| It is, according to the rules of the spiritual principality of man, insufficient if one simply exists in the comfort of vague idleness. In the minds of the philosophers and esoterics of our world, the human spirit is bred by the gods themselves to always grow — to consume the fuel of life as if it were a burning flame. We must always strive toward a greater peak, aim toward a higher star, and run toward a horizon that is ever further away than the one that we already see before our eyes. But what if I don’t want to? Why is it that if I choose to live the simple life of a man of few means and many inadequacies, I am told this is not enough? Why can I not be a humble farmer of tubers, a hunter in a distant forest who lives as a hermit, or a simple bookkeeper who works exactly the number of hours he has been given by his employer and never a single minute less or more? Certainly, there are many who choose these paths of normality; we see them amongst ourselves every day. Yet as I sit here, perched on the peak of my nose, which is held so high as to allow me to do so, I cannot think that these people are lying to themselves. I do not believe in contentedness. I believe that all of those examples of people I have just mentioned — that they are deluding themselves, telling themselves that what they have is good enough, that it is plenty. But this is against the bright nature of the human soul, webbed in the element of fire. I refuse to believe any different, and neither should you. Strive. Burn. Grow. It is as nature intends. |
~ Wicker Marvin, infamous human supremacist on the nature of the superiority of the human spirit of that of other species
| ~ [Ijmir] ~ |
| Human, Female, Shadowy Priestess |
| Location: Floor Six of the Tower of Isaiah |
Why does something exist?
The shadowy priestess stands there, staring at the ground, before lifting her head up to look at the golem standing behind her.
The golem is a creature that exists.
It looks down at her, and the two of them stare at one another for a time, the sound of running water filling the silent void as they look.
She lowers her head, looking down at the water, which is a thing that exists.
She stares at her reflection, looking at the priestess standing down below her in the water at her feet. The reflection exists, but the person portrayed in the reflection does not exist.
Life is confusing.
— A large stone hand holds itself out in front of her, obscuring her view. She looks at it and then at her friend before climbing on. He lifts her up into the air, where she crawls onto his broad shoulder, and then looks around the arena, where they live.
Where they live is a place that exists.
She scratches the back of her head, trying to figure it all out. There are all sorts of things that exist, but why? At first there was nothing, then there was something. At first she wasn’t and then she was.
Her friend turns his head, watching, as an insect with loud, buzzy wings flies past them, towards the other side of the open-faced arena.
He walks on after the bug, until he reaches the edge of the space. The two of them look out over the world. It used to be bright often, but now it is dark always. The sun used to be a thing that was, and now it is a thing that isn’t.
— The bug flies back in, having changed its mind. It buzzes past them and flies the totally opposite way.
The golem turns its massive head, stones grinding against stones as it follows the critter with its gaze and then slowly lumbers around, moving on after it towards the other end of the arena, lifting a hand to reach out for the bug.
But it flies away, off of the other side of the tower this time.
The two of them stand there, staring at the nothingness — the darkness — that exists beyond the edge of the tower for a time in silence.
And then, the bug flies in a third time, apparently not pleased with all of its choice to go.
It buzzes around them.
She, copying her friend, cups her hands and waits. The bug lands there, whether by chance or some odd string of fate is impossible to say. She lowers her head, staring at it in mild surprise. She bends down, holding out her hands to her friend, who turns his head to look at it crawling around in her grasp with quiet curiosity in his eyes. The insect doesn’t seem much bothered. It’s a hard-shelled thing with a socially appropriate amount of legs and a somewhat bejeweled, emerald shell. It simply crawls around, buzzing its wings now and then, before moving on to another spot on her hands.
The golem lifts a finger, his massive digit which is larger than both of her arms combined, gently pressing against the tip of her cupped hands.
And the two of them watch as the bug crawls over from her to him, just trying to find its way to wherever it is going. It doesn’t really seem to know, looking at it.
The shadow priestess watches it crawl along to him, wondering if that itself isn’t the answer.
Maybe the things that exist simply don’t even know why they exist, all of them. Maybe they, like the bug, are just traveling back and forth between one state of being and the next, before then returning back again as a bug, wondering how one got into this situation and how they’ll ever manage to get out of it.
— The bug lifts off into the air, flying away for a third time and the two of them watch it go, as it vanishes into a gust of oddly warm, autumn wind that throws her hair out and into the flow.
| ~ [Isaiah] ~ |
“What the fuck,” says Red. The two of them float in the air, outside of the tower, looking in at the priestess and the golem. “What the hell are they doing?” she asks. “They’re just standing there like idiots,” explains the uthra, gesturing to the two monsters of floor six.
Isaiah looks at her and then back at them, the two of them watching from a distance. “They’re living life, Red,” replies Isaiah.
Red turns her head, looking at Isaiah blankly. “…Living life?” she asks incredulously. “Chief. They’re just standing there like idiots, not doing anything.”
Isaiah looks back at Red, the two of them staring at one another quietly, like idiots, not doing anything.
“Shut up,” says Red. She stops for a moment and then makes a face before clearing her throat as she hits her own chest. “Shit.”
“What?” asks Isaiah.
She sighs. “Nothing,” replies the uthra. “I think Crystal was right about the butter…”
Isaiah raises an eyebrow.
Razmatazz
Not many chapters left now. We have a bit of a... well, there's some stuff coming so, you know... Enjoy these short and sweet moments. You don't know what you have until it's gone. =)
| It is, according to the rules of the spiritual principality of man, insufficient if one simply exists in the comfort of vague idleness. In the minds of the philosophers and esoterics of our world, the human spirit is bred by the gods themselves to always grow — to consume the fuel of life as if it were a burning flame. We must always strive toward a greater peak, aim toward a higher star, and run toward a horizon that is ever further away than the one that we already see before our eyes. But what if I don’t want to? Why is it that if I choose to live the simple life of a man of few means and many inadequacies, I am told this is not enough? Why can I not be a humble farmer of tubers, a hunter in a distant forest who lives as a hermit, or a simple bookkeeper who works exactly the number of hours he has been given by his employer and never a single minute less or more? Certainly, there are many who choose these paths of normality; we see them amongst ourselves every day. Yet as I sit here, perched on the peak of my nose, which is held so high as to allow me to do so, I cannot think that these people are lying to themselves. I do not believe in contentedness. I believe that all of those examples of people I have just mentioned — that they are deluding themselves, telling themselves that what they have is good enough, that it is plenty. But this is against the bright nature of the human soul, webbed in the element of fire. I refuse to believe any different, and neither should you. Strive. Burn. Grow. It is as nature intends. |
~ Wicker Marvin, infamous human supremacist on the nature of the superiority of the human spirit of that of other species
| ~ [Ijmir] ~ |
| Human, Female, Shadowy Priestess |
| Location: Floor Six of the Tower of Isaiah |
Why does something exist?
The shadowy priestess stands there, staring at the ground, before lifting her head up to look at the golem standing behind her.
The golem is a creature that exists.
It looks down at her, and the two of them stare at one another for a time, the sound of running water filling the silent void as they look.
She lowers her head, looking down at the water, which is a thing that exists.
She stares at her reflection, looking at the priestess standing down below her in the water at her feet. The reflection exists, but the person portrayed in the reflection does not exist.
Life is confusing.
— A large stone hand holds itself out in front of her, obscuring her view. She looks at it and then at her friend before climbing on. He lifts her up into the air, where she crawls onto his broad shoulder, and then looks around the arena, where they live.
Where they live is a place that exists.
She scratches the back of her head, trying to figure it all out. There are all sorts of things that exist, but why? At first there was nothing, then there was something. At first she wasn’t and then she was.
Her friend turns his head, watching, as an insect with loud, buzzy wings flies past them, towards the other side of the open-faced arena.
He walks on after the bug, until he reaches the edge of the space. The two of them look out over the world. It used to be bright often, but now it is dark always. The sun used to be a thing that was, and now it is a thing that isn’t.
— The bug flies back in, having changed its mind. It buzzes past them and flies the totally opposite way.
The golem turns its massive head, stones grinding against stones as it follows the critter with its gaze and then slowly lumbers around, moving on after it towards the other end of the arena, lifting a hand to reach out for the bug.
But it flies away, off of the other side of the tower this time.
The two of them stand there, staring at the nothingness — the darkness — that exists beyond the edge of the tower for a time in silence.
And then, the bug flies in a third time, apparently not pleased with all of its choice to go.
It buzzes around them.
She, copying her friend, cups her hands and waits. The bug lands there, whether by chance or some odd string of fate is impossible to say. She lowers her head, staring at it in mild surprise. She bends down, holding out her hands to her friend, who turns his head to look at it crawling around in her grasp with quiet curiosity in his eyes. The insect doesn’t seem much bothered. It’s a hard-shelled thing with a socially appropriate amount of legs and a somewhat bejeweled, emerald shell. It simply crawls around, buzzing its wings now and then, before moving on to another spot on her hands.
The golem lifts a finger, his massive digit which is larger than both of her arms combined, gently pressing against the tip of her cupped hands.
And the two of them watch as the bug crawls over from her to him, just trying to find its way to wherever it is going. It doesn’t really seem to know, looking at it.
The shadow priestess watches it crawl along to him, wondering if that itself isn’t the answer.
Maybe the things that exist simply don’t even know why they exist, all of them. Maybe they, like the bug, are just traveling back and forth between one state of being and the next, before then returning back again as a bug, wondering how one got into this situation and how they’ll ever manage to get out of it.
— The bug lifts off into the air, flying away for a third time and the two of them watch it go, as it vanishes into a gust of oddly warm, autumn wind that throws her hair out and into the flow.
| ~ [Isaiah] ~ |
“What the fuck,” says Red. The two of them float in the air, outside of the tower, looking in at the priestess and the golem. “What the hell are they doing?” she asks. “They’re just standing there like idiots,” explains the uthra, gesturing to the two monsters of floor six.
Isaiah looks at her and then back at them, the two of them watching from a distance. “They’re living life, Red,” replies Isaiah.
Red turns her head, looking at Isaiah blankly. “…Living life?” she asks incredulously. “Chief. They’re just standing there like idiots, not doing anything.”
Isaiah looks back at Red, the two of them staring at one another quietly, like idiots, not doing anything.
“Shut up,” says Red. She stops for a moment and then makes a face before clearing her throat as she hits her own chest. “Shit.”
“What?” asks Isaiah.
She sighs. “Nothing,” replies the uthra. “I think Crystal was right about the butter…”
Isaiah raises an eyebrow.
Razmatazz
Not many chapters left now. We have a bit of a... well, there's some stuff coming so, you know... Enjoy these short and sweet moments. You don't know what you have until it's gone. =)
