The Dreaming Mark and the Vessel of Fools
Argur and Ruby - Heroic lore
The Caravan has stopped for the night, its wagons enclosed in a loose circle, around a large bonfire. The tables and half-logs have been set up, and the smell of flame-grilled meat fills the desert air. Upon one of these half-logs sits a hulk of a man, whose arms seem as if they're too large for the rest of his already-massive body. His oversized hands cradle an old volume of text, that holds his interest so well that he almost does not see the armored mercenary approach him from the side.
"What's that you're reading?" she asks, as she grabs a seat next to the behemoth bookworm.
"The War of the Courtesans. It describes a vast rebellion among the courtesans of Gozen, from a few hundred years ago."
"Courtesans? Like, prostitutes?"
"I thought it strange as well, myself, but it seems that the professional companions of Gozen did stage a rebellion across the Shogunate, many years ago." The large man inserts a large leaf into the book and closes it. "It stemmed from the Shogunate's unusual economy. A Gozenjin does not pay for services with coins or gems, but wooden tokens intended for various specific things. Tokens for food. Tokens for physical labor. Tokens for goods. Companions and concubines were paid for their services in special tokens for 'high services.'"
"High services, like sex and child-bearing?" The woman mercenary is positively riveted.
"In so many words, yes. The courtesan's work was only paid in high service tokens, meaning they could not spend their earnings for food or the basics of living without finding someone else to trade their tokens with. Since they could do nothing about it otherwise, they staged an uprising. First, on their home city, and later, across the entire Shogunate."
"I'm gonna have to get back to you and see how that ends, sometime." She stretches her legs out in front of her. "I'm really surprised a big, huge dude like you is so interested in reading. I guess it takes all kinds."
"Believe me, yours is the calmest reaction I've seen." He extends one of his hands - almost twice as large as her face - for a handshake. "My name is Argur, by the way."
She doesn't quite know how to shake a hand that big, so she settles for shaking his middle finger instead. "I'm Ruby."
"It is a pleasure, Madame Ruby. I've seen you fight before. There is a beautiful fierceness in you."
"Madame... yeah, nah, I'm gonna have to say 'drop the Madame.' Doesn't suit me."
"A hero does need a title."
"Buddy, I don't think you know enough about what my deal is to be assigning me a heroic title." She seems dissatisfied at the idea of being idolized.
"Perhaps at a later time, then." Argur picks the book back up and just gazes at its cover. "Forgive me my flight of fancy. I spend much of my time reading the old heroic sagas."
"Ah yes, our heroes, the sex-havers." Ruby smirks to herself, observing the painting on the cover of the book. It depicts a woman in rather immodest silk clothing, a fierce expression on her blood-flecked face, having run-through a distinguished-looking military tactician with a short sword. The tactician's face looks more disappointed than anything, looking his attacker in the eyes as if to say, Really? You, too? "But y'know? I get it. A lot of these cultures seem to have no idea how to treat their women. If that's the kind of tale I think it is, it ought to be a cautionary tale. 'Women want to live, too, so pay 'em what they're damn well worth, or this'll happen to you.'" She pokes at the cover, around the sword's point of impact, with her armored mitt.
"You speak a plain truth. Would that more women like yourself existed here, those hundreds of years ago."
"What, did the courtesans lose their war?"
"I don't know yet. I haven't finished reading the book." Argur's shrug looks as if it takes a considerable amount of effort. "I only have so much time to read while the light is good, but the caravan librarian says this is the fifth book I've borrowed from her this week. I'm her best customer, she says."
"That's... impressive."
"Not that there's much competition. Much of the caravan spends their free time training, or practicing their trades. Except for that dancer over there, for whom I'm sure those are one and the same." He gestures towards Jasmine, the caravan's star talent, who is in the middle of rehearsing some complicated-looking maneuvers with her tulwar, while a few members of the Wagonsguard watch her. "The books have always been available for anyone to borrow, and yet, I'm among the few that do."
"Yeah, really. Jesus, it's like nobody around here knows how to read."
"...They don't. At least, it seems fair to assume."
"I mean, would it kill them to--wait, you're serious?"
"Outside of the very rich. Books and tomes are a luxury that a common man cannot afford."
"How do you afford it? How'd you learn to read?"
"My father - a librarian, himself, appointed to a noble family - taught me at a young age." He sighs deeply. "The day his books were requested to be delivered someplace else, he accompanied them personally on their trip. The coach was robbed. The books... I know not what became of them. Father, though... was left to rot."
"All that for books...or was it just for the sake of robbery?"
"They do go for a fair sum on the market. There is always someone who wishes to exhibit their grandeur with a shelf full of expensive texts, whether they read them or not."
"Shit... nothing worse than a book that doesn't get read."
"Technically, I cannot afford to own these books. In my...less wise days, I made it a habit of raiding caravans like this one. Not for coin or creed, but for knowledge."
"Because books really are that expensive?"
"Many are kept in royal libraries, far out of the reach of the common man. I'd wager few are ever opened."
"...You know, I guess you're right. Huh." Ruby stands up. "You said the caravan's got a library cart? Might have to have you show me which one that is. I feel like I haven't read a good book since I got here."
"Perhaps I ought to recommend some to you, Madame Knight."
"Madame--uh, okay, whatever." She shrugs and marches off, feeling it better to accept the unwanted title than to debate with a well-read giant.