The Sight of Ithaca
05 Aug 2023Astraeius
Of the joys that felt Ulysses, A man today can only dream
After ten years amongst the seas,
And all the things that he had seen
To witness, dark, against the sky
To see her there, peacefully lie
Blessed isle, once happy home
Ithaca, where lay his throne
And yet, today, as I returned
With limbs in pain, with my brow burned
To cheer, to smile, to warm embrace
To she who makes my heart so race
Blessed isle atop the sea
Ithaca, I too see thee
Perhaps I speak out of turn. After all, my Ithaca is yet far. Rather, should I say myself on the Phaeacian ship, kicking back my boots as I ready myself for some other captain to carry me on the last leg of my Odyssey. My Phaecian ship is the Sadler's Song. And, in all truth, after months without seeing another human face, she's home enough as it is.
Some ten thousand lightyears of travel. Three hundred and fifty odd jumps. Two months of travels. How many new soils under my feet? How many new sunrises on my face? I could not say. All this, because I choose to bring a warship into the black. In what had started off as a supply run.
I grew up with stories of deep space explorers. What child of the Empire has not? Since the days of Lady Marlin and Emperor Henson, we have been the scions of explorers. Far before that, in all truth. For even before the skies were within our reach, humanity has always striven to push that frontier further. Be it for fortune, or fame, or the search for a more peaceful land, what has our history been, if not one great bout of exploration? And so, too, did I choose to play a part in this great story. In a warship.
Choose , I must admit, might be too strong a word. Because, beyond childhood fancies, there is something enticing about the vastness of space. Something so tempting, in knowing that the unknown is so close within reach. Seductively does the siren song of fame sing of having one's name forever etched upon a star, and loudly does the call to adventure sound. Having heeded both, having been by both rewarded, I shall now instead hear another call, shall now instead nod my head to another song. One of peace.
Peace! Sing, oh Goddess, this time not of Achilles son of Peleus, but of Tityrus and Meliboeus. Of Menalcas and Daphnis. Of Chromis and Mnasyllos. Sing, oh Goddess, of those men who knew naught of war and bitter steel, but who lived and died with a smile on their lips and the sweat of honest work on their brow. Sing, oh Goddess, of those who chose love, and who cared little for their names being sung at all. For amongst the heroes whose deeds we aspire to match, their names too should bear mention. Then, perhaps, would we all be able to enjoy a taste of Peace.
Because Sadler's Song sits surrounded by nothing but Guardian ruins and empty stars, and yet even here the first words I've heard were ones of conflict. Fair enough. My Odyssey nears its end. Now comes the time to string my bow, and rid home of those who would pillage it.