The year 2023 was a strange year, in which various signs in the heavens and on earth foretold of certain calamities and extraordinary events. In that year, on the 22nd day of March, I posted a message on my Facebook wall, adorned with a photograph of me standing before the building of the Institute of History at the University of Wrocław, with the following words:
“This is not the end, it is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning!”
Thesis defended. Diploma received.
From the perspective of time, I know that this day, and all the events that led up to it, can be called perhaps not the end of the beginning, but certainly the conclusion of a certain chapter.
It all began innocently, with the wedding of someone very close to me. Little did I know then that the Game Master was preparing a castling for me such as I would never have expected. I did not know that this event would become the beginning of the most ambitious campaign of my life thus far.
GIVE ME A FRESH START
Bluff check failed. The roll was very low. After the emotional ceremony came the time for well-wishes, mutual embraces, and those other strange rituals that accompany weddings probably all over the world. I noticed that usually, at such moments in my “adult” life, a foul mood would overcome me. Perhaps it was the realization that the probability of finding a life partner for someone like me seemed very unlikely back then, and here was my younger sister, having beaten me to the altar. Perhaps it was some strange jealousy and a longing for a dream love, which in this day and age also seemed very improbable. I don’t know. Maybe someone knows. Certainly not I.
The truth is, despite everything, I try to pretend that everything is fine, but my expression is grim. Fortunately, outside of Poland, everyone thinks that we Slavs just have these unhappy mugs, while internally we are laughing. After dinner, one of my sister’s friends [I won’t mention her by name, as I don’t know if she wishes it, but if you’re reading this – greetings!] suggested that we go to Church together the next day, as it would be Sunday. Not exactly with enthusiasm, but I agreed to the proposal. And so, for the first time, I visited ICB [International Church of Barcelona, for those who don’t know]. As a product of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal, I felt at home in a non-denominational Church run in an Evangelical fashion. At the end of every service, Pastor John [greetings if you’re reading this!] gives words of encouragement to raise a hand in a symbolic gesture if someone needs a second chance in Christ. Through various life choices, I was in a place of self-hatred. A place of total hopelessness. I wanted to stop writing my Master’s thesis, even though it was practically the only thing standing between me and finishing my studies. Successful Will save. With hope, I raise my hand. The entire community prays:
Lord Jesus, I need You. Forgive me all my sins; forgive me for the past. Come into my heart. I accept You as the Son of God. Give me a fresh start. Give me hope and a bright future – life here and eternal.
These words soothe the heart. After the service, we go for lunch, then we part ways. Amen. God bless. Topic closed.
It should be mentioned here that my sister and brother-in-law had treated themselves to a post-wedding weekend, so they weren’t with us. Imagine my surprise when, after their return, following a dinner at a pizzeria I later grew to love, my sister came out with a proposal for me to move to Barcelona. Freshly married, she suggested that I could stay with her for 3 months, and then, once I found a job and accommodation, well, you know how it goes – and if not, well, you know that too. The only condition: I have to defend my Master’s thesis, which, as I mentioned before, I wanted to blow off because, due to my life choices, I had a very large penalty to my Will saves.
By the end of March, it will be 3 years since I’ve been living in sunny Catalonia. I arrived here broken and resigned. Without a will to live and hating myself. I arrived with a terrified inner child that had stopped believing in any kind of future. Now, thanks to the Game Master, who placed wonderful friends on my path [one of whom I want to greet here; I know you’re reading this and I hope we’ll see each other in Barcelona again, and if not here, then at your place in France], enlightened mentors, and a very competent therapist [I suspect he’s reading this too, so greetings!], I do not recognize myself. And I am very happy about it.
It would take a long time to tell the story of what led to this state of affairs, and this text has already grown to quite a considerable size [I won’t be offended if someone decides to read it in installments], so I will allow myself to mention only two more events, in chronological order, that I believe are significant.
THE BOY MUST DIE
Very few people know this story, but enough time has passed that I am no longer ashamed to tell it. To make a long story short: Will saving throw against charm failed. I fell in love. At least, so I thought. The butterflies in my stomach and that internal spark awakened a lover that had long been dormant within me. Sant Jordi was approaching – the Catalan festival of lovers. On this day, men offer a rose to their chosen ones, and women give a book to their beloved. Why so? You will find the answer in the contents of a letter I decided to send to a certain fair maid:
Dear XXX,
I decided to write this letter to share something important with you and offer you a perspective on my way of understanding history and symbolism.
As you probably know, today is Sant Jordi’s Day. I’m not sure if you are familiar with the legend behind it. Sant Jordi, or Saint George, in this Catalan version of the legend, decided to rescue a princess by slaying a dragon, which he accomplished, but tragically, he died in the process. Mortally wounded, he climbed a hill and took his last breath. At the spot where his blood fell, a rose bloomed.
Many men give a rose on this day as a declaration: “I want to be your hero, I want to rescue you.” However, my weird mind prefers to interpret this legend through the lens of Carl Jung’s theory of archetypes. In this theory, ancient stories reveal profound truths about human psychology. By analyzing numerous myths and legends, Jung identified four primary masculine archetypes: the king, the warrior, the magician (though I prefer to call this the prophet), and the lover.
There are also archetypes describing the development of a child’s psyche, culminating in the hero archetype, who seeks to save everyone, including themselves, by, for instance, slaying the dragon. According to Jung’s theory, the childish hero must “die” to allow the masculine archetypes to emerge and take control. Therefore, for me, the rose on Saint Jordi’s Day is not merely a symbol of a childish desire to rescue and be a hero.
Instead, I see the flower as a symbol of the readiness to embody the king, warrior, prophet, and lover. It is a symbol of a boy ready to grow, to transform, to become the man a woman deserves. In this context, a book given to a man by her symbolizes her willingness to support him in this transformation.
I intend each rose I offer you to carry a specific meaning:
- First, because I wanted you to know I have noticed you.
- Second, because I want you to know that I trust you.
- Third, when you become my close friend.
- Fourth, when I am ready to hold you close and take your pain away.
- Fifth, when you hold a significant part of my heart.
- Sixth, when I am ready to lose my breath kissing you.
- Seventh, when I am ready to be your servant and metaphorically die for you every single day.
I have already given you two roses [one purely on a whim, the second intended for this very letter]. If the day ever comes when you realize I have given you seven roses, know that it signifies I have given you all power and knowledge needed to destroy me – with the hope that you will not.
I am truly grateful for your presence in my life. You’re already making me a better person. I think you know who wrote this letter, but I love my signature so much that I can’t resist adding it.
Until our paths cross again,
[My Signature]
After a conversation with a friend [it’s been a while, but greetings to you as well if you’re reading this], I reconsidered and decided not to send that letter. The motives behind this decision are irrelevant to the story. Heartbroken, I wanted to return to a life without butterflies in my stomach.
The Game Master is One, but in Three Persons. I particularly enjoy the adventures led by the one nicknamed “The Spirit,” who, like the other two, is also Holy. Successful Perception check. Neither I nor the Game Master could allow a love story with such potential to go to waste. Therefore, on the occasion of Sant Jordi, I bought seven roses, boarded a train, and went to Montserrat – the Benedictine monastery on its massive, jagged mountain. It is a place that strongly evokes our own Częstochowa in Poland, as both sanctuaries are home to a Black Madonna [though here she is a statue, while in my homeland, she is a painting]. I knew that in this shrine, there was a side chapel with a great sculpture of the Crucified Christ. I decided that I would kiss His feet and lay the roses there. All seven at once, because with Him, I don’t have to play at romantic approaches. He is unlikely to break my heart; moreover, the Player’s Handbook says that He is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
With these thoughts, I reached the doors of the temple, where guards were standing. I asked them if I could enter, and they replied: only if I wanted to participate in the Mass. “Of course I do,” I replied, and entered His courts with thanksgiving. To this day, I remember what was read during the Liturgy of the Word. I had to check the app because it was read in Catalan; fortunately, the Mass is the same all over the world and the readings are the same [in broad strokes, of course], so I managed. The Gospel according to Luke. The Road to Emmaus. In short: two disciples of Jesus decide that after the crucifixion – actually on the day of the resurrection – they aren’t going to sit in Jerusalem; they are getting the hell out of there. And the risen Jesus meets them on the road, but they did not recognize Him. Sad and dejected, they grumble to Him that He doesn’t know what happened – total tragedy. This lament ends with a sentence that, at that moment, f*ck!ng hit me [to say it ‘hit’ me is not enough to describe what happened, but I apologize nonetheless if I offend with this coarse Vulgate] with such force that I began to cry:
“But we trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed Israel.”
Well, I trusted too, but the Game Master had invited me into a completely different adventure at that time. It would not be my way. It often is so with the Game Master. Nevertheless, the hero must die so that the king may begin his reign. So, after Mass, I climbed to the highest point in the Montserrat range – Sant Jeroni. This hike was meant to be the symbolic slaying of the Boy-Hero. Exactly at 3:00 PM, I reached the summit, lay down on the grass, and imagined that I was bleeding out. Of course, like any man, I still have moments of childish behavior, but the quote of that day will forever remain:
“I did not want to be a king. I wanted to be a free man. But now I understand that a crown is not a privilege; it is a sentence of justice that I must carry out upon myself to protect those I love.”
A POLISH VIKING OF CATALONIA
I had known about the existence of Brokkar Lag of Jomsborg since I first arrived in Catalonia. Historical reenactment is something I have long wanted to return to, and the era of the Slavs and Vikings is a historical period that I simply love. The fact that I wanted to join them was written in my Quests from the very beginning of this campaign. But let’s be honest – for a long time, I was a wreck. My Hit Points hovered near a statistical error, and my Will saves resulted in critical failures. I was simply afraid. Afraid that the world of the axe, shield, and harsh rules would grind me down before I even had a chance to draw my weapon.
Only when the Game Master allowed me to “gain some XP” did I feel my stats slowly returning to normal. Not without doubt – for doubt always accompanies travelers – I decided to make a move. I reached out to a certain gentleman [I won’t mention him by name, as I don’t know if he wishes it, but if you’re reading this – know that I send my regards and I am very grateful]. I asked then if a retired Dziad Borowy [a member of a team I belonged to in the past] could join the army of Jomsborg. The gentleman saw no obstacles but recommended that I reach out directly to the Brokkar Lag.
However, before I could even draft the message, fate [or some other unknown forces] acted faster. The Styrmann of Brokkar [greetings as well, of course, if you’re reading this!] caught me on Facebook before I had sent a single word. I was welcomed as warmly as if they had been waiting for me for years. They took me in as one of their own who had simply wandered other trails for too long. That was when my return to historical reenactment and the great adventure under the banner of Brokkar Lag of Jomsborg truly began.
Weekly training and post-training camaraderie have now found a permanent place in my “Ordinance of Time,” and I always lament when, for whatever reason, I cannot take part. We already have a few good adventures behind us, and even more lie ahead – provided, of course, the Game Master allows it.
I SEE THE NEW THING ALREADY SPROUTING
Looking at my journey from the perspective of my outpost in Cerdanyola del Vallès, I am grateful for all the trials that strengthened my endurance. I hope that the grain of faith I believe I possess will be enough to level up after all these experiences.
When I lay my head on my bed, as the sun sets over Catalonia, I have the impression that the Game Master, looking at me today, says:
“Have you seen what I have done so far? Now watch what I do next. I am making a way in the wilderness, and water is beginning to flow where it has no right to flow.”
And I see it already. I see the New Thing beginning to sprout. I see it in every battle won and in every critical miss. I see it in the great returns I wrote about earlier in this text. I see it even in the fact that the only flowers on this road were the roses I took to Montserrat. However, the honey for my wounds and the heartening milk have rewarded me tenfold.
Starting next week, we launch with a full schedule: every Sunday, a new entry from my Arbor Scientiae [Tree of Knowledge], alternating between the categories: TEMPUS (Path of Time), SACRUM (Path of the Spirit), IMAGO (Path of the Image), and ITINERARIUM (Path of the Wanderer).
Take care, wherever you are, and see you on the trail!