Topic: Remembrance Day - Wall of Memories

Ebon Ilnaren

Date: 2015-08-18 21:09 EST
A long tent sprang up in the plaza in front of the Rhy'din Town Hall. Within it could be heard muffled sounds of building, of stones being shaped and mortar being scraped. Sounds of a wall rising.

It would be ready in a week, just in time.



((OOC: Use this thread to have your characters post mementos, keepsakes, and images that signify friends and loved ones they have lost, to death or simply to time. Images, short anecdotes, even links to profiles or old posts....all are acceptable. I'll edit the text above as we get closer to the actual Remembrance Day, 8/26.))

PrlUnicorn

Date: 2015-08-27 08:18 EST
She'd planned on making the trek with the family, but some things were better done alone. Remembrance Day was almost at its end when Colleen left what look like the bits and pieces that others had left behind. Among the photographs and other souvenirs, she placed a piece of indigo fabric. Attached to the fabric were what looked like two locks of baby fine red hair, a miniature bottle of Jameson's whiskey, a tin box filled with cinnamon toothpicks, and a koala pendant that had been purchased years before on a trip to Perth. It wasn't just a remembrance, but a message. She knew what it meant to her, but what would it mean to the one it had been left for?

http://cfc.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/.sig/fklO3lOxI61UQToj4nqw/cid/174678880/id/cuOr2LVM5RG0xdpAMFeNdw/size/c600x749.jpg

Olivia Storm

Date: 2015-08-27 14:13 EST
Peggy Carter had never been to Rhy'Din, but someone on Rhy'Din remembered her. Liv had never lost anyone before, not until Peggy's gentle departure a few months ago. She had never had cause to take part in Remembrance Day here on Rhy'Din, not until now.

She walked along the wall, looking at the memories left behind by others who had chosen to remember here where everyone could see those memories, even if they had no idea what they meant. A trinket here, a note there - she had never seen such an accumulation of love in one place, or felt that she was not alone in the ever-present ache of loss that accompanied every thought of her great-aunt.

Drawing her thoughts together, she drew from her bag a small square of quilted material - her first attempt at anything like it, and something she knew Peggy would have encouraged her in learning. The material was soft jersey, the same as the little quilt Peggy herself had made and had been given to Liv to remember her by, and across the square was a very simply embroidered name, Peggy. She pinned it to the wall carefully, stepping back with a smile to see that beloved name gathered amidst the memories of so many loved ones.

"I miss you," she whispered softly, a sentiment she had not really dared to share with a husband who missed the old woman almost more than she herself did. "If our baby is a girl ....there's no other name we could give her. She won't be Peggy, but she will be Margaret. And we'll make sure our children know how wonderful you were. I promise."

AoifeDuggan

Date: 2015-08-27 22:30 EST
A wallflower bloomed in the light of midday. There was no garden here to keep her safe, but she didn't need it. It was unclear how long she'd been standing there, just a bit and across the way of a wall of stones. She'd passed by it several times during construction the week prior, slowing her steps to read the sign until she had the words memorized. They stacked up like towers and spilled over when she drifted away.

A song ached within her chest, notes trapped in her throat. She couldn't breathe. A sway carried her forward to toes then back to heels. Forward and back. Caught within a tight curl of small fingers in front of her was the strap to a pair of Sons of Ether-made Information Scopes. There was a red ribbon tied in the prettiest of bows next to the empty left eye. Three couples, a hot dog stand, four bikes, a dog, and a horde of dragon hatchlings swept by before she stepped forward and into the past.

She paused an arm's length away taking in one last breath to hold. To her left there were nothing but ghosts. To the right, a man holding a blue frosted cupcake, his head bowed in silence. Aoife looked down, squinting against the glare of the sun reflecting off glass lenses. She tucked her head low and brought the strap to her nose. His smell had long since faded.

There was no shame for the tears wet the lens surface. She crouched low and set the goggles on the ground at the base of a stone. Someone had carved a circle there framing the initials within. She reached out to trace them, smiling.

"A kiss to build a dream on."

She stood, backed up three steps, and walked away.

Mach

Date: 2015-08-28 14:36 EST
Mach had passed by the wall a number of times during the prior weeks, a pause taken here and there as blue eyes blue would tick over the progress of the construction or the growing number of trinkets attached to it. He thought it was such a small monument for such a large task, but then not everyone had had to deal with loss nor felt compelled to share such loss for the public eye. Honestly he himself did not feel much interest to do such despite the overwhelming amount of loss he had seen come to pass in his limited time. He was a soldier, and the death of your comrades was nothing new and something simply to be carried and drank to. And even then, there were far more impressive monuments to fallen soldier back at his home though he never visited such sites either.

And so he made no point to add anything to this wall even though there were more than a few of his fellow hunters interned to ground in his land. He would remember them himself in the way hunters tended to: take a drink of good liquor on their behalf, a drag from a fine cigarette, enjoy the touch and the warmth of his lover while he still could. He would live well enjoying the world that the dead could no longer participate in, and when his time came to pass the next hunter would do the same. This was very much his intent....until he saw Melody at the wall one day, placing flowers for a small memorial. Upon investigation later when the woman wasn't there he found the little vase and plaque dedicated to Orwell "Shark? Danub. It was a poignant revelation that left the schmooze pensive as he left that day.

The wall wasn't for people like him, for those so inundated with death and loss who were almost numb to the whole sad affair. It was for those that such idiots never considered, for the friends and loved ones left behind where a memorial was not some remembrance of a group of fallen comrades....but one or two faces that meant so much more. Mach almost felt guilty when he considered this, the dismissal he had held for such monuments. Maybe it was simply because he lived a life fraught with danger or the ever present loom of his own demise that had blinded him to such a simple fact. Or maybe it was his own attempts to avoid such ill topics that had done such the same.

And so on a evening when no one was looking the schmooze added his own little trinket to the wall: a U.T.R.A. Hunters Corp badge removed from his service uniform and placed with the memorial for Shark. It was a simple gesture but one perhaps that the woman, or anyone visiting the memorial would understand: that he, all of them, died in service and to duty no matter how daft or stupid it may well have been. As for himself he still found no connection to the memorial, no need to remember or reminisce upon the dead when he looked upon it. It was simply a wall of sorrow for those left to remember, a place not for folks like him. But maybe....just maybe he liked to fancy that someone may be remembering him upon such a memorial one day, that the cold letters of his name would dredge up warm and sad memories for someone, stir the hearts of those whom he left behind, and bring them some fraction of comfort he could no longer provide. Maybe it wouldn't....but he felt he shouldn't close such a possibility of relief for anyone regardless.

Lighting a cigarette as an incense he'd place it to burn before wandering off to go live the fragile life he felt just a little more blessed to have; and, likely, never to look upon this memorial again.

NorseLady

Date: 2015-08-29 02:54 EST
Shy has lost several people during the decades spent in RhyDin. Those from her homeland, and of her family, were given appropriate send-offs according to the ways of the Norse. The others met during her time in the putrid land, and who are now gone (for whatever reason), have always been remembered in her heart and mind. Their memories continue to be kept close, just like those of her family. Nei, she has not forgotten any of them.

Every year since his death Shy has placed flowers upon his grave on Remembrance Day. Now that a wall has been erected, she feels the need to attach an item amongst the objects that have been lovingly left there. Perhaps it shall seem odd, that bullet casing, but it is what it is.

She could have killed him on that sunny morning when he tried to teach her how to use his favoured weapon, and nearly had. Ja, she accidentally shot him in his shoulder. That day is vividly etched in her memory, and she still feels the guilt even though he forgave her for her carelessness when handling the rifle.

Tragically, he died before they were wed. But not by her hand.

Her thoughts move to the good times they shared, and it has her smiling. She whispers his name, "Mister Thorpe ....Eel-eye-ja." Unable to say more.

(link is to the profile)

Alisha Wygant

Date: 2015-08-29 11:26 EST
Thud!

Landing flat on her back, as per the norm, was something she ought to be accustomed to. But it still hurt like hell and knocked the wind out of her. Out of all of the missions that Mr. A sent her on, this was the most cryptic. And as she lay there, catching her breath, she thought about what he'd said.

"Take this," a photo was thrust into her hands. "You'll have an hour to figure out what you're to do with it."

Reaching into the pocket of her drawstring trousers, she held the photo up so that she could get a look at what Mr. A had given her. A small crease formed between her brows as she instantly recognized a photo of her father. "The hell am I to do with this?" she muttered.

Putting the photo back into her pocket, Alisha sat up and glanced around. So she was here, again. No time to see family, friends or Thomas. She had to figure out what Mr. A was up to and do his bidding. The thought of failure brought a shudder to her spine and without thought rubbed her back. She'd only been lashed the one time, but it was enough to make her do anything to avoid that punishment.

Getting up, she strode towards the tent. Surely this is why Mr. A had put her down at this exact time or place. He could have sent her anywhere in the multiverse at any time. It made meeting Lyall awkward and strange because Mr. A did the same to Lyall as he did with Alisha. Together, father and daughter did Mr. A's searching and retrieving. Together, but never on the same mission at the same time. And the longer she thought about it, the more confused she grew.

The shade from the tent was a blessed relief from the hot summer sun. But she really didn't notice the heat, nor the shade once she began to look at and read about the items that were already up on the wall. Idly, she let her hand reach to gently touch the small notes, figurines and quilted pieces left by loved ones to remember their beloved family, friends and lovers that had either passed away or passed on to another realm.

Mr. A must have a heart, she thought sardonically. Finding a blank spot on the wall, Alisha placed the photo of Lyall against the board and then secured him with a pin. She smiled and touched his face. He was the father she never knew, yet was slowly getting to know. His death hadn't put up the barrier of stopped time. Not for them.

Little memories flooded back. Memories that had only recently began to exist. On a bench waiting for the school bus, he told her the story of the princess and Prince Thomas who would wait. In a class room where she poured her heart out about a crush who'd broken her teenaged heart. And even as recent as college, a professor who seemed keen on making sure that his girl was well.

It surprised her to find tears upon her cheek as she stepped back and gazed into the photo of Lyall British. "See you soon, Pa-Pa."

BEEP

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LauriEmpress

Date: 2015-09-03 18:42 EST
Zhuo quietly slipped beneath the shade of the tent. Finding some free space she gently removed a small statue of a black cat with strange eyes from her sack, and placed it on the table. Her eyes misted a bit as she did. Anduin. He had begged her not to follow, promised he'd come back, but that was more than ten years ago. She couldn't quit hoping he'd come back through the door one day, but she had stopped expecting it.

A scrap of leather with the name Fayalki was placed next to the statue. She knew it might blow away, but she would let the wind take it where it would. She thought he might like it that way.

She hesitated longest over the last piece. She did not know if Ariana was gone, or she just hadn't been able to find her yet. So much time had passed. Finally she took out a bone china tea cup with the woman's name on it. If she was alive and still in Rhydin, perhaps she'd see it and wonder why it was left. Who knew.

Billie Barlow

Date: 2015-09-03 20:15 EST
Billie found herself coming upon the memorial wall quiet literally by accident. in her quest to find answer as to her feelings concerning one Levi Clark, Billie inadvertently took a wrong (or right) turn and ended up looking as the wall with bewildered eyes. It took her a moment to comprehend what it was, the instant she did however, fingers lifted to the locket about her neck.

Carefully prying it open she looked upon the miniature image of herself, Mark and Levi, taken the last summer they were all together before Levi departed. The opposite side sat the tiny image of the woman she never knew. Her Mother. Anyone that didn't know might have mistaken it for a picture of Billie, the likeness she shared with her mother was astoundingly similar. Melody had been her name, one that seemed fitting as she was said to have been the song-bird of the circuit. Rumor was she'd had a blossoming career as an Oprah singer until she met and fell in love with Billie's father.

She still didn't know how her Mother had died, only that she had. It was something no one would talk about as if to speak of it might somehow curse the living.

"Mom...I know that we never had that much time together, and I have no memories of my own making that come to mind when I think of you, only stories told me by Mark....Billie Bee he said is what you used to call me. You'd be soooo proud of Mark, he's handsome and smart and....he's taken good care of me Mom, real good over the years. Pops told me everything you went through to get him, cause you thought you couldn't have kids, not till I came along. I think he's the best thing you ever did, cause I can't imagine what kind of a person I'd be without him."

The sun was starting to set and they were planning a cook-out at the glen which brought her to the next thing she wanted to say.

"I know you remember Levi, Levi Clark...well, he went off and became a lawyer, just so he could be there for the whole family. Ma, he's so smart....and....there has always been something about him I was never able to shake from my thoughts. No matter where I went or what I was doing, I always thought about him...wondering how he was doing, if he was happy...He's a good man Ma, a real good man. How do you know when you're in love..?"

There was a moment when she thought to leave the locket, but she'd have been no more able to part with it than her left arm.

"You don't have too much longer to wait Ma.....then you won't be alone anymore.." fat tears fell from unblinking eyes, she knew it wouldn't be long before she returned to bid her father a final farewell also. Slowly Billie turned, making her way in the dimming light back the way she had come; at least she thought it was the way she had come.

Bailey Raptis

Date: 2015-09-04 12:43 EST
I went down to the Remembrance Day wall early in the morning that Wednesday, just as the sun was starting to poke its head over the eastern horizon. I went early in part because I knew there would not be time during the work day to sneak out and visit, but I also went early because I did not want to see anybody there. I was not sure how I would react, with my fallen family in the forefront of my thoughts. Would I weep uncontrollably, the sobs wracking my body and my eyes burning red with tears" Or would I rage at Those who took them away from me, my anger a flame with no target but the wall itself" If my emotions were to erupt to the surface, better for me to be alone than a crowd of strangers, each of them grieving or remembering in their own way.

Unfortunately, when I finally made the trip over to the Rhydin Town Hall, I was not alone. There was a tall, thin elf in beat-up leather armor already standing in front of the wall. I stared at his back, wondering if I should just turn around and head over to work early. I thought it over for a moment, then, with a sigh, I approached the wall myself.

He did not turn to look at me as I stepped forward, his attention rapt on a heraldic shield that had already been hung from the stone. The diamond-shaped coat of arms had a midnight blue background. A quartet of gold crucifix-shaped stars originated (or did they terminate") from the diamond's points. Cutting across the rest of the shield was an X made out of five and six-pointed stars — the six-pointed stars were on the edges of the coat of arms, while the five-pointed stars were in the center. With his attention firmly on the escutcheon, I was able to look him over without him noticing. Up close, I could see how old and weathered he really was. A good chunk of his left ear had been torn off — or sliced off. It was difficult to tell what sort of blade or teeth might have left the jagged scars on what remained of his earlobe. A long, red, angry line traced a path down his right cheek, from his temple to the middle of his jaw. Elsewhere, his skin was wrinkled and creased, his hair shoulder-length, straight, and gray. I could not help but let my jaw drop some. I am well aware that many elves live hundreds, if not thousands, of years longer than humans, but I could not even begin to imagine how long this man had lived to actually look as old as an elderly human.

I must have stared at him too long, because eventually he turned towards me, catching me in the act of gaping. I could feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but instead of scowling or scolding me, he just smiled, and I could feel my heart ache. He reminds me so much of Fletcher. "You're here awfully early," he said to me in a quiet, silvery baritone.

"Yes, well...I have work early, and I will likely not be able to get out until much later in the day?"

"When it'll be busier." He finished my sentence with another smile, this one smaller and more sympathetic.

"Yes."

"I get it. Who're you here for?"

"That's?" I probably should not have been so surprised by it, but the speed with which he moved from simple pleasantries towards the complexity of grief threw me off.

"Personal" Private?" He began attempting to fill in the blanks I had left when I trailed off, but I shook my head at each of his suggestions.

"It is not that, it is...I do not know. Complicated?" I cocked my head at him, curious what his reaction would be.

"Mourning is. And it never really goes away, that feeling. That sadness. Trust me, I should know." Yet again, he smiled, but this time, sadness etched its way across his features.

"...Tell me who you are here for?" I tossed the question out there, tentative, hesitant.

"My old adventuring party," he replied, with a laugh and a shrug. "Well, one of them. I've lost track of how many I've been a part of, even in the centuries before you were born. But this was the one I spent the most time with. Thirty years, I think" Maybe forty. One of the few groups I joined where we all made it to old age without a single one of us dying in the field. We don't really have a retirement home, us dungeon crawlers. Things usually end for us six feet under, or disintegrated by dragon's breath, or exiled to some godforsaken hell dimension, or...you get the picture."

"But they died?" I furrowed my brow, as I tried to follow his story.

"Of old age. Some older than others, but all having lived long, fulfilling lives. Marrying, having children, their children having children, etc. etc. I see some of their descendents, once in a great while, but it's not the same. I'm just some legend passed down to them for a couple hundred years, not a person." He shrugged again. "It's bittersweet, you know?"

"I'm sorry?" I still was not following him completely.

"Living as long as I have. I was warned by my parents when I left my village, "You will find nothing but misery and pain in the world of the humans." But it's all been worth it. The pain. I've had more friends than I could possibly count, even if you gave me another lifetime to do so. If the price of that is mourning more than any of the elves from home, I'd still say it's worth it. I'd do it all over again."

I nodded to him, then inched closer to the wall, reaching into my pocket for the reason I was here. I had gone to a WestEnd drug store that still developed camera film, and gave them some negatives I had from the old days to reprint. I had one of those photographs in hand now, and tried my best to wedge it in between stones so that it would not fall to the ground.

"Who're they?" The elf apparently had not left, and was now looking over my shoulder at the picture. It was a standard group shot, taken in front of the bell tower of Our Lady of Perpetual Misery. Fletcher and Lyeorn stood in the center row, the former dressed in overalls, the latter in his usual drab gray tunic and black breeches. In the back, towering over the rest of us, stood Boris. He wore a short-sleeved desert camouflage shirt with black trousers and boots, and had his hair cropped short to keep with the military style, although the ring through his nostrils was unlikely to pass muster with most armies. He was the only one of us not smiling in the picture, and his sunburnt arms were folded across his chest. A younger, teenaged version of myself stood in the front row, dressed in ripped jeans and a pink striped peasant top. My face was heavily made-up in shades of blue and black, and I had pulled my hair back into a ponytail. To my right stood Kass, wearing a red and black plaid flannel shirt, black jeans and sneakers. Her hair was orangeish-red with white skunk stripes and just barely covered her ears. Right before the photographer took the picture, she had thrown her arm over my shoulder and laughed, her mouth wide open as the shutter fired. Her bushy red-white fox's tail had swished, and was just about to strike me in the thigh when the moment was frozen in time. I cannot remember smiling as widely as I was right then and there.

I tried to answer the elf's question, but my voice stuck in my throat, and all I could do was try to swallow that lump down. I tried again, but that lump just would not go away, and the only noise I could make was a meek sniffle. I felt him rest a calloused hand on my shoulder, and my eyes burned. Oh, how I wish you were Fletcher. I slammed my eyelids shut, coughing as I tried to clear my throat. "It's...it is my family. My...friends."

The elf patted me once, then pulled back. "I'll leave you to it, then." I heard his footsteps begin to echo on the cobblestoned sidewalk, and I opened my eyes slowly. Before he could get too far away, I turned around and called out to him. "Hey!" He stopped and pivoted to face me again. I looked him over for a second, then smiled. "Diola lle."

"Lle creoso,? he replied, his accent now singsong in his native tongue. He doffed an imaginary cap to me, about-faced, and went on his way. I pressed my forehead against the cool stone and waited until the heat dissipated from my eyes.