Returning...

The City moves again. The DRC have managed to obstain some funding, and now the City will attempt to be revived again.

Nevermind that it's already died...once by betrayl, then again by attrition, and then finally by beauracracy.

Perhaps the City wasn't meant to live. Not like we want it to, at least. ...I think the Journey's made me paranoid. I can still hear her, you know, making some grandiose speech as she manipulated us with words. That's what really kills me, I guess. Words shouldn't have that kind of power, but here they do. In this City, Words are power. Inscribed they can link worlds, but unbound they can change them. That's all she had to do to get us to release the Bahro, all the time unknowing of quite how we were being led like leashed dogs. Words.

Phil was right. Words are easy.

And yet, here I am. I'm going back too. Better prepared this time, mind you. I've brought my laptop this time, and a solar array. Should be easy enough to mount on Relto. I've stocked my shelves with some other nice comforts, but still...I'm worried. Last time, we all were able to stand together even through the manipulation. Then it began. Sides were chosen, and the Cavern divided. This is the way of human nature: to feel that we belong, we must rally against something or someone. Now Douglas Sharper's had god-knows-how-long to tinker with Teledahn undaunted, and the DRC will be trying to dip their toes back in the pool, with Yeesha clearly already well past the deep end.

It's just worrisome. Why am I even going back? This isn't sane. I had a life after all this. Now, here I am at the Cleft again. Answering some intrinsic urge.

A calling.