Difficult & Righteous

Several times in my life, I’ve left Ar.
From time to time, I become disillusioned with the rhetoric of state and the politic of life. I have a vagabond heart and a journeyman’s soul. I’ve chartered passage along the mighty Vosk and vomited the contents of my queasy stomach into Thassan waters from Torvaldsland to the Isle of Anango. I’ve slept in a Tuchuk Wagon, in a Cosian prison, between the sleek thighs of an outlaw woman in Lydius, on the beach near the Genesian Road and many more places than are practical to recount. Still, I find the urge to pick up stakes and walk.
It is the calling of my caste, that of the Poets, to roam. In some cities we are singers, minstrels, bards and even fools. We are happy to have enough money to just scrape by in most instances. ‘If I sleep with a full belly, a drunken mind and a soothed libido, I sleep happy’ is a common motto of my fellows. To be inspired is all most of us want. It is all I wanted. Until I saw the treachery of those in power; those entrusted to see to the business of statecraft while the craftsman sees to the state of his craft, I was content. Such infidelity. I should entrust my future to such leadership? No. A woodsman in his lonely hovel at the side of the road, companioned to a shrew of a woman, with nothing to eat but his turnips and suls, better guards the sanctity of his home than those of High Caste did in Ar not so long ago.
I did not set out to become wealthy immediately. I merely decided that it was a righteous goal, strictly within the ethos of my caste or not. Difficult, but righteous. I have a simple plan. One that involves a woman, once slave, a houseful of whores and patience.
The wheels are already in motion.