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03-05-2015, 04:53 PM
Why are we here?
It is a question for and of the ages, one that in equal measure delights and infuriates philosophers. The prince had never been much in the way of enlightenment, often preferring to merely follow the directions of the palace priests. He thought little of his religion and the gods, back then - he had prayed, as everyone had prayed, for health and happiness, for the stability of the throne - all perfectly normal, routine things to pray for. But the gods hadn't really answered him in the end, had they? He didn't place much store in his gods back then; nor does he now.
But at least Helovia's gods are undeniably real.
Why are any of us here?
He watches her earthen coat crack and fall to pieces, and something in the lost beauty of it all makes him momentarily sad. But it is only a moment, and then he offers a friendly smile to the pristine filly and her wise queries. She has all the curiosity of youth, and yet she does not pelt him with questions. She seems to take his words, roll them around in her mind, ponder them, taste them; then she returns a concept, a question, something not yet understood. And it isn't silly, or petty, or any of the other useless things that foals tend to say. It's intelligent and genuine, and he is suddenly reminded of his sisters and the other brilliant women he had known in Th'orqui. She would have been at home there, it seems.
"So our religion would have had us believe," he admits. "In my homeland, our priests tried to simplify life by assigning arbitrary meaning and calling us god-touched. But I don't think it's as easy as that, do you?" He pauses, casts his gaze out to sea. "Here, we are assured that we lead our own life - the gods can intervene, as we've seen time and again, but ultimately we choose our path. We may be given our time by chance, but we choose how we spend it."
"more words."
It is a question for and of the ages, one that in equal measure delights and infuriates philosophers. The prince had never been much in the way of enlightenment, often preferring to merely follow the directions of the palace priests. He thought little of his religion and the gods, back then - he had prayed, as everyone had prayed, for health and happiness, for the stability of the throne - all perfectly normal, routine things to pray for. But the gods hadn't really answered him in the end, had they? He didn't place much store in his gods back then; nor does he now.
But at least Helovia's gods are undeniably real.
Why are any of us here?
He watches her earthen coat crack and fall to pieces, and something in the lost beauty of it all makes him momentarily sad. But it is only a moment, and then he offers a friendly smile to the pristine filly and her wise queries. She has all the curiosity of youth, and yet she does not pelt him with questions. She seems to take his words, roll them around in her mind, ponder them, taste them; then she returns a concept, a question, something not yet understood. And it isn't silly, or petty, or any of the other useless things that foals tend to say. It's intelligent and genuine, and he is suddenly reminded of his sisters and the other brilliant women he had known in Th'orqui. She would have been at home there, it seems.
"So our religion would have had us believe," he admits. "In my homeland, our priests tried to simplify life by assigning arbitrary meaning and calling us god-touched. But I don't think it's as easy as that, do you?" He pauses, casts his gaze out to sea. "Here, we are assured that we lead our own life - the gods can intervene, as we've seen time and again, but ultimately we choose our path. We may be given our time by chance, but we choose how we spend it."
"more words."
Quilyan
counting on the night for a beautiful day;
subtlepatterns.com | kaydeniro & larfsalot @ deviantart
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
