Eye of the Beholder

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Zombie Turtle, Dec 7, 2014.

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  1. Paradise:
    an ideal or idyllic place or state.

    The problem with the idea of paradise is simple: no two people will have the same ideal in their mind. It is an unachievable construct; something to strive for, and never reach.

    Sometime in the early months of 2074 somebody reached that unattainable goal. He achieved his paradise. A small world that bent to his will. Thoughts of rebellion and individuality were wiped from the populace, and each new generation is molded to the standard at birth. Where Russia once stood proudly, now a quiet, peaceful nation with a dark secret stands stoically, isolated from the rest of the world and answering only to one man; the man known solely as the Patriarch.
    Xanadu stretched across what the rest of the world still considered Eastern Europe, the Patriarch had done his best to mold the people and the land into his ideal of paradise. Murder and violence was nonexistent, but so was independent thought and freedom. The civilized world would have probably been irate had they known the measures he had taken to do these things, but it mattered not. They were not allowed within the borders of Xanadu, and it would stay that way.

    Journalists knew there was something there. Each curious reporter strove for the notoriety that would come with cracking the secret. It was a widespread belief that every group that had attempted entrance into Xanadu had been discovered at the border by men and women who seemed to have no qualms about following orders, nor any curiosity about the world beyond those imaginary lines. Of course, the soldiers' complete apathy only served to further intrigue those who insisted on finding out what was going on behind the closed borders of that mysterious, and relatively new country. Though a few of the more adventurous types had never returned from their journey.

    Winters were always harsh, but every town that Rowan had encountered in his travels had been abandoned, and the boasted adequate shelter. It really was lucky that nobody was around, he didn't have anyway to compensate for shelter. Rowan had been left on his own since he was barely a teenager. His parents leaving with a group of armed men and women when their camp had been discovered. They had just enough time to hide him before the troops had swooped in and snatched them away. Neither his mother, nor his father fought back, or argued; instead they left peacefully. Willingly abandoning the son they had worked so hard to protect.

    Mikhail and Nonna Blokav had been trying to exit the Xanadu for years; since Nonna first discovered her pregnancy. They had not been entirely forthcoming with how they had slid past the vast wards guarding the border, thinking that Rowan would be in their protection long enough for them to feed him a bit of information throughout the years. Unfortunately, it hadn't happened that way, and Rowan was left alone, and scared with barely enough know how to keep himself alive.

    Rowan knew enough that he never stayed in one place too long, and he tried to avoid nearing the country's center, where the general populace resided, but he was getting really tired of simply surviving. He slowed his gait as he approached an ancient sign, reading 'Donestsk; 50,098'. He let out an audible growl, and ran hands through the tangled mess of thick, dark blonde hair that hung around his face. He had been in Donestsk roughly two seasons before, so he knew the best places to find fabrics, and make camp, but it also meant that he had been walking in circles.

    Angry did not even begin to cover the emotion that had been building inside of him for almost fifteen years. He was angry at his parents for not wanting to take him with them, he was angry with the border patrols for preventing him from finding a steady place to camp and he was furious that he was too scared to venture where people were. His green hazel eyes burned with with intensity as he beat the sign with his fists until he was breathless. Both his fists and the sign were now drenched in blood, and Rowan slumped into the snow, allowing his hands to rest in the icy bath until they were numb.

    With strong, and currently numb hands Rowan pushed his large, corded frame out of the snow. The cold air nipping at the bits of exposed skin, he turned away from the sign, and looked to the sky, trying to get his bearings. It would be a long walk, but he was headed to the capital city. He was going to either find his family, or find some answers. Rowan set out with a single-mindedness that drove every step. He would no longer live in fear. This was the first step towards confronting the things he had spent his life running from.

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