Sir Larernu Perdoso had come from Balmora in Morrowind in the year before, and was very ambitious: he wanted to become the most famous knight of the region. This fight was just a friendly match, though, purely for honor, or recreation, even.

He gave his opponent and friendly handshake and left the field.

Then, he saw Francois. He immediately noticed the young man, because of his striking appearance and charismatic posture.

He pretended not to be impressed, and just kept walking off the field, smiling graciously at the spectators. It was his first month in High Rock, and he didn't care much for the Breton way of living, that was very austere and down-to-Earth; but of course, Morrowind was no more interesting, perhaps, but it was a little bit more sumptuous in some respects; he missed it in any case.

Nothing could dissuade him from just going right along. He was an ordinary guy - he just did whatever he could think up. But in the global set of things, he was a mystery: he had an ideology, but not a philosophy; it was all meaningless.

A man from the audience followed Larernu as he distanced himself from the crowd: "Hey man! Wait up!"

"Excuse me?" said Larernu, and he raised his eyebrows as he looked at the man.

"Yeah, I just saw you fighting, I am really impressed." the man said. He was short, normal figure, dressed in commoners attire.

"I am a warrior." Larernu said. "I have no time for rabble."

"Sure, I understand." the man said.

Francois continued walking down the town square, moving away from the field where the knights had fought.

He just walked around, a bit aimlessly. He hoped nobody would think he was lost: he wasn't, he was just lost in thought.

He saw Madheera at the archery tent. He was clearly on a winning streak. One arrow after the other flew into the pack, all hitting the center of the mark. He was a great archer, which Francois knew, but it had been a long time since he had seen him in action and he was very impressed to see that he hadn't lost his gift.

Madheera launched the final arrow: a fine hit. He handed the bow to the competition master and shook hands with some of the other contenders; then he saw Francois and walked up to him.

"You look a bit pale, my friend."

"I am fine. Some old man just came up to me and said some weird things, that's all."

"You are too sensitive, my friend. Don't let this stuff bother you."

"It was similar to what you said."

"Was it? It doesn't matter."

Francois started associating things: "If you should be in perfect equanimity, as Vivec teaches, clearly these teachings about not stopping mid-action are foolish: where's the humanity? The love? But perhaps it could make sense if you use it to train yourself to be compassionate: get compassion. Yes, but what is compassion? You must also JUSTIFY compassion. Yes, yes."

He continued: "What is wisdom? That which rules us. It is similar to the mind in many ways. Wisdom, yes. Don't stop mid-action, or do something else, or stay mid-passion, OR DON'T BE PASSIVE! And furthermore DON'T 'GO' BEGINNING OR END. Yes, definitely: that's the truth." He was satisfied he had extended the old man's and Madheera's system. He continued: "The Gods - mechanistic. Yes, the Gods are just the mechanics of the universe." This was a typical Vivecian notion. "But what is justice?" He thought of the latest hanging: a man had murdered someone, and therefore he was put to death himself. "Reciprocity." he thought, pensively. "Yes, yes, reciprocity. But how do I use that? What it is REALLY? Construction. Construction, it has to be. Everything is a construction: social, cultural, mental - construction." He was relying on the teachings of his teacher Vorilndil. "Yes, yes." he thought, neurotically, "Yes, indeed, but if I construct my thoughts, what impels me to move outward? What is all human striving aimed on?" He saw a statue nearby: it was made out of a single block of stone. "It is one. Unified. It is un-it. Yes! A unit! But that's not what it IS: it is gathering impression, storing up power: it is... like munition... it is UNITION! I must BRING UNITION." He was very pleased with himself. "Great, great." he thought, "but what now? What is left? I feel so frustrated: so inhibited. What is constant in all this "action"?" he thought. He thought of the music of the Argonians: the snake-like lines, the refinement. "It's writing." he decided. "Everything is writing, but it serves no purpose to "write" yourself." he figured, because writing was conventional or something. "Indeed," he proceeded, "we must simply UNDERGO writing." Again he felt very pleased, but something was off. "But if I must simply "undergo" writing, why should I do all that problem to... bring unition, yes, bring it..." He wanted to return to the place he was before, but writing was clearly a fundamental category of our existence: everything was writing, writing was interpretation and concatenation... "Wait, I must... yes, DON'T 'JUST' UNDERGO ACTION!" He felt triumphant. Now he had traced his way back to what the old man and Madheera said. He was a full philosopher now, a true adherent to the Vivecian way. This was the truth. He felt strong, stable, full of initiative: finally he could feel the world again. He was no longer inwardly empty.

Madheera wondered why Francois was so quiet. "What is going on, my friend?" he asked.

"I believe I am some kind of a chosen one." Francois said. "Why else have I figured out the entire moral structure of the universe in one fell swoop?"

"Have you?" Madheera asked, curiously. "How so?"

"Just these commandments: Bring unition, don't just undergo action, and KNOW THINGS FOR CERTAIN."

"Wow." Madheera said. "That is truly amazing."

That was the end of Francois Deseine's development as a mere schoolchild. Now, he was some kind of sage: he could finally think for himself.

THE END