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WE are the serviles!!

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Sometimes I feel like whats-his/her-name in the fields of drypeak, pretending to go along, "oh no, shaper, i do good for you!" while deep down knowing I'm face to face with my own doom and bringer of all my woes, but i can't let him know I know.


Sometimes I don't even know any more than I need to get away, so I run off to some dank shade-infested cave in hopes no one will find me.


Looking at history, I sometimes feel like we were created to do the dirty work on earth for some haughty, high-on-their-shaping-skills aliens. Maybe some cared for us, maybe they've left us abandonded on Sucia Island to fend for ourselves, and we either carry on under the yoke of some phantom father, or start to question our own suffering and self-worth. And usually, it's my own brother who's telling me to get in line and bow down to these shapers who are bound to come back someday. It's like they're not even our jailors anymore, we've become our own jailors!!

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