Side-Write: Willing Toys

I've danced around it a lot, but I feel like I haven't delved too much into what exactly it's like in the "monstrous" areas of the world in Project Wild One. I knew it would be hard to put a finger on since it would be pretty chaotic and varied from one town to the next, but I wanted to try and narrow down what the common themes would be, and why they'd be like that. This is a bit of an expansion of ideas I've explored before, and I think this character pushes it a little further than maybe common sensibility, but captures one of the key differences between "the people" and "the monsters" at the time of PWO's setting.

Of course, this isn't necessarily exactly how things will play out in the game, but I'm exploring what might be going on in some parts of the world, at least. I hope you find it an interesting read!

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It wasn't until I managed to visit one of their cities that I finally figured it out.

Their roads are straight. Their intersections are right angles. They have guards not just against us, but watching all of them, too. They have big buildings for their sick and the people that help them. Their wagons all drive on the left side of the road. They all use the same kind of money. Many of their buildings have extra floors on top of their ceilings. They put all their stinky work buildings in one area, and most of their stores in another, and they cluster their homes up in the more pleasant areas.

And there's so much more. I'd heard about it, but I didn't think it was possible. They really live like this. This is what a real city is like. It's... hard, to accept. To really face what this means.

Where I come from, the roads don't stay in place very long. They wander around as tents and shacks pop up and get torn down. We rely on the strong and the gangs to stop anyone dangerous and deal with thieves. You have to learn by rumor which healers will help you with what, and which just prey on the weak. We trade by barter and a mix of the money from their cities. You never know what you'll see walking down the road, and if you need something particular, you just wander around or ask around until you find one.

We call them cities. We're too proud to recognize that they're basically overgrown camps. I know it's better than it used to be. Older folk speak of a time when all we did was wander and scavenge the ruins of the old world. Now we build in the remains of their ancient cities of stone, steel, and glass, and they build new cities out of wood, far away from us. I used to think we were just behind the curve, that we'd catch up with them soon. That they just had an unfair advantage because they'd done it all before.

But it's worse than that.

Their cities doesn't have as many brothels as I expected. It seems like they don't have enough theaters, and like their shops and pubs are too stern, too simple, too serious. There's nothing scarier than hoodlums in their dark alleys, and their skies are too empty, too still. It's like all they do is work. I don't even understand some of the work they do. But... obviously, this is what it looks like to do it right. To build a city, to run a people, sensibly.

At first I thought they must be a joyless people, that my home is a far happier place. But something bothered me, the longer I explored, the more I listened to these people. I realized they had something that we did not.

There's a... an ache, in our cities. Many think that it's just a resentment of the people that reject us and blame us for the state of the world. That we would be happy if they were all gone. I'd accepted this idea when I was young, and I thought that we were just too polite to show that resentment when the people visited our... "city." That we'd smile and dance for them so they wouldn't suspect when we finally righted this wrong.

I remember watching an orc act humble, bowing his body low and smiling, hiding his teeth, while talking to one of them, a deer. The deer turned away to watch a commotion down the street, and I remember being... confused. The deer had his back turned, and I felt like in that moment, the orc would show a sneer, or roll his eyes, let his resentment peek through. But he didn't. He was still smiling, watching the deer. And... I realized he just wanted the deer to turn back, to look at him again. He was waiting for another shred of attention.

Something about that moment repelled me, and for a time I thought the orc was some sort of traitor, consorting with the enemy. But... the more I watched how everyone acted around those people, the more I saw it. This wasn't concealed resentment. My friends, my family, my fellow "monsters" struggling to survive in a broken world under the burden of their ancestors' sins... They came alive, when those people came around. They were excited. The ache that lingered in the eyes of everyone I knew wasn't hatred. It was... longing.

I've learned everything I can about the old days. I know that they came first, that once it was only them, and the gods came later, and those in turn created us. I've seen many explanations for why they did so-- to punish the old people, to stop them poisoning the world, to show them a better way to live. But none of those explain... this. The way we are. Only one explanation makes sense, gives a reason for this strange feeling in my chest when I walk down the street, surrounded by them, pushing me to do something irrational and pull all their eyes onto me.

We were made for them. We were supposed to be... entertainment, I think. Something exciting and new, something exotic, a dream come to life. Titillating nightmares given flesh, mythical creatures lifted from the pages of legend, alluring companions summoned whole from their most shameful dreams. We were made for them to stare at, to wonder at, and we... want them to do so. We try to live, to raise families, to work the land, to buy and sell goods and build our own cities, but each and every one of us yearns for that moment one of them comes around the corner and is struck silent by the sight of us.

This is the destiny the gods gave us. Obviously, things have already gone awry. We were too powerful, too chaotic, too dangerous. Things fell apart. Many of them died. Now... they fear us, and leave us to struggle or die on our own.

If we're going to survive, we need to find some way to stand on our own. I cannot accept that we are bound forever to their desires. We need to live for ourselves. But... can we ever escape this impulse? They came to be what they are through millions of years of evolution. Can we evolve someday to be happy on our own, or is this destiny something written indelibly into our nature by the gods? Would it be wiser to accept it, to give up dignity and self-respect to ingratiate ourselves with them, to do anything we can to convince them to let us back into their society? Are we damned to be willing toys to the "real people," or is there some chance we can carve out our own destiny?

I don't think I'll know in my lifetime. If we can free ourselves from this compulsion, step out of their shadow, it must happen through our very DNA, if we even have such a thing. And if we do manage to return to them, I imagine it might never happen. Even now, I carefully nurture my resentment for them and my pride when they are far away... but it is hard to summon either when I am among them.

I tell myself that I should guide my people. That self-determination is more important than... than being happy with the role we are given to play. I think most of my people don't even realize how tightly we are bound to them. It is hard to imagine anyone agreeing with me, even if they understood what I'm talking about. And I still find my own resolve faltering far too often. This may be a trap we will never escape. Perhaps... I am simply a fool, dreaming of defying the gods, thrilled by a fantasy just as remote as those that created me.