[ He'd been wondering who had managed to get the information out to them all. Now he knows. Now he knows and there aren't enough words to describe the sheer fury he feels at that secret being exposed so soon.
Instead of text, Jon gets a voice call in response. Because written word is utterly inadequate for conveying exactly what he thinks about his interference. ]
How dare you.
[ The static shoots right up in places, almost as though spoken beyond the usual mortal voice range, and there's a slight reverberation as well. But the words are still clear. ]
One of them is working in my building. That makes it my concern.
You forfeited any right to make those decisions when you committed genocide. I might not know what's right, either, but I sure as hell know what's wrong.
Genocide? Oh, please. If you knew the true, proper state of my world then you would not say that. Those things may be intelligent but they are not whole. 'Tis unfortunate that they have to die, but it is also the only way to repair what has been broken.
They're people. Sorry they don't constitute what you think of as people, but life moves on without people like you. Things don't need to go back to the way they were. This is how they are. Deal with it. Or find another planet.
Some people are horrible. And good people do horrible things That doesn't mean they're all awful. And it doesn't mean they deserve hellfire raining down on them.
[ A burst of static. His voice drops to a poisonous hiss. ]
Listen well and listen closely, Archivist, as I recount one tale out of the many, many I have witnessed over the long years. 'Tis the story of a once-grand city called Sil'dih, now all but forgotten by those of the modern day.
In the wake of the devastating flood that was the Sixth Calamity, survivors from Mhach, City of Mages, fled from the salt plains of Yafaem to the arid savanna of Thanalan and built a new kingdom there called Belah'dia. They sought to escape persecution for the war they had waged with their magicks, the overuse of which had first triggered the floodwaters. Oh, the city they built was grand, yet it soon collapsed to a war of succession within its royal family and thus split into the two city-states of Ul'dah and Sil'dih.
Sil'dih prospered under its ruler. It grew into an architectural marvel, famed for the aqueducts built to control the very floods they feared would sweep their land again. Its king devised sweeping financial reforms to further elevate his city's prosperity. Yet, like all men, this prosperity sowed greed in his heart. He taxed the people overmuch and they began to grow restless. An untimely drought swept through the land, further fanning the flames of unrest.
Ul'dah, envious of its sister-city and its accomplishments, coveted its wealth and its water and so declared war upon its twin. The two cities were evenly matched... Until one day, Ul'dahn mages devised an insidious powder capable of reanimating the dead.
They cast the powder over the walls of Sil'dih and waited. Within this once-prosperous city, the dead began to rise.
As the people of Sil'dih were devoured by the corpses of their own, their anguished screams were explained away to the Ul'dahn citizenry as Sil'dihn experiments to turn the dead against the living. Experiments they had begun. An atrocity they now attributed to their sister-city.
'Twas all the justification they needed to lead a crusade against Sil'dih and seal their gates, wiping out the entire city with a plague of Ul'dahn creation.
You will no longer find any mention of Sil'dih in Ul'dahn's history books for they ruthlessly suppressed all knowledge of it. Only its ruins remain.
Although I hear tell some of the dead may still be found walking deep within its aqueducts...
[It's a Statement, and Jon is bound to listen now. There's static on his end, quite a bit of it, but not so much that he can't make it out, unfortunately. Thank god Elias had performed that counter-spell or this could have ended in horrible embarrassment along with everything else.]
This was a calamity of your making? The one they were fleeing?
What happened sounds horrible, but do you honestly think that compares to the scale of what you'd done? What you'd probably keep doing if you ever got home alive? People can be horrible. But they're still people! And they can change and grow and become better. And they're not responsible for what their ancestors did. They're responsible for what they do in the present moment.
What you've done to the Warriors of Light is wrong.
[ His bark of laughter comes through very clearly. The static on his end seems to have passed and his voice sounds...normal. ]
And here we come to that same, tired argument again. Even if we left these fragmented things alone, their endless cycle of persecution and hatred and war would eventually far out-scale the toll of each calamity me and my brethren bring. Ahh, but there's no use arguing such with you, mortals who can barely see beyond the second generation of your instant lives.
You're talking about the work of generations, not individuals. That's where you 'immortals' get tripped up. You just can't fathom the idea that those cycles you see are real for people. And some of them are the ones who stop the hate and the violence. Maybe a few hundred years of peace might not seem like much to you, but that's generations. That's lifetimes. That's children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren and more who never see anything horrible.
My own world is destroyed. The apocalypse has come. The Fears rule over it. There is nothing we can do to change that, as far as I know. At least these people who live their small little 'fragmented' lives still have a chance for something better. Depending on where they are in your cycles, it might not be for generations, but it will come. And it doesn't need some self-appointed Architect to see it done.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
voice
Instead of text, Jon gets a voice call in response. Because written word is utterly inadequate for conveying exactly what he thinks about his interference. ]
How dare you.
[ The static shoots right up in places, almost as though spoken beyond the usual mortal voice range, and there's a slight reverberation as well. But the words are still clear. ]
perma text
How dare you.
You have no right to control the fate of those people if we manage to find a way out.
no subject
I have every right to do what is best for our star. 'Twas my duty long before any of you were even born.
no subject
That makes it my concern.
You forfeited any right to make those decisions when you committed genocide.
I might not know what's right, either, but I sure as hell know what's wrong.
no subject
Genocide? Oh, please. If you knew the true, proper state of my world then you would not say that. Those things may be intelligent but they are not whole. 'Tis unfortunate that they have to die, but it is also the only way to repair what has been broken.
no subject
Sorry they don't constitute what you think of as people, but life moves on without people like you.
Things don't need to go back to the way they were.
This is how they are.
Deal with it.
Or find another planet.
no subject
Shall I tell you of the atrocities people like your bodyguard have committed over the course of their meagre history?
Shall I tell you of all the petty little wars they waged, the cities they burnt, the lives they ruined?
no subject
Some people are horrible.
And good people do horrible things
That doesn't mean they're all awful.
And it doesn't mean they deserve hellfire raining down on them.
no subject
Listen well and listen closely, Archivist, as I recount one tale out of the many, many I have witnessed over the long years. 'Tis the story of a once-grand city called Sil'dih, now all but forgotten by those of the modern day.
In the wake of the devastating flood that was the Sixth Calamity, survivors from Mhach, City of Mages, fled from the salt plains of Yafaem to the arid savanna of Thanalan and built a new kingdom there called Belah'dia. They sought to escape persecution for the war they had waged with their magicks, the overuse of which had first triggered the floodwaters. Oh, the city they built was grand, yet it soon collapsed to a war of succession within its royal family and thus split into the two city-states of Ul'dah and Sil'dih.
Sil'dih prospered under its ruler. It grew into an architectural marvel, famed for the aqueducts built to control the very floods they feared would sweep their land again. Its king devised sweeping financial reforms to further elevate his city's prosperity. Yet, like all men, this prosperity sowed greed in his heart. He taxed the people overmuch and they began to grow restless. An untimely drought swept through the land, further fanning the flames of unrest.
Ul'dah, envious of its sister-city and its accomplishments, coveted its wealth and its water and so declared war upon its twin. The two cities were evenly matched... Until one day, Ul'dahn mages devised an insidious powder capable of reanimating the dead.
They cast the powder over the walls of Sil'dih and waited. Within this once-prosperous city, the dead began to rise.
As the people of Sil'dih were devoured by the corpses of their own, their anguished screams were explained away to the Ul'dahn citizenry as Sil'dihn experiments to turn the dead against the living. Experiments they had begun. An atrocity they now attributed to their sister-city.
'Twas all the justification they needed to lead a crusade against Sil'dih and seal their gates, wiping out the entire city with a plague of Ul'dahn creation.
You will no longer find any mention of Sil'dih in Ul'dahn's history books for they ruthlessly suppressed all knowledge of it. Only its ruins remain.
Although I hear tell some of the dead may still be found walking deep within its aqueducts...
no subject
This was a calamity of your making?
The one they were fleeing?
What happened sounds horrible, but do you honestly think that compares to the scale of what you'd done?
What you'd probably keep doing if you ever got home alive?
People can be horrible.
But they're still people!
And they can change and grow and become better.
And they're not responsible for what their ancestors did.
They're responsible for what they do in the present moment.
What you've done to the Warriors of Light is wrong.
no subject
And here we come to that same, tired argument again. Even if we left these fragmented things alone, their endless cycle of persecution and hatred and war would eventually far out-scale the toll of each calamity me and my brethren bring. Ahh, but there's no use arguing such with you, mortals who can barely see beyond the second generation of your instant lives.
no subject
That's where you 'immortals' get tripped up.
You just can't fathom the idea that those cycles you see are real for people.
And some of them are the ones who stop the hate and the violence.
Maybe a few hundred years of peace might not seem like much to you, but that's generations.
That's lifetimes.
That's children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren and more who never see anything horrible.
My own world is destroyed.
The apocalypse has come.
The Fears rule over it.
There is nothing we can do to change that, as far as I know.
At least these people who live their small little 'fragmented' lives still have a chance for something better.
Depending on where they are in your cycles, it might not be for generations, but it will come.
And it doesn't need some self-appointed Architect to see it done.
no subject
Enough. I'm not arguing this with someone who would rather tuck their head between their knees and cover their ears to worlds beyond their own.
no subject
[Hiss, hiss! He's hanging up, too! It's... much less dramatic to close a text window than slam a phone down, though.]