All day every day I ask myself why in the FUCK did my ancestors come here? Why did they leave us this inheritance, this machine for slaughter and torture? History is truly a nightmare on the minds of the living. I can trace each event, the deprivation upon the displaced peasantry and the campaigns to send the unwanted away across the sea, the fear and the failure and the false promise, the greed and avarice of the colonial bourgeoisie... But it defies accounting, looking upon the consequences. I live in a charnel house painted like a circus. How do you make that make sense?
- they/them
plural system in Seattle, WA (b. 1974)
lots of fictives from lots of media, some horses, some dragons, I dunno. the Pnictogen Wing is poorly mapped.
host: Mx. Kris Dreemurr (they/them)
chief messenger and usual front: Mx. Chara or Χαρά (they/them)
other members:
Mx. Frisk, historian (they/them)
Monophylos Fortikos, unicorn (he/him)
Kel the Purple, smol derg (xe/xem)
Pim the Dragon, Kel's sister (she/her)
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in reply to @kstarling's post:
At least I know why my mother came here: desperation and the impending death of her country, Allendist Chile. As for my father's relatives, who knows? At least some of his ancestors seem to go back to the earliest days of British settlement. I've never been excessively concerned with genealogy and family history so I don't know any family stories.
However I come to be here, I feel stranded on the edge of a vast ruin, the wreckage of a monstrous criminal enterprise, and there's countless millions of unsleeping ghosts haunting me. European settlement and American "civilization" is spread over the land like an invading bacterial carpet or an army of ants, scraping the land bare...I don't know yet what to do about it.
~Chara