Entry 5:
A censored world has no bad words, no bad deeds. The same censored world has no choice, and a false reality. That is the most dangerous world we can live in.
We naturally censor. We say what makes us look good, not what is the truth. We get defensive at critical remarks, and for those with the most extreme need to protect themselves or others outlook, resort to force to retain our image.
For all its faults, its dark alley ways and struggling workers, Cordor, at the least, does not overtly censor its struggles. It is not afraid of its faulted reputation. In this way, Cordor always works to improve itself, because it acknowledges its imperfection.
I cannot say the same for the North.
Twelve years ago, I joked that the Thane’s wife Finibelle and Terto were having an affair. I did not know they were really having one at first. But now after beginning to hear the beginning of the pieces from Terto, I know why their two hearts connected, in the touching, tragic way they did.
Yet I am now in a situation where I must make decisions of survival because the Earthkin lands of Northern Arelith fear this story, or it bristles them. I am not concerned of my personal life, for I have already resolved to not submit to the forceful plea of censoring. What is urgent is the survival of the information I carry, which is far more valuable. I seek to live so I may decide what to do with it.
Some of it is new, gained by surprising means. A tragic story from a monstrous kobold worn with age, gifted with wisdom and intelligence beset on a terrible face. The value of having the other point of view from the clan who descended from those who set Benwick into ruins cannot be stated enough. I am thankful the kobold did not take my life, only wishing for me to hear his story. I do not know why he chose me. But something must become of the tale.
Just as something must be done in response to the attempted censorship of my play. I am learning the story from Terto, but I can already piece the narrative just with the roots and setting he has described to me. It is not an uncommon tale, an arranged marriage turned cold, the wife turning to find comfort and love in another.
I had thought of gathering the tale and sharing it should I ever be forced to justify myself, but that is not enough. It is one speaker, and one dead speaker does nothing. We are mortal, we die when it is our time and that is it. But stories, songs, art? They live on. Especially when printed.
When I am done gathering the tale in full, I will place copies of the story on shelves, to be read and seen by any curious commoner or collecting noble if I am forced further into the corner. It does not matter then who regards what as truth. For THE truth will be accessible, and at the least, some will know it, pure, and unfiltered bar the gentleness I gift it to respect the characters of the tale, as I always have.
I had appealed for advice from a fellow agent on other actions to take, but did not find the heartfelt answers I sought. He was busy in his own work, like many of the others. Their methods are different, slow, gentle ripples moving across the pond, while mine are thunder coated by jest, causing immediate waves. But they do not give me away any more than theirs, perhaps even making the very idea absurd if the thought was ever to cross their minds. Subtlety is as easily achieved with loud gregariousness as it is soft and careful words.
Even so, it is a lonely crusade, this campaign for hin-spirit and art. It takes heroism and courage to stand where others would submit or keep neutral, even as doubt crosses me when I am called a terrible person, or worse. “Is this the right way to do this?” is a common thought that crosses my mind. For it is so easy to put on a different mask, and assume a persona that is reasonable and agreeable with society. Sometimes, the thought of the building consequences makes me consider how much easier it would be to pretend to be something I am not. Blue, Sariah Popkins tried that. Society manipulated her love like a docile dog, and sacrificed her as a lamb. Better to have lived by principles, than to give them up in the face of adversity.
I believe, no matter what happens to me, that the work I do will make things better for those I do it for in the future. And so the show goes on, and I will endure the insults, the chasing, the hurting, the intolerance, the threat of death, the secret keeping, and hide the growing heavy burden masterfully, until the curtain closes.