left-hand lifts and presses into his face, the first tears leading into a constant pressure behind the eyes as they well wet up without release, his hawkish nose remaining stuffy. *

Flynn,

I’m not sure why I’m writing this to you but if there is a chance you’ll see it where you are I’m just going to do it.

I’m sorry I never got to say these words to you, and I can’t express how shitty I feel that our last conversation was an argument. I'm heartbroken that, that denial probaly read as judgement, or maybe cowardice?; I was still so empty. I hope you understand that, especially now.

Knowing what I know now I shouldn’t have turned you away, you were right. I’m hoping for some miracle but I don’t deserve it. Fool’s meet their end in one way or another.


*smells the black bandana through the stuffy nose, hoping for some fraction of scent left too it, but finds none*

I’ve read the paper recently that reported on it and heard the stories of what happened. I wish I was there with you, it would have been right. I cheated you out of that, and myself, and now I’m going to die alone here without you.

*his eyes returning once again to full blown tears, sobbing and unable to write for many long minutes until he’s able to gather himself*

She told me where you lie now and I have your stupid bandana. I keep it close to my heart when I’m not crying into it. She knows I want to be with you, as much as I can be when it does happen. You deserved so much better than me but I’m thankful for the time I was given, you stood by me until you couldn’t and I’m glad to know you started to make a life again.

May you be beyond such shit where you are. That these words echo into the void and don’t find you - I don’t want you to feel any pain and I hope you can’t watch what is happening to me.

I hope the love that I felt for you still radiates somewhere and that is all that is left to you, if and when you think of me. I don’t think we believed the same things but if there is any good in this Eden and the beyond I hope we get the chance to touch each other again.

My love always and forever my tortured grasshopper,

Jakell Lily Wormwood


*Upon finishing he takes the letter and the black piece of cloth, wrapping it around the parchment and then tucking it back into his inner pocket of his jerkin, nearest to his heart. Quietly sobbing still he climbs into the small bed and pulls the woolen blanket over himself, letting the lantern burn out on it's own*

Wormwood
Posts: 91
Character: Jakell Wormwood

Re: The Legacy of Jakell Wormwood

Post by Wormwood » December 25th, 2022, 10:28 am

*Jakell, a rough blanket about his shoulders, takes another sheet of paper and lays it on the table in front of him. The pen lifts and he begins to write again, this new morning.

The dawn is just breaking; that dim warmlessness of winter sunlight touching his back and filling the room with enough of a glow to do his work. This would be the first letter to be written not within the confines of a windowless room and if anyone could see him now it would be hard to deny the soft glow that rests on his face even though his brow is pinched in a measure of thought as he writes.*



Furio,

I recently learned we share a wall now; it might not be four but I thought it was right of me to address you seeing as we will likely cross paths soon. You know I struggle sometimes with relaying my thoughts when I’m caught in a corner (even of my own making) so I think putting them to paper here might help that first encounter when it comes; so you can have some measure of where my head is before we even engage - if that is even something you still want after all that happened.

I walked away from everyone, your advice, from Grae’s and allowed my issues with Vera, my jealousy and fear of Lucien, my pride for my vision of Highfield and the work I put into it to cloud everything, every judgment, or lack thereof that followed.

I let it all drive me mad. And while everything I do now makes me assume it just dredges up more hurt - I do think some of those concerns I had, of whom might take over leadership of the village when I allowed that vote, or stepped down - still stand. I can explain more if it’s something you're left questioning, but if not, if you’ve put that ugliness behind you or if it all rings empty now, I understand.

Everything in my bones still screams at me for taking it where I did though. I couldn’t have imagined what the burning of those buildings would have led to in Tene and the loss so many people now feel; it made my blood run cold and that state still haunts me. That loss I can never shake from my soul, and like I’ve told others, that light inside me is less because of it.

You were one of my closest friends in the First Province, buddy. I still ache to think what would have happened if you followed us into the First Torian, or took up my offer to really throw in and settle in Highfield with us. I know I would have felt safer, less alone - but you made it clear you needed to take your own path and I was still grateful for the friendship we were able to maintain from a distance.

Part of me thinks you saw this all coming - knew I was a firecracker ready to explode and light everything around himself so that is why you kept your distance. There was always that wisdom in your eyes - a wisdom in the end I failed to allow in and temper my rage and actions. I cannot apologize enough for that.

Everything aside I am still so very thankful that you took us both in back in those early days, saw a need and so readily offered your support and friendship to both Vera and me. That time the three of us spent together in that cottage near the bank was still when things felt right; the simple day to day, meal to meal living - no matter what meat you forced us to try. I felt safe around you.

I’ve been told you're still very angry at me and I’m not here to beg for that to stop - you deserve to be angry but I think you understand how dead I already am and that is just a matter of time before someone comes to collect what they feel owed from my hide.

If you want to say anything, ask anything of me before it is done - now is your time. I’m just the next door over. I welcome a knock or a letter but again understand if you simply want to keep me a memory.

Yours,

Jakell Lily Wormwood


*a small bed frame stands behind him but his green eyes trail across the small room to a pile of furs, blankets and the bed’s mattress spread out under them, while he folds and again stamps the letter with the little dagger pommel and a bead of gummy acaia tree sap. Something shifts among the pile and he sits there until it goes still; taking the moment and opportunity to rub his eyes with both hands, cupping his chin.

Picking up the letter, stepping over his boots, the young man quietly gets up and slips into the hallway, opening the lock and door with care, so as to not disturb the other soul in the room.

The letter finds itself a new home a moment later, pushed under the bottom of the door, just down that same hallway - just a few feet away, and Jakell once again musters his stealth to slip into his own little nest, unable to avoid this time a creak from the door as he pulls it closed and clicks the lock tumblers back into place*

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