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Post by Cmdr Marcus Blaine on Apr 21, 2022 22:36:28 GMT -5
Translated from written High Dolyahri. Some additions have been made for the sake of coherency. Don’t even get me started about the way they handle articles or the references to epic poems none of us will ever read. -JC
I speak now to the House of Avelle, to my kin, to my blood. Our great adversary, this spiral’s dark goddess, has seen fit to curse the great gate and sever reinforcements from our home spiral. Even our people’s Guardians cannot save us now; we must stand with the allies we have managed to gather.
By the grace of the gods it had been decided that I should be transferred away from the Enigma before its destruction. I weep for the loss of my comrades, of whom there were nine hundred and seventy nine as blessedly they were not at full capacity. Still, I felt the calling to swear a blood oath to the gods of our ancestors; two Tanausans for each that they killed aboard the Enigma. It is likely I have already met my quota by use of our ship’s specialized weapons, but I choose to count only those I kill personally. Those whose eyes meet with mine. In that matter I still have long to go, but I swear to you now that the gods will be satisfied by my success or by my flesh.
My condition remains unchanged, but with my severance from Ilan Minor I do not anticipate it will continue to affect the house in any manner. At present, we do not know if anything sent through the great gate will truly return to our home spiral. The Starfleet has chosen, therefore, to remain and see the millions-year war they reignited to its conclusion. Perhaps the Matriarch will see it as a welcome respite to focus upon the younger generation that remains within her sphere of influence. Perhaps this message will never reach its intended target. I pray to the gods, spirits, and anything else listening that it does.
With great hope and great respect,
Talyse of House Avelle
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Post by Cmdr Marcus Blaine on Dec 27, 2022 10:47:05 GMT -5
An unsent letter buried in Talyse Avelle’s drafts folder, translated from High Dolyahri.
I speak now to the House of Avelle, to my kin, to my blood. Days ago, I underwent the ritual cleansing of year-cycle’s end and have been granted clarity of mind as well as the despair that comes of ingesting what Captain Arfacio oft referred to as hard truths. The gods have shown a lantern to the knowledge that has always been in the back of my mind and which I never wished to acknowledge as it was never an admission any of our people have wanted to make.
My kin, we know our people are ultimately doomed if we do not adapt to the new circumstances we find ourselves in. Our kin on Dolyahr have a thousand years of strife and turmoil to overcome before they even approach the great filter of developing the capability to devastate their own world, much less come to the consensus not to utilize it. Many species find that they never emerge from the womb of their world, doomed to drown in the waters of their own gestation. Assuming that fate would never befall us is the height of hubris.
Forgive me for asking this again, but I beseech you once more to reconsider our ways. Our population is neither large enough nor diverse enough to remain viable for more than a few generations without intervention, an intervention that would be gladly provided should the Matriarchs simply make their wishes known. Even forgoing the technology and permitting marriages to compatible races would make a notable difference and perhaps save our people from destruction.
We must not wait for the gods to save us; the gods have already provided us the means to save ourselves should we overcome the pressures of traditions that no longer serve us but rather actively cause harm. Should we refuse these means, then we have no one to blame for our fate but ourselves.
Considering my condition, this may be the only manner in which I
Draft saved on Stardate 99606.64.
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Post by Cmdr Marcus Blaine on Jan 13, 2023 13:55:30 GMT -5
Translated from Common Dolyahri. The translator had a much easier time with this one.
Mother,
I pray this message finds you well. Forgive me for failing to write to you in these times of war, but be assured that I remain alive. The destruction of the Enigma was a pain I was unprepared for, but it is my own weakness of spirit that lead to my reluctance to continue our correspondence. Terror may be the main course for our adversary, but one must not be ignorant of her secondary source of nourishment; despair. Despair that we must choose either to return to comforts of home or to remain here and honour our alliance to those who fight against the darkness. Despair was what stilled my hand and my heart for some time. This is something I have recently been made aware of and which I vow to remedy. I must have faith that my words do not trail off into oblivion, and deprive our adversary of her meal.
The war continues, and soon it will have been raging for a full year. I doubt our adversaries expected us to dig our heels in and stand with our allies; they have spent too much time serving themselves to recall what integrity and honour look like. They bet on a swift and decisive victory and were met with a fist in their face. Still, I won’t lie to you, Mother; for all its horrors, war may well be my natural habitat. Perhaps it is the warriors of legend that live in our veins or the ghosts of the wronged that are trapped in mine, but each slain Apostate brings me a satisfaction unlike any other. It was not this way before the war began, and while it suits me now I pray that when arms are lain down and vengeance is complete I am no longer so hungry for death. I pray that I will be content with peace.
I have had cause as of late to recall my childhood, to what I had always remembered as happier times. Happy they were, to be certain, but putting an adult’s mind to what was witnessed with child’s eyes brings revelations even decades after the fact. As a child I never thought to ask why you were excluded so often in that heartless manner. Perhaps I childishly assumed you preferred it that way, for the thought that it was an intentional cruelty seemed nonsensical. Perhaps I would have always assumed such had I not grown to be similarly ostracized by our Elders. For my past ignorance, I hope you can forgive me. I intend to put many things to right when the gate opens once more, and this is high on my list.
There is another matter that is of great importance to me, Mother, and I ask you this question with the hopes that you will utilise your greatest discretion and also have an answer obtained when the gate is restored. As I am unsuited for an Etrynarian marriage, could the Matriarch therefore permit a union with an outsider? I would argue that she would lose nothing in the process, and should there be resistance beg the question of what I am meant to do that would otherwise satisfy her. The Elder Obsidian lingering in my blood may yet be the price I will always pay for refusing to die those years ago; I will not wait for a cure that will likely never come.
And no, Mother; as much as I am certain you are terribly curious, I will not invite fate’s wrath by telling you to whom I refer. Perhaps in my next letter. For now I must prepare to return to the field, but know that my spirit remains at home.
With love, Your Echo
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