Intermission II, Part IV: Ignorance

By Dagoth Odros, First Councilor of the Sixth House

Ignorance is an evil that is greater than any other and that is why it pains me so much to see that even in his old age, Tholer still has not dispelled this evil from himself, despite his certainty in having done just that. He still blames me for what happened. He’ll always blame me though. He’ll always look at me and see the one who sent him away, who took his family and his house from him, because he doesn’t realize that his head laid on the executioner’s block and it was only by my intervention that he was spared the axe as it was coming down on him. But that is okay. He may hate me for the rest of his life and possibly even longer, but I will hold no ill will towards him, even as he curses my name and wishes only a thousand hells befall me. For when I look upon him, even only within my mind’s eye, I do not see the arrogance—I do not see the self-righteousness or the claims to moral superiority—I only see the young man who stood before me all those years ago.

He was such a different man all those years ago.

He was young. Naïve. Idealistic. And yet, there was so much more to him that the world never saw. He came into our house with one thing on his mind and it was not enlightenment, it was not transcendence, it wasn’t even who we are—it was that his heart skipped a beat when he looked at Drulyn Hlaalo, one of our agents operating out of Gnaar Mok. He didn’t know the first thing about the Sixth House other than we weren’t held in much acclaim in his little part of the world, but he didn’t care as he found out more either. He only cared about that girl and what it took to win her heart.

Many looked upon him with a less than dim view and I must confess, I did too initially. I deemed him all of those aforementioned traits and one more: Stupid. But he wasn’t stupid. That is one thing I can say about Tholer Saryoni: he is not and never has been—stupid. I didn’t realize that until Drulyn fell out of favor and she suffered the fate they all suffer when their usefulness has expired. He felt he had gone too far to turn back and clung to the House for dear life, because he was afraid to go back. He couldn’t dream of it or even grasp the notion anymore, because when he looked at his own reflection, he saw only a monster because he had aligned himself with the enemies of his old faith. Some say he should have been put to death for harboring such views, because they meant a lack of loyalty to the House, but others did not agree so much with that. Milos didn’t though and at the time, Milos and I were—contemporaries—of a sort. We would frequently find ourselves discussing the future of the House over brandy and these discussions would trail long into the night and though we seldom found common ground, we always saw through the other’s eyes and that’s why he stood up for Tholer all those years ago, even though he never considered him much more than a pompous child.

Milos saw in him a different man than I saw, but the man he saw, pompous and child-like though it may have been—was still a man with thoughts that could shake the foundations of our house. Tholer always had that potential in him. He was a visionary and even today, he is a visionary, but he never truly learned humility and that will always be his downfall. If only he had realized that despite his brilliance, he was still a mere man, he would have become so much more than he has—he would have risen the highest of heights and stood amongst the Council as an equal, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t accept that he didn’t know it all. He couldn’t set aside the smug self-righteousness he would beat others down with and that is why I had to send him away, as much as it pained me.

He blames me for sending him away. He always has, he always will, and I will always let him, because he can’t remove himself from the sense of betrayal he feels. For all his gifts and blessings, he lacks self-awareness—and it pains me. It pains me in the same way it pains a father to see his son become crippled or a teacher to hear his student will never reach their potential, because the boy who chased Drulyn wasn’t like this. He was an open book waiting to be written in and he absorbed our culture just as we absorbed him into our house and he had potential beyond comprehension, but after Drulyn was dealt with, he reclused even more than he more than he already had and no longer did he see me as his friend and mentor—he saw me as the face of the ones who took from him the woman of his dreams. He grew angry. He grew hateful. He came to despise everything we stood for, because she was gone.

He didn’t know her. He never did. She never loved him, despite the sweet lies she whispered into his ear as they laid naked beneath the stars. The woman he saw wasn’t real. She never was. She was an elaborate ruse she had constructed just to lure him in and even now, he hasn’t seen through it. I wish he had. I wish he could, but he can’t or maybe he won’t—but either way it does not matter.

The young man who stood before me all those years ago and asked if I would teach him about the House—that man has been dead since Drulyn died and I mourn his death every day, because he was perhaps the greatest thing that could have ever happened to us. He looked at us with an objective view and judged us not according to his own sensibilities, but according to what made sense. He saw within us weakness and he would voice it, and we would correct it. He spoke without fear or hate, only a desire to be of use, and I would die a thousand deaths to have that unbiased honesty once more, but such gifts come only once in a lifetime, even one that stretches across eras.

I drink to you, Tholer. I drink to the man you were and to the man you are, and with hopes, that in time, those two will not be so different, but I know such hopes are in vain, but they are all that an old man has in these trying times. So this glass is to you, my old friend, may your travels to Hassour be safe and may we meet again as friends.

-Dagoth Odros, First Councilor of the Sixth House