Eulogy by Vizier Khatara, Battle of the Boundary, Tammuz 5th, IY 7788

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

[On Tammuz 5th, IY 7788, Vizier Bashir Khatara delivered an eulogy via bellows, dedicated to those that perished in the Battle of the Boundary. The Vizier was uncharacteristically focused, his speech lacking the usual vocal fry and tics that he is prone to. The sorrow in his voice was evident.]

I do not remember much about my childhood.

Yet, clear as day, I can still picture the narrow alleys that I called my home, and the water carrier, who made her rounds through them, each and every day.

She was an old woman. Age had not been kind to her hands, prone to tremors as they were. The jug she held the water in was a makeshift affair, cobbled together from various shards that she, and those willing to help her, had found laying about our home.

Sometimes, the tremors would cause her to drop her jug. Sometimes, some of the more unscrupulous folk that we shared our home with would trip her over, simply to watch for the sake of cruel entertainment. Countless times, the jug would shatter, and countless times more, it would be mended.

In the end, perhaps it was not even the same jug, anymore. But to her, it was simply her jug, and it meant the very world to her. It was her labor. Her responsibility. Her duty. Her place in her community.

The shards that held the water within changed.

Yet the water kept flowing.

Nary a new shard could ever erase the importance of the ones before it. They merely built upon it.

One day, the dutiful water carrier did not come. We soon discovered that she had passed quietly from one world to the next, in her sleep. At that moment, I did not understand what this meant, nor did I understand the tears that our community shed upon the discovery.

Yet all the same, I shed my own, and shared in the sorrow, even if I did not fully understand.

The loss was great. Yet what she had set forth would not be forgotten, nor ignored. And so, a mere two days after, that same old shattered yet mended jug made its way through those same narrow alleys.

The hands that clutched to it were younger, and the head upon which it rested was far smaller. A young halfling lass, at least thrice my age, had taken to the task, and so, for the years to come, she would make sure that as few would go thirsty in our home as possible.

And so, the water kept flowing.

Here, in Ephia's Well, many labor to see to just that, also. The hands are many, each pair just as important as the next. In these troubled times, that labor revolves around war. A hideous labor,  a crude befoulment of all that we hold dear. Yet it is a labor that we must see to, nonetheless.

Yesterday, four brave souls that labored to protect us all lost their lives in the line of duty. Akna Ymir. Cosine Mevura. Atreya Lightdew. Baako Mahmoud. Do not forget their names.

As you step into a new tomorrow, do not forget who afforded it to you, to me, to each and every one of us. Do not forget their labor. Do not forget why they labored.

Keep the water flowing.