The Modest Sage of Ura
The Enclave > Known Roads > Ura

I am always pleased to see you, old friend. It is I who should apologise - what little coin I find in summer is put to more interesting use than the pay of servants and other comforts. I live as though an old man without daughters, a far cry from your more pleasant manse on the slopes of Port, I do not doubt. You would find a more seemly welcome with any of the commonfolk here - a life without ink is a life lived cleanly! Now who scribed that remarkable truth?

No, do not worry. The Guildmaster is a pleasant sort, but vain as black goat. He gifts me a purse around first snow in exchange for a little unseemly and overly flattering creativity. Just between the two of us, I have come to quite enjoy it these past winters; it can be a welcome distraction from more weighty words. Oh, no, it isn't that way at all - I have not become a moonfaced playwright in my solitude here! That said, I am told troubadors in Port are wondering on the source of certain complimentary works. They may like the craftmanship, but I fear the common folk are less enthusiastic. I wonder who shows the most sense? Still, one does what one must to find coin for important matters.

Ah, a patron, yes, I know your heart in this matter. My answer is the same as it was at last snow these two winters past. The childhood of a treatise cannot be rushed - I could no more make spearmen of village children, or apprentices of babes in arms. In truth, this is a large child indeed; I fear I will have need of priests and bookbinders from the Great Library in Three Stones before I am done. A patron for the work itself would not be helpful; I came to Ura in no small part to escape that spearman's pace, as you might recall.

One grows used to the sound of stonework in the distance, I assure you; it is quite condusive to a peaceful heart and meritous thought. You must try some of the cheese and bread - fresh, I promise you, for all the unsightly appearance of my home. You should send word ahead when you next plan to visit, so that at least I would not be forced to revel in the results of my own nature!

I admit, it is easy to forget the privileged position I find myself in. I can declare, without any thrill of mystery, that I talk to the ageless Datarii of the Mountain Below each summer in which they deign to open the stairway. They think it a foolish waste of time, but I have learned a little of what engages their interest these past summers. They are a strange folk, set in their ways like a court of elderly Ladies under a King of the old Ammand - yet knowledgeable and even noble in their own manner. My friend, I can say without doubt that my Conversations With the Datarii of Ura Retii will one day be an important work indeed ... but in time, in time. You can hurry neither white hair nor a Datar.

[ Posted by Reason on August 1, 2005 ]