You're what gives me strength.
Warren Castille sat alone upon a rock nestled beside the stream at Fesca's Wash. Ul'dah stood opposite him, just along a road that is longer than it looks, the paved stones lying in the shadow of the nation that smoothed them over eons ago. What had once been nothing more than roughly hewn rock torn from the earth had been changed into something beneficial. Something more useful to those who had need of it. Warren had propped his forearms on his knees, his feet drawn up beneath him in a slightly relaxed pose. From it, he lazily lifted a hand and framed the nation between his thumb and forefinger. Perspective made all the difference sometimes.
There were too many conversations that echoed and lingered in his ears and conscience. It wasn't just the accusation that he'd abandoned those in need previously, though the taste of that had stayed with him despite the long nights between the now and the last time he'd seen Kolin. He'd turned those events over and over in his mind but couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer, and the weight of his perceived truth didn't need one. The many seasons since his exodus away from his makeshift home had impacted more than just himself, even if he didn't realize it at the time. Not one for philosophy, he didn't think much about the imagined ripple effect of those standing in the stream of time. Instead, Warren kept thinking of the rocks that made up the road.
Time and mastery had taken them and formed them into what they were; Artisans long with long forgotten names had built upon the ground with their means, and the flow of time did the rest. Trade routes once followed by memory beaten into the ground, made permanent by wear and rock. Tension had been rising in Ul'dah for what felt like a lifetime, and his discussion with the Monetarist had thrown his perspective wider than he'd let it grow himself. All sides had a feeling of where the road into the future should be paved. All sides had a feeling of what was the best course of action.
There was a new question dwelling in the back of his mind now. Ul'dah, its stylized domes glistening in the sun, seemed so small between his fingers. A mighty nation that had withstood war and the test of time enclosed in the hand of a simple man, though the future might be - could be - dictated by those so much smaller than the nation.
"So," the words whispered in places just below recognition. "So, are you the artisan? Or are you the stone?"
Warren Castille sat alone upon a rock nestled beside the stream at Fesca's Wash. Ul'dah stood opposite him, just along a road that is longer than it looks, the paved stones lying in the shadow of the nation that smoothed them over eons ago. What had once been nothing more than roughly hewn rock torn from the earth had been changed into something beneficial. Something more useful to those who had need of it. Warren had propped his forearms on his knees, his feet drawn up beneath him in a slightly relaxed pose. From it, he lazily lifted a hand and framed the nation between his thumb and forefinger. Perspective made all the difference sometimes.
There were too many conversations that echoed and lingered in his ears and conscience. It wasn't just the accusation that he'd abandoned those in need previously, though the taste of that had stayed with him despite the long nights between the now and the last time he'd seen Kolin. He'd turned those events over and over in his mind but couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer, and the weight of his perceived truth didn't need one. The many seasons since his exodus away from his makeshift home had impacted more than just himself, even if he didn't realize it at the time. Not one for philosophy, he didn't think much about the imagined ripple effect of those standing in the stream of time. Instead, Warren kept thinking of the rocks that made up the road.
Time and mastery had taken them and formed them into what they were; Artisans long with long forgotten names had built upon the ground with their means, and the flow of time did the rest. Trade routes once followed by memory beaten into the ground, made permanent by wear and rock. Tension had been rising in Ul'dah for what felt like a lifetime, and his discussion with the Monetarist had thrown his perspective wider than he'd let it grow himself. All sides had a feeling of where the road into the future should be paved. All sides had a feeling of what was the best course of action.
There was a new question dwelling in the back of his mind now. Ul'dah, its stylized domes glistening in the sun, seemed so small between his fingers. A mighty nation that had withstood war and the test of time enclosed in the hand of a simple man, though the future might be - could be - dictated by those so much smaller than the nation.
"So," the words whispered in places just below recognition. "So, are you the artisan? Or are you the stone?"
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
