"Fuck the deities", my informants tell me. Found scrawled on walls in that most basic of communication: a graffiti that has existed since man first applied pigment to cave walls.
I believe there is a whiff of rebellion in the air, the slightest hint of revolution. Inevitable, of course. No system is perfect, and will inevitably, breed dissent of some form or another. One can only hope that it is armed dissent.
But revolutions, in truth, have a way of dying before they make the first blow, simply because it is easy to talk and not so easy to act. Once that act is made, however, there is a school of thought which says the system is doomed. Kill all the revolutionaries, wipe them off the face of the earth, it is of no matter. What matters is that the idea has surfaced. Ideas are, as they say, bullet proof.
Pandora's box can never be closed again. Not even the gods had that power.
But allow me paraphrase a poor, misbegotten lunatic.
Words. Words. Words!
If you are to make such bold promises, do them not with words.
Make them by doing things. By making them happen.
[[OOC: For the curious, he's paraphrasing Reinfeld from the the 1930's
version of Dracula.]]