Three hangovers later.
Yes, let's face it. It couldn't be that simple. It's never that simple. A rebuke, a reconsideration, a realization, a decision... Call it what you will, the human conscience is, and will remain, unsurprising. The world, too, is unsurprising. A gloom without comparison.
Some mornings, we wake up with the energy and determination to change the world. We want to, we can, we're going to bend the world to our decisions, to our will, because obviously, what we've decided is what the world expects, the good, the right. Our little gesture today will be decisive, our life will be better, that of our loved ones, and the memory of what we've lost will be sweeter, more acceptable. We'll sleep better the next night.
And the next morning, as always, we realize. We've tried. We'll have stirred what we can stir, we'll have spoken, acted, shouted. With our little voices, our little hands, we've done what we can. And then we realize the futility, the impotence, the uselessness of our actions. We can only change what is willing to change, and our actions, however beautiful they may be, however much common sense, necessity and urgency they may contain, are as quickly forgotten and ignored as a passing cloud without rain.
In short, Lyren had changed bar, Pecus would have refused to serve her. But it turns out that the fyros bartender, the very type of fyros bartender, is to ask questions before giving a moral lesson to whoever is imbibed enough to hear it. And Lyren had once again been dumb and imbibed enough to answer the questions. She'd just wanted to drink quietly, without venting, at least this time, to at least follow Pecus's advice. But she had finally spoken, after a deep sigh.
Yes, she'd done what Pecus had said, she'd declared the disappearance of her boss and father-in-law, that service grunt, who, like all service grunts, ends up missing when they're gone. So she'd gone off in the direction of the legions, and scribbled a few bits of leather, which she'd hung up here and there in the capital.
"cal i selak - strength and glory! The Fyros legions are recruiting.
Contact Lyren, Tower of Thesos."
So far, the only homin seemingly interested had been a shuffler, at pyr, as she hung up the ad. He nodded, said something that could be translated as "I can't read anyway", then left.
And Lyren, who thought that candidates would be jostling for the Thesos door, had nevertheless decided that going down to Pyr for a shooki or two couldn't hurt. She'd come back the next day, only to find the few candidates who were motivated enough to stay there all night waiting for her.
Three days later, or rather, three evenings later, Lydix grabbed Lyren by the shoulders:
- I'll tell you, I knew your mother pretty well. And I knew your dad pretty well, too. Are you listening? Then I'll tell you what they would have done.
Yes, let's face it. It couldn't be that simple. It's never that simple. A rebuke, a reconsideration, a realization, a decision... Call it what you will, the human conscience is, and will remain, unsurprising. The world, too, is unsurprising. A gloom without comparison.
Some mornings, we wake up with the energy and determination to change the world. We want to, we can, we're going to bend the world to our decisions, to our will, because obviously, what we've decided is what the world expects, the good, the right. Our little gesture today will be decisive, our life will be better, that of our loved ones, and the memory of what we've lost will be sweeter, more acceptable. We'll sleep better the next night.
And the next morning, as always, we realize. We've tried. We'll have stirred what we can stir, we'll have spoken, acted, shouted. With our little voices, our little hands, we've done what we can. And then we realize the futility, the impotence, the uselessness of our actions. We can only change what is willing to change, and our actions, however beautiful they may be, however much common sense, necessity and urgency they may contain, are as quickly forgotten and ignored as a passing cloud without rain.
In short, Lyren had changed bar, Pecus would have refused to serve her. But it turns out that the fyros bartender, the very type of fyros bartender, is to ask questions before giving a moral lesson to whoever is imbibed enough to hear it. And Lyren had once again been dumb and imbibed enough to answer the questions. She'd just wanted to drink quietly, without venting, at least this time, to at least follow Pecus's advice. But she had finally spoken, after a deep sigh.
Yes, she'd done what Pecus had said, she'd declared the disappearance of her boss and father-in-law, that service grunt, who, like all service grunts, ends up missing when they're gone. So she'd gone off in the direction of the legions, and scribbled a few bits of leather, which she'd hung up here and there in the capital.
"cal i selak - strength and glory! The Fyros legions are recruiting.
Contact Lyren, Tower of Thesos."
So far, the only homin seemingly interested had been a shuffler, at pyr, as she hung up the ad. He nodded, said something that could be translated as "I can't read anyway", then left.
And Lyren, who thought that candidates would be jostling for the Thesos door, had nevertheless decided that going down to Pyr for a shooki or two couldn't hurt. She'd come back the next day, only to find the few candidates who were motivated enough to stay there all night waiting for her.
Three days later, or rather, three evenings later, Lydix grabbed Lyren by the shoulders:
- I'll tell you, I knew your mother pretty well. And I knew your dad pretty well, too. Are you listening? Then I'll tell you what they would have done.