vatheon | 2. On the edge

Entry tags:

2. On the edge

Who: Gorthan, Open.
Where: The Grand Library.
When: March 3rd, in the late morning.
Style: Prose or anything you like better.
Status: Open.

Since his arrival in Vatheon, Gorthan had mostly kept to himself and to the large apartment he had occupied, only ever going out to visit the coral to replenish himself with energy - Coolflaming anyone was too risky, when he was still trying to assess what sort of place he had ended up in. Vatheon was most strange, and yet, as Gorthan had guessed during his first moments there, strangely reminiscent of the Pit, Evron's prison planet where genetic experiments were conducted. Only, of course, infinitely more comfortable, as the residents were given almost literally everything that they wished for. Was it even worse a prison because of that...?

There was no way to know for sure quite yet. Gorthan's inquisitive mind was forced to recognize that all that was left to do was revel shallowly on the surface of things, which presented an incredibly diverse and colorful population, from more different worlds than Gorthan could ever hope to count. Those worlds... Some part of Gorthan, that vastly repressed one that was always craving for fantasy and escapism, wished to know their stories. All of them.

Today, Gorthan's steps took him towards the majestic building of the Grand Library. While he was at first drawn to it by the stately architecture, what he found inside made him gasp in awe.

Because for all of its power extending through many galaxies, the Evronian Empire could never hope to compile a library comparable to this one. Gorthan's sight was thoroughly filled with books, as far as his eyes could see. Truly it was deserving of the title of 'Grand'...

... Which meant that Gorthan was now torn in two. Were those stories truly worth learning? Or would that literature from other worlds than Evron just pollute his thoughts of war and destruction and cause him to betray his ultimate goal?

While he was already well past the entrance, the Evronian conqueror simply stood paralyzed before the world of books extending before him, unsure whether he should walk back or lose himself to his curiosity and imagination.

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Oh, hello. Here was someone he hadn't seen in a while. It wasn't difficult to miss Gorthan, after all.

Serph approached the Evronian, a stack of books he was supposed to catalogue in one arm. Giving him a nod in greeting, he said, "Gorthan. Have you been well?"

Gorthan blinked once as he eyed the books Serph was carrying and put two and two together.

"... You work here."

His tone was neutral. After all, he was still undecided whether this library was the most wonderful place in every possible universe, or the nest of all evil.

"I have been well. Yourself?"

He drew a deep breath as he admitted, "It is my first time here. It all looks so enticing, so alluring, and yet... I am not quite sure if I should."

Serph gave a nod; he'd somewhat recently gained a job at the library and had been well, aside from that bout of illness unlike anything he'd experienced before. But he tilted his head questioningly at the last part.

"Is there something wrong with being in a library?"

"I am a warrior, Serph. The leader of the most powerful army in the universe." he said simply, facing away from Serph and walking a few steps closer to the bookshelves.

"My thoughts are not meant to dawdle on the heritage of the worlds that I must destroy. To do so would be betraying my own culture, and straying from the path that I have chosen for myself."

He closed his eyes, and the black membrane around them was now all that was visible of them. "And yet..."

Serph still didn't really like the idea of a people who wished to destroy other worlds. It sounded too uncomfortably close to his own experiences of needing to kill to conquer the other Tribes. He understood there was little joy in killing those he knew. Yet... if one didn't reach out at all, then what was the point in being alive?

But Serph knew better than to try and convince Gorthan of his views; it probably wouldn't work, anyway. Frankly, he had no issues with the Evronian, despite their differing viewpoints. As long as they did not come in direct conflict, then there was no problem as far as Serph was concerned.

However, he pointed out, "You can learn from others." Even those who have long passed. "As a conqueror, you inherit knowledge from those you defeat."

There was a long pause as Gorthan pondered over Serph's words. Finally, he walked closer to a bookshelf and began admiring it. His personal library paled in comparison to this one, as did Evron's library - Evronians had always destroyed the cultures of their host planets, making it vanish without trace. But... was it a healthy practice? Did it not undermine the strength of the Empire?

"There is truth in your words..." he murmured, just loud enough for Serph to hear. "How many books are here?"

Serph waved his free hand at the massive shelves and shelves of books, as it to say "See for yourself."

The library was truly expansive, even needing ladders to reach the upper levels of books. Cataloguing them would be quite the daunting task, if it wasn't for the fact the local librarian didn't have a deadline for sorting them all. It was like she knew the task was impossible for just one person.

Unable to resist the calling of the ocean of knowledge stretching out before him, Gorthan picks up one of the books within his reach and starts leafing through it.

"And are they also, like the guests of Vatheon, from different worlds?"

Serph gave a shrug, as if to say, "Who knows?" It wasn't like he would know what was native to Vatheon and what wasn't, especially when his own world had so very little. Perhaps some of these books were from different worlds, or were from some place outside of Vatheon.

Well, since Gorthan now had his attention on other things -- thus not requiring the entirety of his own attention -- Serph stepped back to shelve the top book from his stack. "The Nostalgia Nook sells items from other worlds. Everything else may or may not be from other worlds."

There was a certain amount of shared elements common to both Vatheon and other worlds, though.

Gorthan looked up from the book, glaring at Serph sternly.

"You're a librarian here, and yet you do not possess adequate knowledge concerning the origin of these books? Pray, what sort of librarian are you supposed to be?"

Gorthan's tone and look in his eyes made it quite clear that he thought Serph should be ashamed of himself.

Serph was completely unperturbed by Gorthan's JUDGING EYES, and replied calmly, "One willing to learn."

He was already well aware of his gaping gaps in his knowledge, and even Gorthan couldn't make him feel shame for being ignorant of the world outside the Junkyard. And Serph was mostly doing this for the tokens and to learn more about... well, everything, anyway.

Still, he added the reason he was hired in the first place. "There's no one else who expressed interest in organizing these books."

Gorthan's glare dissipated quickly as he looked once again at what he could see of the vast ocean of books.

"I can see why most would find it a daunting task." Gorthan replied. "As regards myself, I have experience researching my planet's literature and philology, and I could probably lend a hand."

His eyes traveled back to the book in his hands. He started reading a random page. It seemed to be a theatrical play of sorts... Gorthan was sure that it could never match the quality and poetry of those that the great Zartas had written, of course.

"But I won't. I am simply not interested."

... But the way his eyes traveled along the page, becoming increasingly more engrossed with every line, told a completely different story.

An aching body had not stopped Mitsuhide from stepping out into Vatheon, eager to stretch his legs and catch up on everything he had missed. Though the curse had caused many to be stuck indoors, their temporary illnesses wearing them down, there was still plenty of life on the streets.

The young samurai had found himself at the library after a short walk around, as he often did; it was one of his favourite places in the city. A treasure trove of words and art, books filled with things both familiar and not.

There was so much he didn't know, and plenty he never would, but learning just a little more about what was out there, and reading the fiction of other worlds and times, was something he truly appreciated.

Right now he was walking through the library with his focus purely on a book of poetry he was reading. Some might have called that foolish, but by now Mitsuhide knew the library more than well enough to walk the right path, and his natural awareness meant he did not bump into anyone.

As he walked past Gorthan Mitsuhide was reciting the current poem to himself; quietly, but still audibly.

"The unpurged images of day recede; the Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed..."

Gorthan was still contemplating the universe of knowledge before his eyes. Should he dive into it and sate his thirst for information and fantasy to his heart's content? Or did he have to remain skeptical and wary of what he could find there? Were those books capable of turning him into a sentimental being that he would despise, or would he be grateful to them once he had read the right ones...?

But hearing the unmistakable rhythm, flow and lexicon of an epic narration was enough to immediately dispel Gorthan's musings. He wasn't looking at Mitsuhide just yet, but his blue eyes widened in recognition of the genre.

"What are those words?" He asked bluntly, his voice inappropriately loud. "I, Gorthan of Evron, demand to know."

Mitsuhide blinked, and stopped in his tracks. He tore his gaze away from the page and looked over at the questioner; a soul very unlike any he had seen before in Vatheon. Over a year ago he would have been visibly shocked, but now, he simply bowed his head in greeting and said, politely:

"You are Gorthan?"

Interesting. Well, regardless, he was never shy about sharing knowledge like that.

"Those words are the start of a poem titled 'Byzantium.'" His gaze flicked back down to the page, and he recited a few more lines. "'Night resonance recedes, night walkers' song, after great cathedral gong.' By a man named Yeats."

Mitsuhide was a poet himself, and actually something of a talented one at that. When he spoke lines of poetry it was in a soft, practised tone. Back in Japan, he had read both his own works and that of others at poetry parties.

"I am him, indeed. Do I kn- "

He turned towards Mitsuhide and narrowed his eyes as he inspected him. He had not talked to many people in Vatheon yet, which left him very little room for error. And so, it was likely that the man before him was...

"... Mitsuhide. So you possess knowledge in the realm of poetry as well... Remarkable."

In spite of the compliment, Gorthan's expression remained inscrutable, his pupil-less eyes cold. However... that was but a facade, and one that it took quite a bit of effort to maintain. Those words, their sounds, their meanings, masterfully chosen by the poet and skillfully recited by the warrior from Earth now standing before him... they struck a chord deep within the conqueror, and he found himself yearning to know more.

He was born a scientist, an intellectual. That had been his strength, the reason for the advantage he had over born warriors as he rose through military ranks. But he knew that his constant thirst for knowledge was also his main weakness. Now that he was being forced to remain idle, would that weakness overcome and consume him?

"What is the poem about?" Before he could even begin to think he should feign disinterest, the question had already been uttered.

Uh huh. Serph totally believes you, Gorthan.

There were many who also had vast knowledge about literature, too -- an ocean of knowledge, compared to Serph -- but if they didn't want to work in the library, fair enough. They had no obligation to, as far as Serph was concerned, and he wasn't about to ask Gorthan to do the same as he.

Since he remembered Gorthan's interest in poetry when they met, Serph pointed out the... significantly massive bookshelves dedicated to the art. "All these are poetry."

There's a long line of the bookshelves, at the very least.

Serph's words were enough to force Gorthan's attention momentarily away from the book in his hands. He lifted his gaze to the bookshelves Serph was gesturing to, his eyes wide and fleetingly bright with hope.

"Ah, are they now?"

He surveyed the books, walking slow, quiet steps along the hallway. "I do not recognize any of these names and titles." he finally proclaimed once he neared the end. Into his voice he forced coldness, contempt, even, and his eyes were narrow and judging once again.

But soon after, he let out a slow sigh and closed his eyes. Was this ignorance of his truly something that he should take pride in? Certainly, as an emotionless being, he had no time to waste with anything concocted by emotional creatures. And yet, for a conqueror's pride to be fueled by his own ignorance... what a foolish notion!

"Do you believe they would be worth reading, Serph?"

His voice was much different than just a moment before. It was soft, quiet. Thoughful.

Serph... actually had no idea what the content of the poetry books were. And it wasn't like he had the tools to judge, not having consumed poetry and literature with nearly the same voracious appetite as a connoisseur. But, even if he did have the tools and knowledge, his answer would still be the same.

He gave Gorthan a nod, plucking a book from the shelf and putting it in its correct place. "I believe they would be worth reading. They're a preservation of memory."

At least, that was what Gorthan had told him. It might not be the memory Gorthan wished it was, but the memory of other people was also valuable.

"Whose memory, though?" Gorthan replied, evident disdain in his voice. "The souls of the cowardly, of people who succumb to weakness and stray from their paths in life... I have no desire to become privy to their thoughts, or even their existence."

And yet, the appeal of the interminable shelves continued. Each time Gorthan raised his gaze to look at them, there was nothing but awe in his eyes. ... Were his emotions getting the best of him? In that case, he knew what to do. A topic shift was in order.

And so he put the book back from where he had taken it and folded his arms on his chest, staring sternly at Serph again.

"I'll reiterate my question - if you know nothing about these books, how are you organizing them?"

"Such is the samurai's way," replied Mitsuhide modestly. "Though I admit my interest in words runs deeper than many."

At Gorthan's question, however, Mitsuhide's voice changed again. This was the scholarly side of him coming out now, the intelligent and analytical one, and it was obvious merely in his bearing that he had put a lot of thought into the poem. He had read it over many times already, trying to form a true picture in his head.

"It is full of metaphor, the meaning of the poet not fully clear." Mitsuhide smiled softly. "Of the few things that are certain? A man has arrived at a city, and this city is the Byzantium that titles it."

The young samurai's eyes slid closed.

"There a poem that preceded this one, named 'Sailing to Byzantium, in which that man suggested he wished to be 'out of nature.' To be amongst and part of that which man has forged instead. So here, when he has come to the place that satisfied him in that regard, he encounters strange creatures and spirits?"

He liked this writer a good deal, which was already obvious.

"There are obvious themes of the afterlife, as well as immortality, but the core message is hard to deduce. The language he uses is rich, beautiful, and acts as a kind of obscuring blanket. We see an image, but to find what that image really means... perhaps that is the point. I can tell you for certain that the one who wrote this is a very talented poet."

Gorthan listened to Mitsuhide's words, his head lowered in thought. A dichotomy between nature and the product of sentient spirit... Not a subject that Evronian literature discussed a whole lot, given the course that nature had followed on their planet. In fact, it could be said that, generation after generation, their race had merely adapted into the parasitic course of its evolution... And once again, Mitsuhide had him questioning whether that was necessarily Evron's only path, its only destiny.

At the same time, however, the Imperial Councillor was struck by a different realization. The resulting question was voiced immediately.

"This poem, Mitsuhide. While also from Earth, as you are, it is not from your culture of origin, is it?"

Serph looked up from his work to turn his attention back to Gorthan. Setting the pile of books back down on his trolley, he took the top book and showed Gorthan the spine, pointing to the set of numbers, letters and symbols at the base.

"All books have these. They follow a strict order. Books of a similar topic are shelved together."

But it wasn't like he didn't know anything about the books.

"I usually read while I organise."

"No."

Mitsuhide closed the book, gaze returning to that of Gorthan.

"It is very different in form to that which I know from Japan."

There were plenty of works that clearly were Japanese in origin within the library, and whilst he had read some of the books containing them, his main focus had been on the works of other cultures.

"That is half the attraction, I would suppose. Something new, different... it fills my own mind with ideas."

Gorthan's eyes narrowed in judgement. "Ideas, indeed. Are you not aware that they may be harmful to you? That they may pollute your thoughts? Why do you even care about what different cultures from your own have to say?"

He stepped away from Mitsuhide, standing with his back to him.

"I assume that your people are not here in Vatheon with you - mine are not, at any rate. As their leader, it is your duty to keep memories of them alive at all times. To waste time with the memories of lives other than those whose very survival depends on you..."

Gorthan's hand briefly ran feverishly along the spine of a book he had spotted - the title sounded enticing - all of the titles sounded enticing - and yet he dared not remove it from the shelf. Many of his doubts had already surfaced in his words so far. A more personal attack was the only direction he could take this conversation.

"... It is nothing but selfish foolishness. Do you not take pride in your own culture, Mitsuhide? In your own people? In your own past? I cannot say I know you well, but I do not see that pride in you."

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