Lord Gazter
Posts: 665
8/25/2016
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A assorted crowd gathers around makeshift platform. Although the crowd was not particularly large the speaker sauntered up to the platform as if he was going to be addressing the whole of London. Lord Gazter cleared his throat.
"My fellow Londoners, I have a question for you all. What does it mean to be a Londoner?" He pauses for a heartbeat. "What is it that separates us from others. Is it our vitality for we have survived the fall? Is it our character for we have refused to let despair destroy us? Is it tenacity for we have endured? My friends it is all these things and more that makes the people of London not only different from any other people above on the surface, but the any other peoples in the Neath."
Lord Gazter pauses. He pauses until only a few quiet whispers remain. "But what of the tomb colonists?" Lord Gazter surveys the faces in the crowd. "What about our tomb colonist friends. Are they not Londoners? Do they not toil for a wage like any other Londoner? Do they not feel pain like any Londoner? Do they not seek joy in their lives like any other Londoner?"
"Do they not weep and cry out at the injustices in their lives like any Londoner?" Lord Gazter waits. He waits until the words hung like lead in the air. "The answer to all those question is unmistakably, invariably, inescapably yes." Lord Gazter looks out towards the crowd with the look of a judge before the accused.
"Yet why are the tomb colonist still treated with scorn? Why do the words of their troubles fall on deaf ears?" Lord Gazter's sighs a dreary sigh. "Why is their plight treated any different to any others' plight?"
Lord Gazter looks out upon the crowd again. "To those who ask, what plight does the tomb colonist face, I say to you merely look to the scorn in your own voice. The fate of the tomb colonist made terrible enough by their new state is made worse by people, who instead of treating them like any other Londoner treat them with fear and disgust." Lord Gazter scrunches up his face as if he tasted something foul.
"Yet their troubles do not end their for many tomb colonists, who although they consider London their home and its residents kinsmen, are shipped off to the tomb colonies as a way of disposing them. To dispose of fellow Londoners as if they were nothing but refuse is unabashedly detestable."
Lord Gazter takes a few steps to his left and faces the crowd. "Imagine if you were in their position. For a second imagine if you were a tomb colonist. How would you feel? How would you cope with the misery?" Lord Gazter takes a few steps to the right.
"Or worse yet imagine if one of your loved ones became a tomb colonist. Imagine if one of your parents became a tomb colonist. Imagine if your love became a tomb colonist. Imagine if one of your children became a tomb colonist."
The silence seemed as if it lasted an eternity. "My fellow Londoners, I ask you again. Are tomb colonists not Londoners as well?"
There is a pause, but eventually a few start applauding and goaded on by the others the rest applaud as well. "I cannot fully speak for all the troubles that the tomb colonists face for I have never truly experienced it. So I would like to offer this platform to my dear friend." Lord Gazter offers a tomb colonist a hand up the platform and he himself descends off the platform.
OOC: To hopefully preemptively answer any questions. This is going on during Flowerdene, and yes other players can get involved as part of the crowd if you want.
edited by Lord Gazter on 8/25/2016
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Lord Gazter: a charming gentleman of noble birth and a person of significant influence.
Victoria Crow: a spirited la.. young woman and freshly anointed firebrand.
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A Dimness
Posts: 613
8/25/2016
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The Mirthless Colonist, previously spectating silently, now saunters through the crowd and takes Lord Gazter's hand. He deftly steps up to the podium and adresses the crowd. "Fellow men, women, and individuals of indistinct gender, thank you for your time. As you can see, I'm a Tomb-Colonist, and a fairly old one for that matter. I have personally lived through two falls, some Tomb-Colonists are even older. First, there's one thing that you should know about the Tomb-Colonies; they're b____y boring!" Many in the crowd stifle a chuckle when they realize that the colonist is not, in fact, joking. "It's horrible. All we do up there is drink and fight and drink some more. On my last visit to Venderbight, a woman lost her eyeball in my teacup! There aren't enough Tinctures of Vigour in the world to keep my neighbour from losing his limbs on my doormat! It might sound funny, but we all do it because we dread what comes afterwards. Neathers can only truly die when they're particularly foolish or careless, but the biggest fool of all is the one that decides not to die, that's what awaits you there: eternity. Picture thousands of shriveled dusty corpses all coughing and wheezing in endless darkness, that's what ultimately awaits each of us." The crowd goes silent, a Wide-eyed Dockworker quickly draws a cross across his chest with his finger. "We don't need pity. We've all chosen this fate. It's an inconvenience, but the Colonies hold amounts of knowledge that would humble a master. We Tomb-Colonists are fighters and philosophers, poets and princes. We are the bandaged dead, and we carry the burdens that London will not. And for that reason, we deserve to be more than-second class citizens! Last night I was denied entry from a soirée where rubberies were in attendance, b____y rubberies! Is that how you treat your fellow man, even if he's scarred and decomposed? Do you treat him worse than a squid in a suit? It's a damned shame, and you all know it!"
The crowd, while not riled, certainly agrees with the bandaged man in front of them. Three Society ladies excitedly chatter with a bandaged gentlewoman, while a drunken wretch stumbles around with his arm around an annoyed colonist.
The Mirthless Colonist shakes Lord Gazter's hand and takes two steps backwards.
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A truth so strange it can only be lied into existence
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