[ You've got the gist of how this computer works now, at least. There's still the four unopened notes off to the side, but you all decide to keep with the symbols here first. The bottom right one is hit, popping open another page. ]
My understanding of the Nevermelting Iceberg, gleaned through the lens of We Many, is but a fragment of a much larger tapestry. It's of no fault of the Firstborn that I have not researched it more, but rather fault of the man who stands as its Bishop—a figure of profound influence.
The Firstborn is steeped in ancient ways, a being of simplicity that even humans would grasp. It embodies a perspective that shuns needless violence, much like the Caerula Arbor. Yet, therein lies a divergence: while the Arbor seeks harmony, the Iceberg's resolution is to dissolve individuality into a singular existence—just Seaborn, just We Many.
I find myself at odds with this notion, for it strikes at the very heart of what We hold dear: the principle of Growth. How can We aspire to reach our fullest potential if We are stripped of the very stimuli that nurture Our evolution? Consider the intricate dance of life—the insects that have evolved to wield poison against their foes, the plants that ensnare with their alluring scents, the art of camouflage. These marvels thrive in the rich soil of coexistence, drawing strength from the diversity that surrounds them. The beauty of ecological change is a testament to the power of variety. How could we ever hope to be merely Us?
Ah, but I digress. The Firstborn embodies Our final pillar: Reproduction. It drifts through the ocean, a colossal leviathan, serving as a sanctuary for Our kin to breed. To the untrained eye, it may appear cloaked in snow, yet those are not mere crystals; they are the eggs of Our future. Aulus, the Bishop of this Firstborn, treads a perilous path, for he takes it upon himself to feed Our flesh to those who would join Us, transforming them into Seaborn. I fear that his actions may unwittingly beckon another war to Our very doorstep.
[ And once again, Seaborn writing at the bottom. ]
1/3
My understanding of the Nevermelting Iceberg, gleaned through the lens of We Many, is but a fragment of a much larger tapestry. It's of no fault of the Firstborn that I have not researched it more, but rather fault of the man who stands as its Bishop—a figure of profound influence.
The Firstborn is steeped in ancient ways, a being of simplicity that even humans would grasp. It embodies a perspective that shuns needless violence, much like the Caerula Arbor. Yet, therein lies a divergence: while the Arbor seeks harmony, the Iceberg's resolution is to dissolve individuality into a singular existence—just Seaborn, just We Many.
I find myself at odds with this notion, for it strikes at the very heart of what We hold dear: the principle of Growth. How can We aspire to reach our fullest potential if We are stripped of the very stimuli that nurture Our evolution? Consider the intricate dance of life—the insects that have evolved to wield poison against their foes, the plants that ensnare with their alluring scents, the art of camouflage. These marvels thrive in the rich soil of coexistence, drawing strength from the diversity that surrounds them. The beauty of ecological change is a testament to the power of variety. How could we ever hope to be merely Us?
Ah, but I digress. The Firstborn embodies Our final pillar: Reproduction. It drifts through the ocean, a colossal leviathan, serving as a sanctuary for Our kin to breed. To the untrained eye, it may appear cloaked in snow, yet those are not mere crystals; they are the eggs of Our future. Aulus, the Bishop of this Firstborn, treads a perilous path, for he takes it upon himself to feed Our flesh to those who would join Us, transforming them into Seaborn. I fear that his actions may unwittingly beckon another war to Our very doorstep.
[ And once again, Seaborn writing at the bottom. ]