We are all Ogres.
Observe the creature in its den. What does it do in there all day long? Our bravest explorers won't even knock on its dilapidated, wooden door. They must only be level 6. We know he eats the food we leave in pennance, for surely it is we who put him there. Though, for the life of me, I cannot remember how. Or why. And so he slumbers (I suppose) the hot days away, letting his presence be known only by the heavy tread of his feet as he moves about his small abode, which may better be termed his prison.
Of course, we have no guards posted, no threats are issued, and the offerings of food should seem friendly enough. I am tempted to think that perhaps the creature has some amazing toy or book or some other thing which keeps him there all day, meaning, perhaps, that we are in fact the monsters kept at bay, while he is a normal, happy individual. Somehow, I suspect such intuition is faulty. More likely, then, has the creature kept himself there.
Confinement and isolation are, perhaps, preferable to our company. Should we then see this as an insult? An offense to our good will? And, thus, should we oust the creature from its home? Or... this cave we call its home at any rate. I wonder what questions the creature asks itself each day, as it wakes, as it moves about, and as it goes down to bed. I wonder if it asks any questions at all.
I would like to say that these answers will someday be known. I would like to vow that I will be the first to knock on the creature's door with my gift in hand to say a simple, "Hello." But I cannot, in good conscience, make that promise. Rather, I must truthfully say that I am only casually musing on the fate of this peculiar creature, and his existence within or without the cave has no bearing on me or my daily routine. So, I hope that should my questions one day be answered, revelation will not befall me as I peer into the creature's stomach. I suppose, really, that is the best any of us can hope for.
-William 'Pockets' Smythe, village idiot
Of course, we have no guards posted, no threats are issued, and the offerings of food should seem friendly enough. I am tempted to think that perhaps the creature has some amazing toy or book or some other thing which keeps him there all day, meaning, perhaps, that we are in fact the monsters kept at bay, while he is a normal, happy individual. Somehow, I suspect such intuition is faulty. More likely, then, has the creature kept himself there.
Confinement and isolation are, perhaps, preferable to our company. Should we then see this as an insult? An offense to our good will? And, thus, should we oust the creature from its home? Or... this cave we call its home at any rate. I wonder what questions the creature asks itself each day, as it wakes, as it moves about, and as it goes down to bed. I wonder if it asks any questions at all.
I would like to say that these answers will someday be known. I would like to vow that I will be the first to knock on the creature's door with my gift in hand to say a simple, "Hello." But I cannot, in good conscience, make that promise. Rather, I must truthfully say that I am only casually musing on the fate of this peculiar creature, and his existence within or without the cave has no bearing on me or my daily routine. So, I hope that should my questions one day be answered, revelation will not befall me as I peer into the creature's stomach. I suppose, really, that is the best any of us can hope for.
-William 'Pockets' Smythe, village idiot