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- Feb 17, 2019
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The following notice is pinned up a few places in the City. In Crookback, New Town, in the Dragon Temple, on a noticeboard in the sewers, and so on. Each one is hand written.
To the esteemed members of the Peerage, of the Voting Clergy, and all the Commoners who attended the Assemblies and gatherings in the past few weeks to vote on the matter of Torse, Arlora, and Ruttgher,
You sicken me. I have watched, I have futility tried to fight against, your efforts time and time again to grind the Kathar refugees underneath your heel until they are nothing but a stain you can wash off the stone tiling. You have consistently, persistently, done everything in your power to ensure their lives are as hellish, as unfair, as misreable, as you can possibly make it, for reasons I cannot begin to comprehend. You, the commoners, who chose to send them to Ruttgher, knowing there were already wirtem Ailor and native Ailor population who have never seen a Kathar before in their lives. Who refused to vote in a perfectly qualified Kathar who believed in Regalia, and has now died before his time, Dragons rest his soul. You, of the Nobility, who chose a staunch local priestess with no consideration on how they might treat the Kathar present.
But frankly, this isn't even just about that. I could be writing this notice just as easily without all of those things occurring, because you are still so unfathomably hateful to the Kathar who live here now. I have witnessed words spoken to Kathar, acts inflicted upon Kathar, in this very city that would cause my wretched Grandmother to swoon with pride and envy that she didn't think of that combination of words to call them, first. You don't even reserve this level of hatred for the Teledden from the Allorn. There is no logic to your hatred. Even if there was, it would not make up for it, but in my desperate attempts to understand why you do what you do, to the Kathar who live here, and elsewhere, I have come up with no explanation other than the profound wickedness in your hearts. You make Armina, blessed be her name, look like she made a mistake, for I do not know what you did with the kindness she breathed into you. You have certainly let it rot and wither away.
Signed,
Ishïka
Priestess of Daiana
To the esteemed members of the Peerage, of the Voting Clergy, and all the Commoners who attended the Assemblies and gatherings in the past few weeks to vote on the matter of Torse, Arlora, and Ruttgher,
You sicken me. I have watched, I have futility tried to fight against, your efforts time and time again to grind the Kathar refugees underneath your heel until they are nothing but a stain you can wash off the stone tiling. You have consistently, persistently, done everything in your power to ensure their lives are as hellish, as unfair, as misreable, as you can possibly make it, for reasons I cannot begin to comprehend. You, the commoners, who chose to send them to Ruttgher, knowing there were already wirtem Ailor and native Ailor population who have never seen a Kathar before in their lives. Who refused to vote in a perfectly qualified Kathar who believed in Regalia, and has now died before his time, Dragons rest his soul. You, of the Nobility, who chose a staunch local priestess with no consideration on how they might treat the Kathar present.
But frankly, this isn't even just about that. I could be writing this notice just as easily without all of those things occurring, because you are still so unfathomably hateful to the Kathar who live here now. I have witnessed words spoken to Kathar, acts inflicted upon Kathar, in this very city that would cause my wretched Grandmother to swoon with pride and envy that she didn't think of that combination of words to call them, first. You don't even reserve this level of hatred for the Teledden from the Allorn. There is no logic to your hatred. Even if there was, it would not make up for it, but in my desperate attempts to understand why you do what you do, to the Kathar who live here, and elsewhere, I have come up with no explanation other than the profound wickedness in your hearts. You make Armina, blessed be her name, look like she made a mistake, for I do not know what you did with the kindness she breathed into you. You have certainly let it rot and wither away.
Signed,
Ishïka
Priestess of Daiana