On the Value of Fun

Yer a right soddin idjut fer wantin that, ya big, hairy oaf!

An Imperial sat at the counter with his Nord accomplice, flailing his arms in frantic speech.

“Run this by me again, Alduin returns, and we all die? That’s just it? And you’re completely unmoved?”

“That is correct, my Colovian friend. Life is finite, and our world is no different. This world is going to end, eventually. But why let it bother you? Drink, be merry! Here, I’ll order you a round!”

Svod waved to the barkeep for another pint, but Crito slammed his hand to the table.

“Svod, this is no time for alcohol, we’re having a serious debate! Tell me, if the world just… ends, what is the point in doing anything? None of it matters in the end, so why bother?”

“Uh, well, why not? Life should be enjoyed, should it not? Crito, you are far too serious about everything. That is why you should just relax and have a dr–”

Crito leapt to his feet at this. “No! Why can you accept that? How? You should be screaming to the heavens, praying for salvation amongst the glorious Divines.”

Why would I do that? If the Divines intended to stop the end, they would have many cycles ago.

Crito led his Nord friend by the hand outside. “Watch your tongue, blasphemer”, he hissed, “the Divines would not appreciate your tone”.

Svod shrugged. “I don’t really care. If I can’t have my mead, I may as well offer myself to Sanguine.”

Crito gasped. “Remind me why I spend my time with you?”

“Can do. You are a far too serious priest of Stendarr, and I know what fun is. You served as a chaplain in battle against the Thalmor when you really had no place amongst soldiers, and I saved your ass.” Svod pointed to the burn scar on Crito’s left cheek. “Those fireballs burn, eh?” He then lifted his shirt to reveal a similarly patterned burn on his stomach.

Crito grew weary, and looked to the ground. “Fine, just answer me this: what is the point of fun when everything we do vanishes?”

The Nord let loose a harsh bellow of laughter. “There ya go, finally opening up those ears. Here.” Svod put his arm around the Imperial, and led him down the street. “Tell me, where do you see fear? Nowhere. I see only merry-making and joy.” He gestured to the tavern, children playing in the street, and men gambling in the alley.

“Yes yes, but aren’t some of these a bit less than wholesome?” Crito asked as he scowled at a man who had just won a few Septims off a gambling game. “This is not in accordance with the Divines. I see the works of evil in all this debauchery.”

“You mean in this tavern, where great commerce is invoked in the name of Zenithar? Or in that brothel, where women weave the arts of Dibella? This ‘sin’ you behold is all in the interpretation. People want, so people take. Having a desire is not falling prey to Vile’s whims, having a drink is not succumbing to Sanguine’s tricks, and purchasing some, uh, fleshy services is not being foiled by Mephala.”

Crito’s scowl grew heavier. “I do not agree. The Divines are the only ones who truly protect us, and the Daedra are those that harm us. We belong in the arms of faith to protect our souls. All the time at the bar could be spent aiding the poor for Zenithar, or remembering the dead for Arkay. Why leave the end up to chance?”

“Why throw your life away? The Divines will still look favorably upon he who lives his life to the fullest.”

“Akatosh tells us to ‘worship the Nine, do our duty, and heed the commands of the saints and priests’. Live in accordance with Heaven.”

“And all of them say ‘above all else, be good to one another’, which includes yourself.”

Crito turned his back on his old friend. “I owe you my life, tis true, but I cannot abide by your corrupt beliefs.”

Svod mimicked the motion. “And I shall not accompany such a curmudgeon.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bugger off.”

The Ascetic and the Liberal went their separate ways.