Table of Contents404 ER_RORyou are in violation. thEy mustn't know you were here. no one should ever find out About this. you can never tell anyone about thiS -- for The sake of the others’ survIval, you muSt keep this silent. we mUst keeP silent. no one can know. no one can know. no o ne c an kn ow_
(Violation Code. 15398642_14)988 06MOON 18cla_ncy-988-06MOON_18_-1.jpgCLANCY_S JOURNAL
The perplexities of the Dema horizon didn't occur to me until my ninth year. It was then that I began to contemplate the existential, and decide what type of impression I wanted my life to make. Naturally, to fuel my hope, I looked out upon the distance of the land that had cultivated me, only this time with new awareness of the obstruction that my youthful ignorance had allowed me to overlook. Was it there the whole time? How had I not seen something so obvious? I am reminded of the moment daily, as the realization directly collides with a unique hope for my own future. As a child, I looked upon Dema with wonder, today, I am wrought with frustration, as I spend each day squinting for a glimpse of the top of the looming wall that has kept us here. It was upon my ninth year that I learned that Dema wasn't my home. This village, after all of this time, was my trap.
Before I became realized, I had deep affection for Dema. There was a wonderful structure to the city that put my cares to rest. Streets and locations were dependable, and the responsibilities of the day seemed to be accomplished with minimal effort. Once a task was taught and understood, we delighted in our ability to complete our obligations timely, and felt secure in knowing tomorrow’s duties would be accomplished with the same efficiency. We all worked to represent our bishop with honor, and knew that each inhabitant of our region had a like-minded dedication to consistency.
Keons embodied the spirit of this dedication. Of Dema's nine bishops, Keons was reserved as unwavering and forthright, possessing the ability to achieve focus that was rare for most in our region. We all admired his, and felt honored to be inhabitants of his region. While we had heard legend of the ruthlessness of other bishops, Keons possessed a stoic demeanor unlike anyone I had ever met, and we were all proud to serve.
— Clancy988 12MOON 01ba_dge.jpgIDENTIFIED AS
FAILED PERIMETER ESCAPE
BY DEMA COUNCIL
VIOLATION OF SECTION 15388642 14
OF VIALIST CODE OF CONDUCT009 12MOON 29unnamed-(1).jpgd_e_ath__eat_E_rz011 07MOON 08se__elf.jpg013 01MOON 08_ti_su_p.pngsev_ering__tiez
gEt out. the compAss lies. they don't control you. get out. the compaSs lies. They don't control you. get out. the compass lIeS. they don't control yoU.get out. the comPass lies. they don't control you.017 02MOON 12_.jpg017 07MOON 07017_07MOON_07.jpgTo refer to Dema as m[y] home has never felt accurate. Dema, t[o] me, has simply been the place that I've existed, or, the 'slot’ they’ve put me in. I've heard stories abo[u]t the ide[a] of "home," and its depiction has always seemed warm f[r]om the storyt[e]ller’s de[s]cription. [T]here was a romant[i]c ownership of the p[l]ace they inhabited that I admired, but cou[l]d never relate to. Thi[s] place, my p[l]ace, however, s[e]ems devoid of the romance and wond[e]r that the old stories tell. But somewhere between the iron order and fallible [p]recis[i]on of Dema, a hum of wo[n]der exists. It's this quiet wonder that my mind tends to [g]ets lost in. This hope of discovery alone has birthed a new version of myself; A better version, I hope, that will find a way to experience what's beyond these colossal walls.
— Clancy017 07MOON 163lurr.gif017 07MOON 172018_514_3_8.jpg__n_ot_myo_nly_fri_en d018 07MOON 01i.gif018 07MOON 01_e_sr__eve_r_.jpgA lifeless light surrounds us each night. Never could I imagine that
something so luminous could feel so dark. It's this glow that reminds
us of the dreamless existence we’ve been sentenced to. But what I call
a sentence, others accept as normalcy. How did they so efficiently
eradicate the dreams within us? When the bishops instituted Vialism
as mandate, they effectively reversed the hope that many arrived with.
Am I the only one who realizes that we've been lied to? Am I the only
one not afraid of the notion that the nine have hijacked our trust,
and extinguished the hope that once motivated our existence? We used
to close our eyes and picture a better life, now this city is full of
dry eyes caught in a trance of obedience, devoid of any trace of an
identity. The only significant light I've seen has been in the eyes of
those smeared - such a curious sight, to see bright eyes strangled by
the darkness of bishop hands. As their penance fades, so dims their
memory of something more. My hope of something more is all I have in
this rigid tomb, and I will not let it die.
— Clancy018 07MOON 05_o__ut_.gif018 07MOON 05_he_a_vy_.jpgThey're asleep. The night took forever to arrive, and now we're almost ready. We've studied the watchers, and know that there's no chance that we can step through unnoticed. So, instead of trying to hide ourselves, we'll make sure that all of us are noticed. It's been one year since the last convocation, and tomorrow's Annual Assemblage of Glorified will be the biggest spectacle this concrete coffin of a city has seen all year. If we time it right, we'll divert the attention of the watchers and finally take the step through. We've had no contact, but we're hoping the other side will be able to find a way in. We're not sure of the breach location, but we are willing to risk being smeared in order to find it. We know that we must go lower, and wait for the torches. They've never seen anything quite like this, and by morning, everything will be different. I'm terrified and excited, all at the same time. They don't control us.
— Clancy018 07MOON 06_they_ca_ntseeFCE300.gif018 07MOON 08_note.gifI've made it out.
I feel weightless. I know that place had always held me down, but for the first time, I can feel the unity that I had hoped for. It's been three nights now, and my breathing has changed - it's slower, and more full. It's like the air out here is actually worth taking in.
I can see it back in the distance, and I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't constantly on my mind. I wish I could turn that fear off, but maybe the further I go, the less that fear will affect me. I feel betrayed by what I assumed was home.- If I ever end up back there, I won't be able to look at it the same way.
They are asleep. They're so sure that they know the truth, and carry on throughout their day with the same meaningless tasks. They've forgotten to look up, and to look outward, to understand that this isn't about 'in there.'
This is about 'out here.'
This new world surrounds me. I used to think the walls back home were massive- these green cliffs engulf me, and place me right in the middle. Trench is quite precarious at times, and it's easy to grow weary. But it's real, and it's true, and I'd much rather endure reality than to mindlessly be obedient to a life that someone else created for me. I've obsessed about this world for so long, that it feels more like home than anything I've experienced. Somehow, in this vast openness, I feel more protected than ever.
The landscape feels endless, and I've found myself walking for hours without any true evidence of getting further down. But I've seen plants and colors out here that I'm not sure I've witnessed before. There's a beauty in the strangest places,— and the curiosity of what's next continues to motivate me.
I wonder who else is out here. If what I assumed inside is true, there's got to be more like me. Sometimes I'll feel a presence, only to look up and see nothing. It's just another thing that I'm afraid of that also excites me. It all just confirms all of the things that I hoped to be true for all of this time.
I am out here and I am very alive. I'm sometimes scared, but always discovering something new, and I will not stop. Cover me!
— Clancy018 07MOON 082_1_2.gif018 07MOON 18unalone.gifI can't believe what I just saw. I'm still trying to understand. This whole time I thought I was all alone - a single soul in this vast unknown world. But a few days into this trek, I looked down to see a figure headed the same way I was. I've tucked myself in these caves and crevices, trying my best to keep hidden, but he was out in the open, making his exhausting journey right down the middle of Trench. I was curious enough to follow alongside the path with him. He seemed unaffected by the fear of the unknown - the fear that tends to cripple me. To him, the terrain seemed familiar, as if he had been out here before.
While lost in my curiosity, they appeared. I had heard about them back in Dema, but to my knowledge, the stories were merely myth. Ten, twenty, and then what seemed to be a hundred Banditos appeared upon the cliffs, all looking down at him. He only stopped for a moment to look back up at them, and then continued on his way. His energy changed, and I wasn't sure if he was frightened or encouraged by their ominous presence.
They warned him of what was about to come.
It was a blur. First seeing the figure, then the Banditos, only to now have my eyes opened to the oncoming Bishop upon a white horse drawing closer in the distance.
The figure halted, and waited. When the Bishop stopped, I was sure he looked up, directly at me, so I hid deeper back in a cave. The presence of the robed rider seemed to paralyze the man. He stood still as he was approached, powerless as the outstretched hands smeared his neck. I had never seen a Bishop possess a power like this. Keons had always seemed gentle and warm - this bishop, at least out here, seemed like something else.
So I ran, and I've been running for as long as my legs and lungs can handle. Maybe this note will be my proof that what I witnessed was not a dream. A million questions race through my brain. Am I not the only one traveling through Trench?
I'll travel a little farther, and maybe I'll get a moment of rest tonight. I may have made a mistake, leaving. This spot, between two places, is beginning to feel like an endless and hopeless abyss. At least Dema is a place that I know, and at times like this, I miss a lot about what I know. This will all be much tougher than I imagined. Nothing out here is familiar. I've witnessed the presence of others for the first time today, and I feel more alone than ever. Cover me.
— Clancy019 01MOON 2217-35.4527.jpg019 01MOON 22
I can't face this page for long enough to write what I'm truly feeling. I am only wrought with more questions: Questions about what I assumed to be true, questions about what my own path is, and the question that has plagued my every night that I lie here, back in the city: Did I give up?
The force I saw between him and his bishop seemed tense to me, and frightening. But the memory of that exchange has had time to fester and replay in my mind long enough that I'm questioning if I even remembered it correctly. I assumed the bishop was forcefully retrieving his subject, but now I wonder if the bishop was actually trying to save him, but he refused.
I stayed out there for five days after I watched it happened. I haven't seen him since. Maybe he got away, and was still out in Trench with me. Maybe the bishop chased him down, and brought him home.
Home?
Did I just call this place 'home?'
After all of the endless beauty that I saw out there, I am now convincing myself that I'm actually better off within these confines?
I admit, It was more difficult than I expected. Nothing could have prepared me for how much the 'unknown' can consume me. Vast landscapes and endless possibilities, yet coupled with endless danger. I became anxious. I became tired. I became hungry. Every step I took seemed harder than the last, jumping from jagged rocky step to step, or pulling myself through thick forest – it all became debilitating, and I was sure that I couldn't go on.
Keons approached as the sun rose one morning. I wasn't scared. I was relieved. After all that he had taught me, his presence was the most comforting moment that I had in days, and I couldn't help but be happy to see him. In true Keon's fashion, he wrapped his arms around me, then put his hands under my face, looked me in the eyes, and then said "Clancy, my child, let's go home."
I've been here for a few weeks now, and while the routines of this world are comforting, and certainly easier than life out there, my mind keeps bouncing between the two places.
Which one is home? Are the bishops protecting me, and the torches upon the hilltop dangerous? Or is it the other way around? My dreams pull me from world to world, and I feel lost in between all of it.
There is still so much I do not understand.
— Clancy//Terminating Files…Account Terminated022 03MOON 16v-o-lds-ø-y.jpg022 03MOON 17is-ø-lat-ed.jpgI haven't had the ability to write for what seems like a lifetime. This deprivation is what weighed on me the most. Not the lack of food, or the change of scenery - they wouldn't let me write anything down.
Well, at least not without them present …
I remember that day vividly. First, they let me out. Even though the hallway was still gray and drab, the new experience was a shock to my system - significantly different than usual captivity. I tried to match the rhythm of the nameless guard's footsteps as we echoed down the long corridor. I followed close behind, as if I had no choice. Cold concrete encapsulated us and seemed to cast a spill of synthetic calmness. Obedience.
We arrived at a blue door. It was an odd contrast to this concrete maze. As I went through the doorway, I found myself in another typical gray Dema room. The only difference was who was waiting for me.
Four of them. Three of them were unknown to me, but one was clearly Keons. I knew his voice
They proposed an idea. A television show - or whatever it was. I had no idea that I was known outside of my cell, but they informed me that I had garnered notoriety for my schemes and outbursts. They wanted to use my face for the benefit of the city. They handed me a pen - a familiar instrument. Yet, they must be present when I use it. They wanted to manage my imagination and vision. Although shackled, at least I could create again.
Thus began the sessions.
Everyday my cell door would open. I followed the guard down the familiar hall, through the blue door, to sit down at the desk and chair. My designated creative space - perfectly centered under their watchful eye. Sometimes three, sometimes eight - not once were all nine present. He was never there. I would have felt it if he was.
At the end of the session, Keons would take my pen, gather my writings, and send me back. This went on for months.
What were we creating? I wasn't sure. A variety show with songs and set pieces? Were the rulers of this stifled city actually attempting entertainment for its people? Everything I created had to be "for the benefit of the citizens of Dema" a phrase I heard often. I didn't question them - I was happy to be out of my cell - and putting words to paper.
On the final day, I wrote the last line, I was asked to name it? The question caught me off guard. This seemed like a decision they would make.
Show Day: They dressed me up and asked me to smile a poor attempt at hiding my sleep deprivation. It was all so colorful, as if compensating for the grayness of the city.
It was a blur. Before I knew it, it was over, and I was back in my cell. I can only remember fragments - only blurred hallucinations of color and chaos - like a dream. The confusion of it all hangs overhead. What was it all for?
… but it wasn't over
I guess it went well enough for them to request more of me. I was useful to Dema, and my creativity was exploited in new forms - They wanted me to be the entertainment at the Annual Assemblage of the Glorified - a performance at sea for the premiere citizens of Dema.
I knew those weren't the real bishops on that ship.
I'll quicken the entry - I need to keep up with the Torchbearer.
During the performance, we were attacked by something in the water. I don't know what possessed the creature to attack, but it was odd, and felt incredibly intentional. Many lost their lives in the attack, and I was thrashed through the bitter cold waves, yet somehow survived. Did this icy cold preserve me? Why was I spared? I am still so cold as I write.
This place feels foreign - nothing like Trench. From the frigid sea, the air here is somehow colder than the water that surrounds it. I have a strange feeling that this island will provide answers.
I must go.
— Clancy022 03MOON 18w-eap-ø-n.jpg022 03MOON 181619250308151109140519-Ø-919.jpgWhat is this thing? This device? This gift? Some sort of neurological connection or expansion. Psychokinetic weapon?
This is absurd.
Why was this given to me? Why am I the only one that can weild it? Was this the reason that I survived? My mind is racing as I wait here on the rocks - staring off into the darkness. Waiting for our torches to be mirrored - the signal he told me to wait for.
It feels oddly familiar. Not the spikes in my hand, but the power it harnesses, I've felt it before. Is this also the source of those rumors I heard in the dark corners of the city? Legends and stories that I assumed were myth, inspired by children's nightmares - tales of what the bishops would use the bodies for. Those "honorable" citizens who acheived The Glorious Gone - referred to as available vessels.
It all begins to make sense.
The episodes I would have: the blood red vision, my dreams of flying, the out of body account of the rider in the river, the decaying hosts of the television show, the robed figures that commanded the doomed ship...
Had we all been "seized" by the bishops using this same technique? Is this where their power comes from? Are they immortal, or just feeding off the next body, giving their hosts a brief second-life? I am in my original life, why am I available to this control?
This whole time I thought I was battling my inner self. Was I actually under assault for something else? someONE else?
This small eerie island has made me a weapon. We both believe that we can use it to change the momentum of this war. Now, we must return to the mainland where they should be there to recieve is. We will destroy and rebuild. Though it's been years since he last spoke with them, I hope they have not lost faith in The Torchbearers plan.
But how could any of this have been planned?
— Clancy024 02MOON 09_ev-i-D__ence.jpeg024 02MOON 09
I'm not as scared as I used to be. Their mystery begins to fade as a method to defeat them becomes more clear. I no longer feel powerless. I can outsmart them. This new power of psychokinesis worked, and I believe it can work again. I stand here, looking down at the line where the water meets the sand - a starting line. All the while, knowing there is a finish line across the Strait. Their compass lies, but mine remains true. I've left embers of inspiration, I only hope whatever spark was left has grown to a torch, and together we create an inferno.
[SIGNED] — Clancy024 02MOON 25_maniac_Clay.jpeg024 02MOON 25
These campfires feel like home, as I stare deeply into them, finding more and more clarity. They tried to tell us we were different. But the flame that burns inside of me is the same fire I've found on the hilltops of Trench. The Banditos have lived their rebellion, and a resistance is growing inside the concrete walls - one powerful enough to burn out all of the stale teachings, and usher in true hope - and a path to actual life. We march in the morning. The revolution shall arrive with the sun.024 02MOON 28__cla_im00FFFF.jpegI found a way in. A way they'll never suspect, and a way they'll never understand. Everything about our cause is so hard for them to understand, but so close to the hears of the growing resistance. I can reach them all. I can recruit everyone with eyes that see beyond the horizon. I can teach them. They can learn what I've learned, and fly by all of the constructs that Dema has placed in front of them. We will take it back.001Dear Eliot,
I am filled WWith trepidation, nervous that my instincts could be wrong. But I must admit that I see something in you. SomEEthing that doesn't exist in the other citizens of this lifeless construct. I've noticed the way you look ate my art, like you see something deeper in it, something the others do not see. It calls you -- and maybe that's because I'm screaming for commonality with every brush stroke. You are the only one seeing what I home for soMMeone to see. My art, I hope, cries for freedom from these confines, and a whisper against the […] forces of the bishops - a whisper […]008[…] You're right, the only glorious guest left is beyond these walls. Clancy has exposed cracks that I am now ready to break open. We have to act fast, before the bishops have a chance to react. I aMM willing to take the risk and stand OOn the side of tRRuth.
Sahlo,
Jansen027Dear Karta,
If you only knew how long I spend washing my hands you woulDD know how embarrassed I am. They don't want anyone to know what we do down here. There were even laws written about what we inhale, and how deeply our skin gets stained. But you must be the baker -- the sleuth whOO found me out. […] right - it's an odd […] cellar. Manipulating […]002[…] oppressive […] that has become […] has been an inspiration […] this art - I only hope […] that you see the hues […] hope that this fire you […] join our cause. I think […] we need you more TThan […]018[…] I have to confess; My admiration for you is not my only reason for writing. It's clear you have seen freeDDom. I know you've made it outside once or twice, and this seems to be how you tell your tale. There's so many of us that want to feel whatever you've felt - to know what weightlessness could possess someone to move as freely as you do. Clancy's audacIIty has awakened something in us all, and a soul as beautiful as yours must want to get out again. Maybe you want to get out once and for all. I would love to tell you our plan.
Chasing FFreedom,
Barea003[…] a scream. Clancy's bravery […] to me, and has inspired […] that I'm right to assUUme […] that the others cannot. I […] feel can motivate you to […] you are one of uSS, and […] ever. Will you join us?
Hoping,
Aria015Dear Sara,
I suppose I haven't hidden myself as well as I had hoped. Perhaps my arrogance at times has let my tongue slip in a conversation or TTwo -- and word has gotten around. It doesn't take too long here. Rumors seem to bounce off the circular walls quite rapidly, and here I am, already hearing my own […] they want me […] I have […] make it […] this new […]012[…] system is the only help. Our enemy is […] this structure, our enemy is their lies. I want to BBe part of what you arEE planning.
United,
Leo011Dear Nia,
I'm embarrassed. For the hours that drIIft off, following the city's hidden catacombs, it's never crossed my mind that someone would notice my absent-mindedness. It's true, […] these paths, and followed […] concrete facade more times […]022[…] open my […] of this […] I often […] fixture […] viewed you as one of these fixtures. Hardened, and unable to feel the weightlessness of the death eaters. But recently, I've realized you're just like me. While I had been assigned to the Necropolis gardens, you've been assigned to your post. Still. Unwavering. MMy days in the garden are lighter than your days against concrete -- and I've felt compassion for you. So I picked the flower. I'm not sure if you know the significance of the hue, but if you do, I would love to discuss. Your strEEngth could be of great help to us.
In Bloom,
JiritaL02[…] I've memorized […] then through this […] than I could possibLLy count. It's an obsession, and I know them like the back of my hand. Because I, LLike the movement you speak of, dream of escape. I have several methods that I've played out, but even if I make it outside, the bishops will find me, no matter how deep in Trench I get, and take me back. Just like Clancy's message has assured us, destroying this vialistic […] not […]003Dear Aria,
Guilty as chargeDD. I feel it too, and I do see the fire in your artwork. It caused me to detect a like-minded rebEEllion in you. It stirred something in me - a feeling that has been dormant for so long, that its re-emergence has invigorated me with newfound a tenacity -- a tenacity that I […] I too have been […] Finally there is […] to lead us in […]005Dear Jansen,
You have been a faithful and obedient loyalist to the bishops. TheRRe is honor in such diligence. But as scared as I am to confront your dedication, I have to urge to look deeper to find the truth in the bishops, and how they have come intOO power. There are cracks, and these cracks should be […] revelation. They are […] merely a force of […]007Dear Mara,
I am, and always have been, a devout Vialist. I obey, and give TThanks to the Glorious, like any good citizen should. This tradition is a comfort to me, and it is what I know. But I indeed have seen cracks. THHe bishops, our symbol of stoic control, have become frantic, and for the first time, unclear and worried about what is next. Keons meant everything to me, and it's not the […] But I'm now seeing that […] not Vialism. I don't […]013Dear Fredrik,
The library must be a boring plaCCe - maybe the most boring part of our already dreadful concrete prison. But you don't seem like a librarian. […] seem to have found a role in this city that […] you access to information and […]009Dear Leo,
I've noticed you in the square - the WWay you stare at the structures of our city, and even more, the way you trace invisible paths beneath the ground and up the towEErs. There are few engineers in Dema, and your skill and knowledge […] But only […] that we […] once and […] legend of […]016[…] echo. It's true - I know more tHHan […] to. I've found more than I should have. […] read contraband documents that […] increasingly difficult to stay silent. […] age of Clancy's uprising - his fight is sparking emotions that most of us have nevEEr felt. Rebellion is contagious. I want to be a part of it. Let's MMeet.
Ignited,
Fredrik014[…] suspicions, and inspire our […] to end the suffering of our people. We know they have lied to us, and you can prove it. PlEEase consider hearing our plan.
Warmly,
Sara004[…] almost forgot I possessed. […] inspired by Clancy's boldness. […] someone that SSeems brave enough […] some sort of uprising. I do want to be part of this. There are so many things to fear, but perhaps my biggesTT fear is to do nothing. I am here, and I will go into battle. I will support the uprising in any way I can.
East is up,
Eliot017Dear Rayana,
You're just a silhouette to me. But your dances hAAve become the moment that I look forward to most each day. Have you snuck a music box into your room or is there a song playing in your head? Your movements feel like peace to me, like you're translating freedom to this confined population. I want to hear what you're hearing. I often imagined my own soNNg that matches your movements, and someday I hope I can sing it to you. […]019Dear Barea,
That's me. I've always thought of myself as a lighthouse, and less like a silhouette, but I'm sure my window looks more mysterious than that shoWW that I'm putting on in my head. A lighthouse, I suppose, that may only be […] of hope, not one of dry land. I have […] there and it's beautiful. Terrifying […] but beautiful. They've brought me […] can't take those beautiful […]024[…] they can even […] wonder if they […] colors are. You were a great distraction that day. My bishop seemed more volatile than usual, and said that I had lost my dedication. There's some truth to that, because when no one's around, I'm only looking up -- tortured by the wonder of what the vultures see, as they pass in and out of the walls so freely. An arMMed guard, obsessed with trash dragons, he said. How did he even know I was looking? But I daydream of the other side of the wall, and when I saw the flower, I knew you must daydream too. The serendipitous nature of the moment I found quite amusing. But more importantly, the rebellious nature of this mysterious plan has me quite intrigured. I WWould love to know morEE.
Smirking,
Kinton010[…] might be quite valuable to our movement. […] if you feel it -- an unshakable yearning […] must stop the oppression in this city, […] for all. I can only hope that this […] Clancy has created a wonder in you. We need your help. Your knoWWledge of the hidden structures of this city could give us the upper hand in catching the bishops off-guard. Will you join us?
Best,
NiaL03[…] peered into, searching for […] not a force of good, they are […] tradition. I have dug deeper, and I know this tradition has dark secrets, and this "Gone" that they proclaim as honorable, I assure you, is anything but. I have found true freedom outside of these walls, and I YYearn to return to that wild freedom. But we need help from people like you, people on the inside of the towers. I wouldn't […] detected a hint of doubt […] believe you do […]020[…] a beacon […] been out […] at times, […] back, but they […] moments away from me. I remember them evEEry night, and play them over and over in my head, dancing as if to retrace my steps on a new way out. I too have been a quiet ally of Clancy, and his initiative gives me hope that we could get out, and never be brought back. I want you all to feel what I felt out there. Let me help aid your plan in any way possible - there is BBeauty out there that we all need to see.
The silhouette,
Rayana023Dear Jirita,
Pretty name. Pretty flower. I wondered if we'd ever get to speak. It's not every day that a citizen 'decorates' me like you did, but I've certainly endured worse. I TThought I would be reprimanded, but then I remembered they couldn't see it anyway. Just a lifeless weed in my pocket from tHHeir perspective. I wonder if […] see the vibrance of their robes. I […] even remEEmber what […]L04[…] same without him here. […] Keons was what I admired, […] even know what it means to be a Vialist anymore. I see them diffEErently, I see deception. I see rage. Your letter has confirmed some of my doubts, and has begun to ignite a new passion to destroy this construct that has deceived me for so long.006[…] asking you if I hadn't […] the validity of Vialism. […] cracks. I'm hoping we can break them open. I hope you join us in destroying this tyranny. I hope you join our quest for actual glory.
Sincerely,
Mara021Dear Kinton,
I was the girl that put the yEEllow flower in your front pocket as you stood guard. I think I saw a smirk. We notice you daily, and take wagers on what day you'll finally crack. But you stand at your post, solid as a statue, day after day. I must admit it bothered me at first. As I […] eyes more and more to the CCorruption […] system that keeps our spirits confined. […] feel a distaste for every institutional […] that supports it. I've OOften […]030*[…] the […] you've […] you now […] It's time, Clancy […] they are ready for […] They are ready to defeaTT […]L05You […] allow […] texts that most of us are unaware of. In fact, some of us have heard rumors of your stOOries, and our movement has become quite intrigured with your knowledge. There's more than they're telling us, we know that. We all theorize about the ancient Vialist texts, and wonder about how ancient they really are. We could use your knowledge. Your knowledge can help confirMM our […] quest […]026[…] that […] surface. The […] and I woUUld […] you want to teach me? In fact, I'm part of a group that is quite curious, and if you're interested, you could even join us. I'm sure it's lonely down there - SSadened by the gone, as you bend and twist their gravestones. I'm sure you see their faces, or remember your encounters with them. We all miss them, but you have to see them all off. I'm sure it feels wrong at times. I would love to talk about that, too. We could meeTT in your district if you find a short leave. I can't wait to learn more.
Curious,
Karta031*They believe […] TThis oppression to end. […] this archaic rule once and for all. We can meet out in Trench at camp to lay out our plan. We will bring you evEErything you need. We have support from yellow and red now, and our militia is strong. No matter what, when that day comes, we will get you to the toweRR.
Covering you,
TB
(Violation Code. 15398642_14)988 06MOON 18cla_ncy-988-06MOON_18_-1.jpgCLANCY_S JOURNAL
The perplexities of the Dema horizon didn't occur to me until my ninth year. It was then that I began to contemplate the existential, and decide what type of impression I wanted my life to make. Naturally, to fuel my hope, I looked out upon the distance of the land that had cultivated me, only this time with new awareness of the obstruction that my youthful ignorance had allowed me to overlook. Was it there the whole time? How had I not seen something so obvious? I am reminded of the moment daily, as the realization directly collides with a unique hope for my own future. As a child, I looked upon Dema with wonder, today, I am wrought with frustration, as I spend each day squinting for a glimpse of the top of the looming wall that has kept us here. It was upon my ninth year that I learned that Dema wasn't my home. This village, after all of this time, was my trap.
Before I became realized, I had deep affection for Dema. There was a wonderful structure to the city that put my cares to rest. Streets and locations were dependable, and the responsibilities of the day seemed to be accomplished with minimal effort. Once a task was taught and understood, we delighted in our ability to complete our obligations timely, and felt secure in knowing tomorrow’s duties would be accomplished with the same efficiency. We all worked to represent our bishop with honor, and knew that each inhabitant of our region had a like-minded dedication to consistency.
Keons embodied the spirit of this dedication. Of Dema's nine bishops, Keons was reserved as unwavering and forthright, possessing the ability to achieve focus that was rare for most in our region. We all admired his, and felt honored to be inhabitants of his region. While we had heard legend of the ruthlessness of other bishops, Keons possessed a stoic demeanor unlike anyone I had ever met, and we were all proud to serve.
— Clancy988 12MOON 01ba_dge.jpgIDENTIFIED AS
FAILED PERIMETER ESCAPE
BY DEMA COUNCIL
VIOLATION OF SECTION 15388642 14
OF VIALIST CODE OF CONDUCT009 12MOON 29unnamed-(1).jpgd_e_ath__eat_E_rz011 07MOON 08se__elf.jpg013 01MOON 08_ti_su_p.pngsev_ering__tiez
gEt out. the compAss lies. they don't control you. get out. the compaSs lies. They don't control you. get out. the compass lIeS. they don't control yoU.get out. the comPass lies. they don't control you.017 02MOON 12_.jpg017 07MOON 07017_07MOON_07.jpgTo refer to Dema as m[y] home has never felt accurate. Dema, t[o] me, has simply been the place that I've existed, or, the 'slot’ they’ve put me in. I've heard stories abo[u]t the ide[a] of "home," and its depiction has always seemed warm f[r]om the storyt[e]ller’s de[s]cription. [T]here was a romant[i]c ownership of the p[l]ace they inhabited that I admired, but cou[l]d never relate to. Thi[s] place, my p[l]ace, however, s[e]ems devoid of the romance and wond[e]r that the old stories tell. But somewhere between the iron order and fallible [p]recis[i]on of Dema, a hum of wo[n]der exists. It's this quiet wonder that my mind tends to [g]ets lost in. This hope of discovery alone has birthed a new version of myself; A better version, I hope, that will find a way to experience what's beyond these colossal walls.
— Clancy017 07MOON 163lurr.gif017 07MOON 172018_514_3_8.jpg__n_ot_myo_nly_fri_en d018 07MOON 01i.gif018 07MOON 01_e_sr__eve_r_.jpgA lifeless light surrounds us each night. Never could I imagine that
something so luminous could feel so dark. It's this glow that reminds
us of the dreamless existence we’ve been sentenced to. But what I call
a sentence, others accept as normalcy. How did they so efficiently
eradicate the dreams within us? When the bishops instituted Vialism
as mandate, they effectively reversed the hope that many arrived with.
Am I the only one who realizes that we've been lied to? Am I the only
one not afraid of the notion that the nine have hijacked our trust,
and extinguished the hope that once motivated our existence? We used
to close our eyes and picture a better life, now this city is full of
dry eyes caught in a trance of obedience, devoid of any trace of an
identity. The only significant light I've seen has been in the eyes of
those smeared - such a curious sight, to see bright eyes strangled by
the darkness of bishop hands. As their penance fades, so dims their
memory of something more. My hope of something more is all I have in
this rigid tomb, and I will not let it die.
— Clancy018 07MOON 05_o__ut_.gif018 07MOON 05_he_a_vy_.jpgThey're asleep. The night took forever to arrive, and now we're almost ready. We've studied the watchers, and know that there's no chance that we can step through unnoticed. So, instead of trying to hide ourselves, we'll make sure that all of us are noticed. It's been one year since the last convocation, and tomorrow's Annual Assemblage of Glorified will be the biggest spectacle this concrete coffin of a city has seen all year. If we time it right, we'll divert the attention of the watchers and finally take the step through. We've had no contact, but we're hoping the other side will be able to find a way in. We're not sure of the breach location, but we are willing to risk being smeared in order to find it. We know that we must go lower, and wait for the torches. They've never seen anything quite like this, and by morning, everything will be different. I'm terrified and excited, all at the same time. They don't control us.
— Clancy018 07MOON 06_they_ca_ntseeFCE300.gif018 07MOON 08_note.gifI've made it out.
I feel weightless. I know that place had always held me down, but for the first time, I can feel the unity that I had hoped for. It's been three nights now, and my breathing has changed - it's slower, and more full. It's like the air out here is actually worth taking in.
I can see it back in the distance, and I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't constantly on my mind. I wish I could turn that fear off, but maybe the further I go, the less that fear will affect me. I feel betrayed by what I assumed was home.- If I ever end up back there, I won't be able to look at it the same way.
They are asleep. They're so sure that they know the truth, and carry on throughout their day with the same meaningless tasks. They've forgotten to look up, and to look outward, to understand that this isn't about 'in there.'
This is about 'out here.'
This new world surrounds me. I used to think the walls back home were massive- these green cliffs engulf me, and place me right in the middle. Trench is quite precarious at times, and it's easy to grow weary. But it's real, and it's true, and I'd much rather endure reality than to mindlessly be obedient to a life that someone else created for me. I've obsessed about this world for so long, that it feels more like home than anything I've experienced. Somehow, in this vast openness, I feel more protected than ever.
The landscape feels endless, and I've found myself walking for hours without any true evidence of getting further down. But I've seen plants and colors out here that I'm not sure I've witnessed before. There's a beauty in the strangest places,— and the curiosity of what's next continues to motivate me.
I wonder who else is out here. If what I assumed inside is true, there's got to be more like me. Sometimes I'll feel a presence, only to look up and see nothing. It's just another thing that I'm afraid of that also excites me. It all just confirms all of the things that I hoped to be true for all of this time.
I am out here and I am very alive. I'm sometimes scared, but always discovering something new, and I will not stop. Cover me!
— Clancy018 07MOON 082_1_2.gif018 07MOON 18unalone.gifI can't believe what I just saw. I'm still trying to understand. This whole time I thought I was all alone - a single soul in this vast unknown world. But a few days into this trek, I looked down to see a figure headed the same way I was. I've tucked myself in these caves and crevices, trying my best to keep hidden, but he was out in the open, making his exhausting journey right down the middle of Trench. I was curious enough to follow alongside the path with him. He seemed unaffected by the fear of the unknown - the fear that tends to cripple me. To him, the terrain seemed familiar, as if he had been out here before.
While lost in my curiosity, they appeared. I had heard about them back in Dema, but to my knowledge, the stories were merely myth. Ten, twenty, and then what seemed to be a hundred Banditos appeared upon the cliffs, all looking down at him. He only stopped for a moment to look back up at them, and then continued on his way. His energy changed, and I wasn't sure if he was frightened or encouraged by their ominous presence.
They warned him of what was about to come.
It was a blur. First seeing the figure, then the Banditos, only to now have my eyes opened to the oncoming Bishop upon a white horse drawing closer in the distance.
The figure halted, and waited. When the Bishop stopped, I was sure he looked up, directly at me, so I hid deeper back in a cave. The presence of the robed rider seemed to paralyze the man. He stood still as he was approached, powerless as the outstretched hands smeared his neck. I had never seen a Bishop possess a power like this. Keons had always seemed gentle and warm - this bishop, at least out here, seemed like something else.
So I ran, and I've been running for as long as my legs and lungs can handle. Maybe this note will be my proof that what I witnessed was not a dream. A million questions race through my brain. Am I not the only one traveling through Trench?
I'll travel a little farther, and maybe I'll get a moment of rest tonight. I may have made a mistake, leaving. This spot, between two places, is beginning to feel like an endless and hopeless abyss. At least Dema is a place that I know, and at times like this, I miss a lot about what I know. This will all be much tougher than I imagined. Nothing out here is familiar. I've witnessed the presence of others for the first time today, and I feel more alone than ever. Cover me.
— Clancy019 01MOON 2217-35.4527.jpg019 01MOON 22
I can't face this page for long enough to write what I'm truly feeling. I am only wrought with more questions: Questions about what I assumed to be true, questions about what my own path is, and the question that has plagued my every night that I lie here, back in the city: Did I give up?
The force I saw between him and his bishop seemed tense to me, and frightening. But the memory of that exchange has had time to fester and replay in my mind long enough that I'm questioning if I even remembered it correctly. I assumed the bishop was forcefully retrieving his subject, but now I wonder if the bishop was actually trying to save him, but he refused.
I stayed out there for five days after I watched it happened. I haven't seen him since. Maybe he got away, and was still out in Trench with me. Maybe the bishop chased him down, and brought him home.
Home?
Did I just call this place 'home?'
After all of the endless beauty that I saw out there, I am now convincing myself that I'm actually better off within these confines?
I admit, It was more difficult than I expected. Nothing could have prepared me for how much the 'unknown' can consume me. Vast landscapes and endless possibilities, yet coupled with endless danger. I became anxious. I became tired. I became hungry. Every step I took seemed harder than the last, jumping from jagged rocky step to step, or pulling myself through thick forest – it all became debilitating, and I was sure that I couldn't go on.
Keons approached as the sun rose one morning. I wasn't scared. I was relieved. After all that he had taught me, his presence was the most comforting moment that I had in days, and I couldn't help but be happy to see him. In true Keon's fashion, he wrapped his arms around me, then put his hands under my face, looked me in the eyes, and then said "Clancy, my child, let's go home."
I've been here for a few weeks now, and while the routines of this world are comforting, and certainly easier than life out there, my mind keeps bouncing between the two places.
Which one is home? Are the bishops protecting me, and the torches upon the hilltop dangerous? Or is it the other way around? My dreams pull me from world to world, and I feel lost in between all of it.
There is still so much I do not understand.
— Clancy//Terminating Files…Account Terminated022 03MOON 16v-o-lds-ø-y.jpg022 03MOON 17is-ø-lat-ed.jpgI haven't had the ability to write for what seems like a lifetime. This deprivation is what weighed on me the most. Not the lack of food, or the change of scenery - they wouldn't let me write anything down.
Well, at least not without them present …
I remember that day vividly. First, they let me out. Even though the hallway was still gray and drab, the new experience was a shock to my system - significantly different than usual captivity. I tried to match the rhythm of the nameless guard's footsteps as we echoed down the long corridor. I followed close behind, as if I had no choice. Cold concrete encapsulated us and seemed to cast a spill of synthetic calmness. Obedience.
We arrived at a blue door. It was an odd contrast to this concrete maze. As I went through the doorway, I found myself in another typical gray Dema room. The only difference was who was waiting for me.
Four of them. Three of them were unknown to me, but one was clearly Keons. I knew his voice
They proposed an idea. A television show - or whatever it was. I had no idea that I was known outside of my cell, but they informed me that I had garnered notoriety for my schemes and outbursts. They wanted to use my face for the benefit of the city. They handed me a pen - a familiar instrument. Yet, they must be present when I use it. They wanted to manage my imagination and vision. Although shackled, at least I could create again.
Thus began the sessions.
Everyday my cell door would open. I followed the guard down the familiar hall, through the blue door, to sit down at the desk and chair. My designated creative space - perfectly centered under their watchful eye. Sometimes three, sometimes eight - not once were all nine present. He was never there. I would have felt it if he was.
At the end of the session, Keons would take my pen, gather my writings, and send me back. This went on for months.
What were we creating? I wasn't sure. A variety show with songs and set pieces? Were the rulers of this stifled city actually attempting entertainment for its people? Everything I created had to be "for the benefit of the citizens of Dema" a phrase I heard often. I didn't question them - I was happy to be out of my cell - and putting words to paper.
On the final day, I wrote the last line, I was asked to name it? The question caught me off guard. This seemed like a decision they would make.
Show Day: They dressed me up and asked me to smile a poor attempt at hiding my sleep deprivation. It was all so colorful, as if compensating for the grayness of the city.
It was a blur. Before I knew it, it was over, and I was back in my cell. I can only remember fragments - only blurred hallucinations of color and chaos - like a dream. The confusion of it all hangs overhead. What was it all for?
… but it wasn't over
I guess it went well enough for them to request more of me. I was useful to Dema, and my creativity was exploited in new forms - They wanted me to be the entertainment at the Annual Assemblage of the Glorified - a performance at sea for the premiere citizens of Dema.
I knew those weren't the real bishops on that ship.
I'll quicken the entry - I need to keep up with the Torchbearer.
During the performance, we were attacked by something in the water. I don't know what possessed the creature to attack, but it was odd, and felt incredibly intentional. Many lost their lives in the attack, and I was thrashed through the bitter cold waves, yet somehow survived. Did this icy cold preserve me? Why was I spared? I am still so cold as I write.
This place feels foreign - nothing like Trench. From the frigid sea, the air here is somehow colder than the water that surrounds it. I have a strange feeling that this island will provide answers.
I must go.
— Clancy022 03MOON 18w-eap-ø-n.jpg022 03MOON 181619250308151109140519-Ø-919.jpgWhat is this thing? This device? This gift? Some sort of neurological connection or expansion. Psychokinetic weapon?
This is absurd.
Why was this given to me? Why am I the only one that can weild it? Was this the reason that I survived? My mind is racing as I wait here on the rocks - staring off into the darkness. Waiting for our torches to be mirrored - the signal he told me to wait for.
It feels oddly familiar. Not the spikes in my hand, but the power it harnesses, I've felt it before. Is this also the source of those rumors I heard in the dark corners of the city? Legends and stories that I assumed were myth, inspired by children's nightmares - tales of what the bishops would use the bodies for. Those "honorable" citizens who acheived The Glorious Gone - referred to as available vessels.
It all begins to make sense.
The episodes I would have: the blood red vision, my dreams of flying, the out of body account of the rider in the river, the decaying hosts of the television show, the robed figures that commanded the doomed ship...
Had we all been "seized" by the bishops using this same technique? Is this where their power comes from? Are they immortal, or just feeding off the next body, giving their hosts a brief second-life? I am in my original life, why am I available to this control?
This whole time I thought I was battling my inner self. Was I actually under assault for something else? someONE else?
This small eerie island has made me a weapon. We both believe that we can use it to change the momentum of this war. Now, we must return to the mainland where they should be there to recieve is. We will destroy and rebuild. Though it's been years since he last spoke with them, I hope they have not lost faith in The Torchbearers plan.
But how could any of this have been planned?
— Clancy024 02MOON 09_ev-i-D__ence.jpeg024 02MOON 09
I'm not as scared as I used to be. Their mystery begins to fade as a method to defeat them becomes more clear. I no longer feel powerless. I can outsmart them. This new power of psychokinesis worked, and I believe it can work again. I stand here, looking down at the line where the water meets the sand - a starting line. All the while, knowing there is a finish line across the Strait. Their compass lies, but mine remains true. I've left embers of inspiration, I only hope whatever spark was left has grown to a torch, and together we create an inferno.
[SIGNED] — Clancy024 02MOON 25_maniac_Clay.jpeg024 02MOON 25
These campfires feel like home, as I stare deeply into them, finding more and more clarity. They tried to tell us we were different. But the flame that burns inside of me is the same fire I've found on the hilltops of Trench. The Banditos have lived their rebellion, and a resistance is growing inside the concrete walls - one powerful enough to burn out all of the stale teachings, and usher in true hope - and a path to actual life. We march in the morning. The revolution shall arrive with the sun.024 02MOON 28__cla_im00FFFF.jpegI found a way in. A way they'll never suspect, and a way they'll never understand. Everything about our cause is so hard for them to understand, but so close to the hears of the growing resistance. I can reach them all. I can recruit everyone with eyes that see beyond the horizon. I can teach them. They can learn what I've learned, and fly by all of the constructs that Dema has placed in front of them. We will take it back.001Dear Eliot,
I am filled WWith trepidation, nervous that my instincts could be wrong. But I must admit that I see something in you. SomEEthing that doesn't exist in the other citizens of this lifeless construct. I've noticed the way you look ate my art, like you see something deeper in it, something the others do not see. It calls you -- and maybe that's because I'm screaming for commonality with every brush stroke. You are the only one seeing what I home for soMMeone to see. My art, I hope, cries for freedom from these confines, and a whisper against the […] forces of the bishops - a whisper […]008[…] You're right, the only glorious guest left is beyond these walls. Clancy has exposed cracks that I am now ready to break open. We have to act fast, before the bishops have a chance to react. I aMM willing to take the risk and stand OOn the side of tRRuth.
Sahlo,
Jansen027Dear Karta,
If you only knew how long I spend washing my hands you woulDD know how embarrassed I am. They don't want anyone to know what we do down here. There were even laws written about what we inhale, and how deeply our skin gets stained. But you must be the baker -- the sleuth whOO found me out. […] right - it's an odd […] cellar. Manipulating […]002[…] oppressive […] that has become […] has been an inspiration […] this art - I only hope […] that you see the hues […] hope that this fire you […] join our cause. I think […] we need you more TThan […]018[…] I have to confess; My admiration for you is not my only reason for writing. It's clear you have seen freeDDom. I know you've made it outside once or twice, and this seems to be how you tell your tale. There's so many of us that want to feel whatever you've felt - to know what weightlessness could possess someone to move as freely as you do. Clancy's audacIIty has awakened something in us all, and a soul as beautiful as yours must want to get out again. Maybe you want to get out once and for all. I would love to tell you our plan.
Chasing FFreedom,
Barea003[…] a scream. Clancy's bravery […] to me, and has inspired […] that I'm right to assUUme […] that the others cannot. I […] feel can motivate you to […] you are one of uSS, and […] ever. Will you join us?
Hoping,
Aria015Dear Sara,
I suppose I haven't hidden myself as well as I had hoped. Perhaps my arrogance at times has let my tongue slip in a conversation or TTwo -- and word has gotten around. It doesn't take too long here. Rumors seem to bounce off the circular walls quite rapidly, and here I am, already hearing my own […] they want me […] I have […] make it […] this new […]012[…] system is the only help. Our enemy is […] this structure, our enemy is their lies. I want to BBe part of what you arEE planning.
United,
Leo011Dear Nia,
I'm embarrassed. For the hours that drIIft off, following the city's hidden catacombs, it's never crossed my mind that someone would notice my absent-mindedness. It's true, […] these paths, and followed […] concrete facade more times […]022[…] open my […] of this […] I often […] fixture […] viewed you as one of these fixtures. Hardened, and unable to feel the weightlessness of the death eaters. But recently, I've realized you're just like me. While I had been assigned to the Necropolis gardens, you've been assigned to your post. Still. Unwavering. MMy days in the garden are lighter than your days against concrete -- and I've felt compassion for you. So I picked the flower. I'm not sure if you know the significance of the hue, but if you do, I would love to discuss. Your strEEngth could be of great help to us.
In Bloom,
JiritaL02[…] I've memorized […] then through this […] than I could possibLLy count. It's an obsession, and I know them like the back of my hand. Because I, LLike the movement you speak of, dream of escape. I have several methods that I've played out, but even if I make it outside, the bishops will find me, no matter how deep in Trench I get, and take me back. Just like Clancy's message has assured us, destroying this vialistic […] not […]003Dear Aria,
Guilty as chargeDD. I feel it too, and I do see the fire in your artwork. It caused me to detect a like-minded rebEEllion in you. It stirred something in me - a feeling that has been dormant for so long, that its re-emergence has invigorated me with newfound a tenacity -- a tenacity that I […] I too have been […] Finally there is […] to lead us in […]005Dear Jansen,
You have been a faithful and obedient loyalist to the bishops. TheRRe is honor in such diligence. But as scared as I am to confront your dedication, I have to urge to look deeper to find the truth in the bishops, and how they have come intOO power. There are cracks, and these cracks should be […] revelation. They are […] merely a force of […]007Dear Mara,
I am, and always have been, a devout Vialist. I obey, and give TThanks to the Glorious, like any good citizen should. This tradition is a comfort to me, and it is what I know. But I indeed have seen cracks. THHe bishops, our symbol of stoic control, have become frantic, and for the first time, unclear and worried about what is next. Keons meant everything to me, and it's not the […] But I'm now seeing that […] not Vialism. I don't […]013Dear Fredrik,
The library must be a boring plaCCe - maybe the most boring part of our already dreadful concrete prison. But you don't seem like a librarian. […] seem to have found a role in this city that […] you access to information and […]009Dear Leo,
I've noticed you in the square - the WWay you stare at the structures of our city, and even more, the way you trace invisible paths beneath the ground and up the towEErs. There are few engineers in Dema, and your skill and knowledge […] But only […] that we […] once and […] legend of […]016[…] echo. It's true - I know more tHHan […] to. I've found more than I should have. […] read contraband documents that […] increasingly difficult to stay silent. […] age of Clancy's uprising - his fight is sparking emotions that most of us have nevEEr felt. Rebellion is contagious. I want to be a part of it. Let's MMeet.
Ignited,
Fredrik014[…] suspicions, and inspire our […] to end the suffering of our people. We know they have lied to us, and you can prove it. PlEEase consider hearing our plan.
Warmly,
Sara004[…] almost forgot I possessed. […] inspired by Clancy's boldness. […] someone that SSeems brave enough […] some sort of uprising. I do want to be part of this. There are so many things to fear, but perhaps my biggesTT fear is to do nothing. I am here, and I will go into battle. I will support the uprising in any way I can.
East is up,
Eliot017Dear Rayana,
You're just a silhouette to me. But your dances hAAve become the moment that I look forward to most each day. Have you snuck a music box into your room or is there a song playing in your head? Your movements feel like peace to me, like you're translating freedom to this confined population. I want to hear what you're hearing. I often imagined my own soNNg that matches your movements, and someday I hope I can sing it to you. […]019Dear Barea,
That's me. I've always thought of myself as a lighthouse, and less like a silhouette, but I'm sure my window looks more mysterious than that shoWW that I'm putting on in my head. A lighthouse, I suppose, that may only be […] of hope, not one of dry land. I have […] there and it's beautiful. Terrifying […] but beautiful. They've brought me […] can't take those beautiful […]024[…] they can even […] wonder if they […] colors are. You were a great distraction that day. My bishop seemed more volatile than usual, and said that I had lost my dedication. There's some truth to that, because when no one's around, I'm only looking up -- tortured by the wonder of what the vultures see, as they pass in and out of the walls so freely. An arMMed guard, obsessed with trash dragons, he said. How did he even know I was looking? But I daydream of the other side of the wall, and when I saw the flower, I knew you must daydream too. The serendipitous nature of the moment I found quite amusing. But more importantly, the rebellious nature of this mysterious plan has me quite intrigured. I WWould love to know morEE.
Smirking,
Kinton010[…] might be quite valuable to our movement. […] if you feel it -- an unshakable yearning […] must stop the oppression in this city, […] for all. I can only hope that this […] Clancy has created a wonder in you. We need your help. Your knoWWledge of the hidden structures of this city could give us the upper hand in catching the bishops off-guard. Will you join us?
Best,
NiaL03[…] peered into, searching for […] not a force of good, they are […] tradition. I have dug deeper, and I know this tradition has dark secrets, and this "Gone" that they proclaim as honorable, I assure you, is anything but. I have found true freedom outside of these walls, and I YYearn to return to that wild freedom. But we need help from people like you, people on the inside of the towers. I wouldn't […] detected a hint of doubt […] believe you do […]020[…] a beacon […] been out […] at times, […] back, but they […] moments away from me. I remember them evEEry night, and play them over and over in my head, dancing as if to retrace my steps on a new way out. I too have been a quiet ally of Clancy, and his initiative gives me hope that we could get out, and never be brought back. I want you all to feel what I felt out there. Let me help aid your plan in any way possible - there is BBeauty out there that we all need to see.
The silhouette,
Rayana023Dear Jirita,
Pretty name. Pretty flower. I wondered if we'd ever get to speak. It's not every day that a citizen 'decorates' me like you did, but I've certainly endured worse. I TThought I would be reprimanded, but then I remembered they couldn't see it anyway. Just a lifeless weed in my pocket from tHHeir perspective. I wonder if […] see the vibrance of their robes. I […] even remEEmber what […]L04[…] same without him here. […] Keons was what I admired, […] even know what it means to be a Vialist anymore. I see them diffEErently, I see deception. I see rage. Your letter has confirmed some of my doubts, and has begun to ignite a new passion to destroy this construct that has deceived me for so long.006[…] asking you if I hadn't […] the validity of Vialism. […] cracks. I'm hoping we can break them open. I hope you join us in destroying this tyranny. I hope you join our quest for actual glory.
Sincerely,
Mara021Dear Kinton,
I was the girl that put the yEEllow flower in your front pocket as you stood guard. I think I saw a smirk. We notice you daily, and take wagers on what day you'll finally crack. But you stand at your post, solid as a statue, day after day. I must admit it bothered me at first. As I […] eyes more and more to the CCorruption […] system that keeps our spirits confined. […] feel a distaste for every institutional […] that supports it. I've OOften […]030*[…] the […] you've […] you now […] It's time, Clancy […] they are ready for […] They are ready to defeaTT […]L05You […] allow […] texts that most of us are unaware of. In fact, some of us have heard rumors of your stOOries, and our movement has become quite intrigured with your knowledge. There's more than they're telling us, we know that. We all theorize about the ancient Vialist texts, and wonder about how ancient they really are. We could use your knowledge. Your knowledge can help confirMM our […] quest […]026[…] that […] surface. The […] and I woUUld […] you want to teach me? In fact, I'm part of a group that is quite curious, and if you're interested, you could even join us. I'm sure it's lonely down there - SSadened by the gone, as you bend and twist their gravestones. I'm sure you see their faces, or remember your encounters with them. We all miss them, but you have to see them all off. I'm sure it feels wrong at times. I would love to talk about that, too. We could meeTT in your district if you find a short leave. I can't wait to learn more.
Curious,
Karta031*They believe […] TThis oppression to end. […] this archaic rule once and for all. We can meet out in Trench at camp to lay out our plan. We will bring you evEErything you need. We have support from yellow and red now, and our militia is strong. No matter what, when that day comes, we will get you to the toweRR.
Covering you,
TB
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