Everglade: The City of Fear [Video] [Backdated Dec. 11]

[youfool]

Everyone else is making speeches, and I'd hate to be left out of the fun. I'll talk to you about past deeds, explain my present stance, and what I see for Everglade's future.

Let's start with some graphs.



As you can see, my experience on the job is unrivaled. To keep the numbers neater, I rounded up the months. Of course, I haven't spent all that time sitting around. What's a Guardian without a little crime-fighting?


Not too shabby, if I say so myself! If I added Porrim's bounties to mine, that number would more than double. It's why I hired her as soon as possible. That's enough about the other candidates, for now. Let's see how Everglade, during the last election period, stacked up against the other cities.

Speaking of bounties; this graph represents the amount of time bounties were left on the backburner in the same period. I know, I know, letting such egregious crimes lie around is simply inexcusable, please forgive me.

This last graph is going to take some thinking; bear with me. Let's assume that the amount of deputies currently hired represents the love and care Guardians have for their cities.

As the data shows, that would mean I love my city four times as much as any other Guardian. Put another way, this would mean that I love Everglade as much as every other Guardian combined. I'd argue slightly more than that, but unfortunately, the system crushed my dreams in adding any more. Officially, anyway. [Ted was clearly having too much fun with statistics. Sorry other Guardians. He loves you all, but politics involves a little bragging.]
Thus ends the facts and figures. Now I'll explain my stance regarding the controversial necromancy ban; the events that led up to it, and the reasoning behind it.

[He sighs, recollecting traumatic memories.] Some of you can count yourselves lucky enough to have avoided the calamity that fell upon Genessia near the end of June. That was when the barrier surrounding Genessia broke, the only thing standing between us and ravenous spirits. The subsequent attack was the most horrible thing I've witnessed. To make matters worse, it happened right as I took office. Some first day on the job, huh?

The worst of it was that they wouldn't simply kill you. As Koishi, something of an expert in their natures explained, that would be a mercy in comparison. Instead they would suck your soul; once they got you, they'd drain you entirely of your emotions and character. You'd be a shell of your former self, constantly seeking what you'd lost, no matter how horrible your actions were to reclaim it. It happened to a dear friend of mine. I got to watch him die before he could be brought back to normal. [pregnant pause]

Luckily, the barrier could be repaired. Seven (or was it eight?) brave souls ventured forth, giving up precious memories in order to restore the cracked dome, saving all our lives in the process. It'd be accurate to say they sacrificed their lives for ours, for the price they paid is the same price one pays to have their own lives restored. I've done what I can to recruit those heroes. Levy and Porrim were among them, and I'm honored to serve with them.

Why the barrier broke over Everglade, my city, is something we can only guess at. I have a theory; I think there's more to it than my city simply drawing the short straw. Remember, this is a spiritual menace, and it's hard to imagine a more spiritual city than Everglade. Put more bluntly, if you were to ask me where spirits might go when they're angry and vicious, Everglade shoots to the front of my mind. In other words, I believe like attracts like, a fundamental principle of the universe that seems at play. But as I said, this is only a theory.

Still, I would've thought that being ravaged by evil spirits would've made Everglade think twice about messing with spirits themselves. I was wrong. They hadn't lost their enthusiasm for spirits, evil or otherwise. Several days later, I instituted the ban on necromancy.

Fear for another spiritual attack was not the only reason, however. It wasn't even the main one. Once I found my bearings in Everglade, I saw firsthand the damage and ruin necromancy was capable of. I believe it to be both morally wrong and a great danger to the public. I could attempt to make you all sick by posting pictures of what happens when necromancy goes wrong. And make no mistake, it often does. Dying is bad enough without being put into a corpse so wretched, you wind up begging to die again. But rather than play on your gag reflexes, I'd like you to consider the harm of it from a less visceral perspective. And to do that, let's step away and consider something else with a lot of similarities. In this case, slavery.

Most of you probably have some idea of what I'm talking about when I say 'slavery'. But just in case you don't, it simply means to treat or have another person as your property. To treat another person like an object. In my world and, doubtless many others, it's a very old system. Thankfully it has been abolished in my world, though I'm sure some of it still goes on in the more depraved parts of it.

I think most of us would agree that slavery is wrong. But why? Well, we could argue that it's abusive. We could talk about harsh working conditions, undignified treatment, and so on. In essence, we could talk about the pain it has caused.

But during its heyday; during the time when it was still being debated and fought over, there were arguments for it. Those for it claimed that it had always been there; that removing it would destabilize the area, and bring chaos. Why would you want to take away something that's 'worked' for a people so long? Others pointed to how slavery was useful; how it was a better outcome than death in the case of, say, conquering another country. Modern day intellectuals (mostly as an exercise) can point to the failures of modern day economic systems, like capitalism, and say that even slavery would provide more hope and prosperity for certain people than what goes on today. And, they'll point out, there were contented slaves, and contented masters. There really were slaves who were treated like family, and whose toil was not bitter. Even when abolition came into effect, there were slaves who would rather have remained with their masters than go into a cold freedom they had no idea what to do with. Slavery had made them happy; freedom, unhappy.

Slavery had tradition on its side. It had usefulness. It even had its fair share of slaves who supported the system. Or so the arguments claimed. And yet, it was swept away, and, I take it, none of us have one ounce of regret for the change.

You can see the pattern. I think necromancy is the slavery of Everglade. But let's define it first: Necromancy means magic to do with the dead. In practice, either summoning their spirits or raising them bodily. In both cases, power is exerted over a spirit to do something it would not normally do. And, like slavery, it has similar supporters. The favored argument, and by far the one that makes the least sense, is the call for tradition. That because they have been doing it a long time, they should continue. As though it's as inevitable and necessary as the tides. Many of those who've had necromancy performed say that they like it this way, and the necromancers will agree. They will talk about how useful it is, usually in terms of a longer lifespan. They'll tell stories of how awful it would be to remain in the ground, rather than up and about. And, much like the pro-slavery arguments, they're curiously silent about its defects.

Again, we could try to set up a scale. We could try to weigh the proposed benefits and drawbacks, and see whether it's worth the cost. But I don't think that's necessary or, in the end, persuasive. How many desecrated corpses is worth a satisfied ghost? How many skeletons armies are worth talking to a deceased family member? We can try to answer that, but that kind of moral arithmetic is slippery, at best.

Instead, let's think in terms of principles. I doubt whether it was the pains of slavery that changed the course of history. They didn't calculate the suffering on some abstract abacus. I believe they decided around one reason: that people cannot be trusted to hold that kind of power over another. You cannot treat another as an object, for any reason, for you are a person, the same as them. Far away from any pro's and con's analysis, they simply knew that that relationship was false. You simply cannot 'own' a body like a backpack, no matter what.

The same kind of thing goes on in necromancy. Because when you take someone's spirit, and move it around like a chess piece, there's no guarantee you'll give it back, is there? Like most magic, control lies at the heart of it. And I don't believe for one second that any of us have the right to control another person's spirit. For any amount of time. For any reason. If you think slavery's bad; that there's something fundamentally wrong with treating another person's body like your property, how much worse when it's another person's soul?

The same arguments come up. What if the spirit doesn't mind? What if they're put on their merry way? What if the necromancer is a perfect gentleman? I'm sure you can find one somewhere. I'm not willing to take that risk. Again, this isn't primarily about the damage it does. This is about a type of magic that can fundamentally abuse someone's liberty and dignity.

You could ask why I don't practice more discernment; can't I just outlaw the 'bad' parts and keep the other ones? Again, look at slavery. There were, in fact, arrangements which satisfied all parties completely. The abolitionists still said 'no', not even the best examples were acceptable. Part of that is simply the natural limitations of law to decide each and every case. But the bigger reason is that when something's fundamentally wrong, as I believe necromancy to be, you simply can't allow half-measures. You have to be firm in your convictions.

It's funny, people say that in banning necromancy, I've been cruel to the undead. In truth, it was primarily for their sake that I did it. Necromancy is the primary way to control the undead. It is necromancy which poses the greatest risk of forcing the undead to act against their will.

To sum up, I banned necromancy not just for the damage it does, but for the threat it posed to the rights of everyone's souls. Especially the undead, who are at the greatest risk of falling under its power. The 'right' of necromancers to do their business, something no other city feels at all necessary, does not trump the rights of everyone else to remain in possession of their spiritual faculties.

But, despite my tough talk, I do have a heart. You wouldn't know it from reading the paper, but there are some ghosts who really wish they could move on. Ronan, my latest deputy, has convinced me to seek out authentic mediums who can assist them in their passing. He knows all too well what happens when spirits stick around too long. Given Everglade's reputation for being full of charlatans and fakes, it'll be hard to find genuine articles. While part of the job has always been assisting ghosts and their kind, we'll be redoubling our efforts in that department.

[Deep breath.] Honestly? I think necromancy is a symptom of a much deeper, if more obscure problem that Everglade has. I'll conclude by talking about my own diagnosis.

Let's get right to it. Everglade is a city built on fear. People are afraid for their future, and so they seek out palm readers and fortune tellers to swindle them out of their money. They're afraid of not leaving their loved ones on their own, and so seek necromancers to make sure their traditions never fail to pass down. They're afraid of death, and seek necromancers to put it off as long as they can. Perhaps worst of all, they're afraid of each other, dealing with each other at arms' length; shutting up their doors and their hearts when night falls. There's a whole section of Everglade, a no man's land, that none dare to tread for fear of the haunts who occupy it.

I understand. Despite being a Guardian, I'm afraid too. Perhaps not as much as I should be. But that's no way to live.

People say I'm judgmental. How dare I, arrogant person that I am, claim to know what's best? But isn't that what we elect Guardians for? Who else to identify and resolve the problems than the person who routinely deals with the worst parts of the city?

I never understood that view of Guardian. As though our job was merely to preserve the city, and protect it no matter its flaws. But what kind of comfort is it to merely keep things the way they are? What kind of protection is it to merely keep watch as your city rots from the inside out? To be happy about decay, so long as they get to do what they've always done. That doesn't sound like what a Guardian should do. That sounds like something a necromancer would do.

I know I've spent the last twenty minutes or so railing against the city. But the truth is... I love it. I would not routinely risk the life of myself and my friends for Everglade's sake if I didn't. And when you love something, you want what's best for it, even if it hurts. I would die for it, even if there wasn't a single necromancer for miles to bring me back.

For Everglade has light as well as darkness. The people there are tough. Their street smarts are unmatched. Their concern for matters of the spirit is uniquely noble. Their love of tradition and family is greater than any city I've seen in Genessia.

That's why I want so badly to make it better. To dispel the darkness, and clear the fog. When Everglade finally breaks free of its fear, I know it will be glorious. The spirits and rulers of Genessia said their goal was for us to show them what it means to live. Who better than the city where they refuse to die?

It's a long tunnel to go through; I can't wait to see the light at the end.

Thank you for your time.