A Composium on Humans

“The human race is the most illogical, contradictory, out-of-control, aimless, self-destructive, childish, and stubborn species in all the realms!” Letharin nearly spat as he strode into his private study. His apprentice Inwe looked up with raised eyebrows at the uncharacteristic breach of professionalism, her quill hovering the half-finished sentence on the parchment before her. The lingering point caused a small splotch of ink to fall, splattering against the white surface. Letharin frowned down at the young elf as her eyes widened in horror at her error. Apprentices to the Archivists had been dismissed for far less, but Letharin’s breach of protocol continued as he waved the mistake aside with a careless flick of his hand.

“Set down your quill, Inwe.” He instructed. “And bring me the Carathian Red.”

It was a full minute before the stunned apprentice moved, but her mentor simply waited as he looked out the thin crystal sheet to the towering trees beyond. Only when she placed the woven diamond goblet filled with crimson liquid beside him did he move, raising the cup in a salute before emptying it and holding it out again. Inwe promptly refilled it, and he nodded once to allow her to set the jug of crisp liquid down.

“If I may, Archivist Letharin-” She began, only for him to cut her off.

“Two hundred.”

She hesitated. “My sincere apologies, Master, but…”

He swung his free arm towards the shelves filled with tomes. “Two hundred races. That’s the number I have thoroughly studied, recorded, and categorized. My compendiums on the varying races of the realms have been the envy of the scholars with their exhaustive data, listing of characteristics and common trends, and exactness of varying specifications.” He turned his head slightly. “How many of those have you been a part of?”

“I believe…fifty of them, Archivist.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You believe?”

“Of the two hundred composiums, fifty-six of the tomes you created were recorded by myself.” She replied instantly.

“Better. The one I choose to invest my most valuable resource in, my time, ought to keep track of such things.” He said neutrally before looking over the tomes again. “My curiosity is aroused. How many such composiums exist?”

“Three hundred and twelve.”

“Three hundred and twelve.” He repeated, shaking his head. “Two-thirds of all our archived composiums on the various species were created by myself. The grand total of my contributions have taken me eleven hundred and six years to compile, and yet for the past four hundred and ninety-two, I have been unable to complete the summary on a single race!”

Inwe was silent, returning to her desk as she contemplated what frustration drove her master to such displays of emotion. Her gaze hovered over the dozens of stacks of paper that were the half-finished efforts to cement a profile on what was seeming to be the most difficult race among the realms.

“Perhaps with another attempt, the common factor of this race will become apparent.” She suggested. The corners of his mouth as he turned, slowly shaking his head.

“In any other situation, your advice would be sound.” He commented. “After all, there is a base factor that we can rely on finding in every species. The orcs are aggressive and can always be counted on to choose the brash action. The dwarves seek to cut into the earth and rend its bounty into objects of sharp beauty. The fey are mischievous by nature, and not an instance of direct action has been counted among the annals of all history, known or lost. Our people will seek refinement, knowledge, and there is grace in our every movement. Yet the human race is singularly maddening. The human race not only changes from century to century, they change from decade to decade. When I left them last, they were insisting that their planet was the center of the universe. Now they have metal pods that can rotate their star, yet some believe said star does not exist.”

Despite herself, Inwe’s head snapped up. “I…apologize, Archivist. I must have misheard you.”

“Did you hear me say that some among the humans believe their star does not exist?”

“...Indeed.”

He turned. “I did say that.” He strode up to the desk, settling into his waiting chair and setting the intricate cup on the table between that. “There are some who claim that the ball of fire they see in the sky does not exist and that the orb they live on is actually flat.”

She blinked. “...They do travel, do they not?”

“Oh, quite often in fact.” Letharin informed Inwe. “Yet they still believe their world is more akin to a coin than a ball.”

“Deliberately illogical. Understood.” Inwe nodded and raised her quill only for her master to shake his head.

“On the contrary. I have sat and debated truth and philosophy for days on end.” He mused. “Thoughts on art, philosophy, morals, and truth. I’ve found those who, with a few centuries of experience, could sit among our elders and be counted as friends.”

“Surely you jest?”

“Not at all. Their ‘philosophers’ trace the threads in the fabric of reality much the same as our Dreamers, and despite their youth they are remarkably perceptive. Yet there are those who make a boulder appear smart.” He shook his head. “It’s…maddening. The humans seem to be deliberately contrary. Some crave wealth more than the dragons, others seek to avoid it. Some feast until a dagger could be thrust in as deep as the pommel and never touch their innards, others starve themselves until naught remains but bone. There are humans evil enough to sell their own kind for a piece of copper and sleep soundly through the night, yet others could never take a quill without being wracked with guilt. I’ve seen members of that species kill another for no reason at all, and still others would never hurt even a stinging insect. Their capacity for innovation is surpassed only by their destructive nature and idiocy, yet they thrive wherever they are found.”

“If I may, Archivist, they sound like a parasite.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “The thought occurred to me, but none who witness their private moments together could continue to hold such an opinion. Seeing the light in the eyes of the one who holds their newborn child or the shine of a beloved pair is all the evidence one needs to know they are…more than a parasite.” He tilted his head. “Yes, more than. An apt description.”

“Is that where you would like me to start the composium?” His apprentice asked.

He raised his glass, studying it. “No, even that does precious little to describe them.”

Inwe looked over the stacks of parchment, only for the orderly, if half-finished, stacks to be sent scattering with a burst of wind as Felarin blasted them away with a gesture. She recoiled, but he simply sat forward and pushed a stack of fresh parchment towards her.

“Bind these into a tome.” He instructed. “Title it ‘A Composium on Humanity.’ After the usual platitudes and acknowledgements,” he raised his glass one more time, “write ‘Good Luck.’”