Abstractions

"The world," Galen concluded as he left the Silver Arrow for the second time, muttering to himself, "has gone mad, or I have. Or both."

Strangers act stranger then normal; friends become strangers.

And alcohol no longer worked. It interfered now. It neither deadened nor erased the sounds in his ears nor the vision in his eyes. But it did paint them, and it painted them a color he didn't like. It deadened the clarity, made him doubt himself.

He really should stop drinking. He no longer needed it.

He wasn't sure if circumstances the last week or so had simply been odder then was even typical, or if he had simply become more dependent upon Joylah then he realized, or both.

Or perhaps it was WoR.....Yes, it could be that their relative inactivity of late reminded him that, although in his head he was now a Feluccan mercenary, fighting for profit and loyal less to friends and principles then his company, in his heart he knew what he was.

Abstractions. "And I," Galen muttered to himself, "have never been all that good at abstractions."

Dictionaries defined abstractions as things that were disassociated from any specific instance. They were generalities; vague by definition.

The severed ear of an innocent girl from Minoc, forgotten by all but her family and him, years and years ago, flashed before his eyes. This was not an abstraction; it was real. And clear. Severed ears were not abstractions. Nor were the sinister, leering smiles on the likes of Deleaduindill and Soran Blackguard and Coby Drakeswind. Nor were the admiring, compliant reactions such smiles engendered in pretty women.

Galen recalled to Luna. Ignoring the millions in his bank box, he settled upon the common room at the Inn over the bank. Since the Shadow Empire had come to have firm control over Luna, as frim control as such a strange and disjointed and nearly insane entity could have at any rate, the inn had deeteriorated some, but it was still Luna, the shining Paladin City, and the common room of the Inn still for the moment reflected it.

"I need to stop living like a Guardsman," Galen thought to himself. "Sooner or later, this place will develop bedbugs. And those are not abstractions. I have money. I could get the better rooms now." He was pretty sure that he wasn't muttering out loud anymore. Surely the others in the common room with him would have said something. If they were really there at all. He was too drunk, too "high" on his nightshade, too....weary, too sad, to know with certainty.

He stared at the cieling, smoking his nightshade cigarette on occasion.

"I need to stop THINKing like a Guardsman. Severed ears aren't my business anymore. What is though. Is my interference still wanted? Was it ever? Have I been deluding myself all this time?" No, no. Even at the worst, his assistance was clearly needed, even sought after, when there was killing involved.

Her strange behavior had shaken him. It was like a child dressing up like its mother. Or, perhaps more accurately, a mother dressing up like her child. Yes, that was it. He had just the barest hint that she even saw past her own illusion; and the basic question, if the professor had been taken care of, as near as Galen could figure had remained unanswered. And that hint, he wondered to himself......Was that real? Or did I imagine it?

Was this still his business? Or had his role in the drama began and ended with spilling the blood of enemies? Was death still his only gift? The boy was free, walking around, upright. Of his own power. The healers reported he had even taken a sword with him.

Blood wasn't an abstraction either.

He conjured up Joylah's image and focused on it. It made him smile. Joylah was no abstraction; she was flesh and blood, and she loved him, and he her.

Justice, indeed ANY of the Virtues, or the Principles that underlay them, or other virtues that weren't Virtues, like retribution, frienship, loyalty. Those were easy when they were abstractions. Harder when they were "real." The path was easy to see, harder to walk.

"This is the path I chose."

Galen smoked and stated at the cieling, for what seemed like hours.

"This is the path I chose. But is it too much to ask where it leads? And once the path is chosen, can I also choose how I walk it."

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> "The world," Galen concluded as he left the Silver Arrow for the second time, muttering to himself, "has gone mad, or I have. Or both." > Strangers act stranger then normal; friends become strangers. > And alcohol no longer worked. It interfered now. It neither deadened nor erased the sounds in his ears nor the vision in his eyes. But it did paint them, and it painted them a color he didn't like. It deadened the clarity, made him doubt himself. > He really should stop drinking. He no longer needed it. > He wasn't sure if circumstances the last week or so had simply been odder then was even typical, or if he had simply become more dependent upon Joylah then he realized, or both. > Or perhaps it was WoR.....Yes, it could be that their relative inactivity of late reminded him that, although in his head he was now a Feluccan mercenary, fighting for profit and loyal less to friends and principles then his company, in his heart he knew what he was. > Abstractions. "And I," Galen muttered to himself, "have never been all that good at abstractions." > Dictionaries defined abstractions as things that were disassociated from any specific instance. They were generalities; vague by definition. > The severed ear of an innocent girl from Minoc, forgotten by all but her family and him, years and years ago, flashed before his eyes. This was not an abstraction; it was real. And clear. Severed ears were not abstractions. Nor were the sinister, leering smiles on the likes of Deleaduindill and Soran Blackguard and Coby Drakeswind. Nor were the admiring, compliant reactions such smiles engendered in pretty women. > Galen recalled to Luna. Ignoring the millions in his bank box, he settled upon the common room at the Inn over the bank. Since the Shadow Empire had come to have firm control over Luna, as frim control as such a strange and disjointed and nearly insane entity could have at any rate, the inn had deeteriorated some, but it was still Luna, the shining Paladin City, and the common room of the Inn still for the moment reflected it. > "I need to stop living like a Guardsman," Galen thought to himself. "Sooner or later, this place will develop bedbugs. And those are not abstractions. I have money. I could get the better rooms now." He was pretty sure that he wasn't muttering out loud anymore. Surely the others in the common room with him would have said something. If they were really there at all. He was too drunk, too "high" on his nightshade, too....weary, too sad, to know with certainty. > He stared at the cieling, smoking his nightshade cigarette on occasion. > "I need to stop THINKing like a Guardsman. Severed ears aren't my business anymore. What is though. Is my interference still wanted? Was it ever? Have I been deluding myself all this time?" No, no. Even at the worst, his assistance was clearly needed, even sought after, when there was killing involved. > Her strange behavior had shaken him. It was like a child dressing up like its mother. Or, perhaps more accurately, a mother dressing up like her child. Yes, that was it. He had just the barest hint that she even saw past her own illusion; and the basic question, if the professor had been taken care of, as near as Galen could figure had remained unanswered. And that hint, he wondered to himself......Was that real? Or did I imagine it? > Was this still his business? Or had his role in the drama began and ended with spilling the blood of enemies? Was death still his only gift? The boy was free, walking around, upright. Of his own power. The healers reported he had even taken a sword with him. > Blood wasn't an abstraction either. > He conjured up Joylah's image and focused on it. It made him smile. Joylah was no abstraction; she was flesh and blood, and she loved him, and he her. > Justice, indeed ANY of the Virtues, or the Principles that underlay them, or other virtues that weren't Virtues, like retribution, frienship, loyalty. Those were easy when they were abstractions. Harder when they were "real." The path was easy to see, harder to walk. > "This is the path I chose." > Galen smoked and stated at the cieling, for what seemed like hours. > "This is the path I chose. But is it too much to ask where it leads? And once the path is chosen, can I also choose how I walk it."
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