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Sn0wfa11
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The Latest News on the Orb Hunt

Post: # 15038Post Sn0wfa11 »

Erica Freeman, an elderly woman with sharp extended-triangle-shaped glasses, dark skin, and a blue elbow-patched sweater, curator of the Slateport History Museum, is the star of the evening news in Toro one night, where she’s giving an interview:

“-and naturally having followed the strange events in Toro with close interest- I knew they were more than a hoax, contrary to what some of my more skeptical peers concluded- I was delighted to receive a missive from one of your citizens, one Cygnus Apollo, asking me to help translate a most exciting document. Remarkable that it’s survived so well too. It appears to date roughly to late antiquity, judging from some of the idioms and the writing style, though we couldn’t be precise given its eccentricities. I know you have limited airtime, but this is far too interesting to be interrupted for a commercial, so I’ll take it upon myself to begin reading,” she says over half-hearted interruptions from the anchor, “and berate you if you try to interrupt. Which I hope you won’t.”

She begins in a serious and calm tone, reading clearly:

I doubt anyone will find this. But if we are not the last humans to walk this land, I wanted to have a few final words. Personal pronouncements. The kind we were supposed to frown on.

It is strange how quickly my distaste reflected back upon my people and myself, once I began to see the truth. Our society was based around a sort of firm equality. We made decisions slowly and carefully, and always together. It was beautiful. But our fears undermined everything. Fear of our enemies turned our ordered cities into fortresses. Fear of difference turned our rules into chains.

Not all that is fluid is our foe. Even stone flows.

As I began to see the suffering we had wrought among our own people, an inevitable conjecture arose: maybe our enemies were right about individuality and expression. From that thought all sorts of other objections naturally followed. Our violence against the Earth was much the same as that we committed against each other. We wished to control, to direct, and even when we began to feel the consequences we told ourselves we had no other way- that change was too difficult; that it did not matter if our enemies would not change as well. Excuses.

Still, I was a coward. I did nothing.

After that terrible night, I stole one of the remnants of the Red Orb. It took me some time to decide what to do with it. I considered casting it into the sea- but even now I have my loyalties. In the end I counted two points and imagined a third- two ancient icons and one empty place in the sea, to represent the truths I am beginning to recognize our enemies knew. It is in the center, between that distant past we were not a part of and a future I can only hope for.


“...and this scroll was found with a tablet bearing a design like the symbol traditionally shown on Groudon’s shoulder, as well as an equilateral triangle.”

The anchor is speechless for a few seconds. “...what does it mean, Professor?”

“Well that will take some time to determine. There will be special issues, conferences- I do sincerely hope you find more things like this over there.”

“...do you think it has any implications for Toro’s ongoing hunt for the orbs of legend?”

“I have no idea!” she replies blissfully. “But if so I can’t wait to hear about it. I do know it has implications for some arguments with old friends. And my advisor was right about Groudonist outposts elsewhere! Even if she was wrong about where. Very exciting stuff.”

“Well thank you Professor Freeman for a spirited and informative interview! Up next, we have…”
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