the coming storm
[when the Doctor first opens the journal and begins to speak, his voice is soft - sympathetic - even kindly]
It all begins so simply, doesn't it...? For all of us. We open our eyes ... or a door ... and suddenly, we find we're not where we expected to be. We look for answers, and when we've found as many as we can, we go for the next best thing: familiarity. A familiar face, or a place ... but what if those are taken? What if the hand we've been playing with has changed? New cards must be drawn, mustn't they?
So we all adapt our own personal rules to the game that Paradisa sets on the table. We draw new cards, make new friends, new familiar faces, new answers ... we carve a new place for ourselves, here, in this world. But it's all still rather telling. Even within the structure of new rules, there are ways to show how we operate. Who we are. What we are. Some of us have been here for quite a long while, haven't we? Some of us have been given children or proteges, tried to teach them to be like us - or how to be less like us, to not share in our mistakes. We've all so much in common ... at first glance, it's easy to think that we're all the same at heart, isn't it?
Lost souls, trying to find our place.
[and then - it's as though someone flicked a switch. his tone turns harsh, biting - to the point where it almost sounds as though the castle has dropped a loss on him, mid-thought]
And then there are those who are so lost, so beyond retrieval, that they take it upon themselves to try and dictate what others' places should be. To take them, and mold them to fit their own ideas of familiarity, to bend them like brittle clay until they break. To make them dance the dance of the unwilling. To rip their very essence from their bodies in the name of such a selfish and profane thing as conquest. But that's not enough, is it? No. These people - these monsters, because YES, that IS what you are, ISN'T IT?! - have to pull as many innocents in as possible, twist their wills and warp their hearts and -- and reprogram them -- until they're no longer themselves. They take away the one thing that makes this whole place still so glorious, even in the face of all it's done. They steal away the ability to choose.
Riful of the West! Arthas Menethil! Legato Bluesummers! You tell us that if we stand against you, now, we forfeit our own lives, and those of our dear friends. You say that we have no choice.
Well.
If all of you take one thing away from this, right now, one thing to keep and hold and know forever, so deep and so sure that it follows you home past every stolen memory, long after Paradisa ever releases you from its clutches, LET IT BE THIS:
I am NOT a man to leave without a choice.
And I do not care what nature of game you choose to play: poker, chess, checkers, capture the flag, blind man's bluff, or -- or that one game you all seem to be SO very fond of. That one where blocks are pulled out of a tower one by one, until it falls on the unfortunate who makes the wrong move. I, myself, have always been fond of cards. And I'm playing with a fresh, full deck.
And you WILL lose. Because that is MY choice. That is the path that I have chosen to walk, ever since I opened my own door and my own eyes and began to walk these halls. That is the place that I have chosen at the table:
Between you ... and our well-being. And our right to choose.
[a substantial pause, as he rifles a deck of cards between his hands]
Your move.
((OOC: The Storm Has Arrived. THIS IS IT, THE CALL TO ARMS. Any team leaders who want to rally their troops, DO IT HERE! Threadjack like crazy! Let's make this the most badass shounen-speechifying post in the history of ever! You want inspiring music? Yeah. We've got that, too.
Use this post to organize initiatives/rescues as you please--Riful & Co. will be responding to this and will be assumed to have vacated the manor during this post.))
It all begins so simply, doesn't it...? For all of us. We open our eyes ... or a door ... and suddenly, we find we're not where we expected to be. We look for answers, and when we've found as many as we can, we go for the next best thing: familiarity. A familiar face, or a place ... but what if those are taken? What if the hand we've been playing with has changed? New cards must be drawn, mustn't they?
So we all adapt our own personal rules to the game that Paradisa sets on the table. We draw new cards, make new friends, new familiar faces, new answers ... we carve a new place for ourselves, here, in this world. But it's all still rather telling. Even within the structure of new rules, there are ways to show how we operate. Who we are. What we are. Some of us have been here for quite a long while, haven't we? Some of us have been given children or proteges, tried to teach them to be like us - or how to be less like us, to not share in our mistakes. We've all so much in common ... at first glance, it's easy to think that we're all the same at heart, isn't it?
Lost souls, trying to find our place.
[and then - it's as though someone flicked a switch. his tone turns harsh, biting - to the point where it almost sounds as though the castle has dropped a loss on him, mid-thought]
And then there are those who are so lost, so beyond retrieval, that they take it upon themselves to try and dictate what others' places should be. To take them, and mold them to fit their own ideas of familiarity, to bend them like brittle clay until they break. To make them dance the dance of the unwilling. To rip their very essence from their bodies in the name of such a selfish and profane thing as conquest. But that's not enough, is it? No. These people - these monsters, because YES, that IS what you are, ISN'T IT?! - have to pull as many innocents in as possible, twist their wills and warp their hearts and -- and reprogram them -- until they're no longer themselves. They take away the one thing that makes this whole place still so glorious, even in the face of all it's done. They steal away the ability to choose.
Riful of the West! Arthas Menethil! Legato Bluesummers! You tell us that if we stand against you, now, we forfeit our own lives, and those of our dear friends. You say that we have no choice.
Well.
If all of you take one thing away from this, right now, one thing to keep and hold and know forever, so deep and so sure that it follows you home past every stolen memory, long after Paradisa ever releases you from its clutches, LET IT BE THIS:
I am NOT a man to leave without a choice.
And I do not care what nature of game you choose to play: poker, chess, checkers, capture the flag, blind man's bluff, or -- or that one game you all seem to be SO very fond of. That one where blocks are pulled out of a tower one by one, until it falls on the unfortunate who makes the wrong move. I, myself, have always been fond of cards. And I'm playing with a fresh, full deck.
And you WILL lose. Because that is MY choice. That is the path that I have chosen to walk, ever since I opened my own door and my own eyes and began to walk these halls. That is the place that I have chosen at the table:
Between you ... and our well-being. And our right to choose.
[a substantial pause, as he rifles a deck of cards between his hands]
Your move.
((OOC: The Storm Has Arrived. THIS IS IT, THE CALL TO ARMS. Any team leaders who want to rally their troops, DO IT HERE! Threadjack like crazy! Let's make this the most badass shounen-speechifying post in the history of ever! You want inspiring music? Yeah. We've got that, too.
Use this post to organize initiatives/rescues as you please--Riful & Co. will be responding to this and will be assumed to have vacated the manor during this post.))