Endland - Your Day Will Come

City of beer and belly

Nvidias Lament

»You know, you live the riches here, do you?« Nvidia took an other mug of the strong beer she found a local speciality of Tavor. »But there is nothin’ to say against hard labor and baking clay bricks and that«, she waved her hand in a way that might make you think she was a bit tipsy, »but the true adventures, the true life is out there in the wilderness. This is where the heart wants to go. This is where people will make songs of you and your heroic deeds, this is where you explore forgotten cities and locations, find stunning things – and sell them. Yeah«, she scooted back on her stool, »see this Eldur guy, ya must know him, he’s a local Mada. The guy who burned that spider. Of cause he has eaten too much mud already, but for one of this pampered kind he’s okay, I say, don’t take it against me. Not of much use out there, so far as I’m concerned, but he’s heavier than me and makes a good balance weight for my dust-yacht. He’s learning fast and I think I can make him a decent sailor with some more time.«

She nodded more to herself and wasn’t sure if the guy beside her was still listening or if he was drifting off into a pool of booze induced bar-sleep where he was seeing unbelievable big pink animals with absurdly long noses. »It’s really stupidly easy to make a living around here. The ammunition is lying on the streets, you have just to sail a bit around and cash it in. We were on that trip, chap, up the road to Taliss, village up north over the canyon. Easy and smooth ride, was getting a bit slow in the hills, I prefer the desert, if you ask me. I have a great dust-yacht, that is built for that kind of trips. Fast.« She was nodding to herself in pride, but she seemed to have lost the thread.

»Whatever, we met some interesting new wildlife out there and hit this village. A lot of talking and that. You know, I prefer the endless silence of the desert. People talk, talk, talk, all the time. And Eldur was trying to buy that mine. Can ya dig it? He almost bought it, but he didn’t even check it out. Like buying without checking the ware. I say pampered, these folks around here…«

She took another sip of beer. »Hey! Do you listen!? Ah. That’s so typical. Men can’t focus on the important. I met this book-keeper, I think his name was Retro. He thinks these books are of value. But they are not. Work is of value. Books are like ideas. Ideas are nothing if you don’t make something of them. They are just stories. Stories are things you tell little children to make them sleepy. Or to keep your comrades awake if you watch the fire burning. They are like farts. Everybody has them. Can you dig it? They use chains to chain the worthless stuff to the shelf. I can’t understand that. Okay, I did buy one of the stories. But I think I can make something of it. Some stories are true. I’ll try and find out if this one is. Hey, barmann! This guy said he’s buying me some drinks. And now he’s wasted. I guess you put him to sober up and ask him for the bill!«

She slipped off her stool and lamented, »this bum didn’t listen to what I said. That’s so rude!«

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Bookscorpion

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