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Spectacles of a Prime Roots Dweller

((OOC: Been too long. Finally got somethin' for everyone!))

Guilt Within Truth


A tryker sits in the familiar depression on top of a hill within the Elusive Forest. It has been quite some time since he sat in this tranquil place; the familiarity of the local radiant flora and the knowledge of where dangerous animals hid in shadow brought him some measure comfort. In his distracted state, it was good he decided to rest here, rather than a similar location within the Sunken City where Kitin Patrols. His journal, now a little more worn, lays in front of him for the second time in this particular place.

"Quarta, Harvestor 22, 4th AC 2600

There is an undeniable fact that truth is harsh; the weight of choices we make that truly have no lasting effects as we desired. It may have been some time since our... attack on Zora, but the events prior are still what haunts me. The words and demands to action I heard, the polarizing opinions, and the final choice made only in black and white. I had hoped with my words of advice and wisdom, that I could curb their desire for outright destruction, their intent to lay waste to all before them. Perhaps I did, in a way, but in the end, they still could not refrain. My attempts to create a compromise were in vain... I tried to emphasize the use of the newfound opportunity, the power they uncovered, as leverage; to make demands of their enemies, to use the shedding of blood as a final tactic, so it may not have undesirable consequences in the far future. 

Yet, they do not listen. We did not take the opportunity to make demands of the nations when we had the chance, we slaughtered their representatives and those around them. My warnings and console of long term consequence fall on deaf ears.

Know that there is some kernel of truth within the barbaric stereotype of Marauders; they will often bring conflict to meet their goals, and their mindset of such contrasts greatly with any of the Higher Powers or Nations. However, I joined to understand and learn how they are, and I learned we share similar traits of the others too; civilians, ideals, goals, a good drink, all exist. It is simply unfortunate that our combative nature is the only thing that comes to mind, and I cannot stand it. I cannot stand the thought of the shedding of blood to meet every single goal we want. I cannot stand the lack of choice to use alternatives, even when presented with them. And so I begin to ask myself: 'How can I continue to support something that will inevitably destroy everything that stands in its way?'"

After reading the passage over a few times, the tryker slowly closes the journal. He does not get up to move on, nor does he consider moving to a safer place. The only thing he can do is look out into the darkness of the Prime Roots as the final question weighs heavily on his entire being.
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