So the other day, I was walking through Lower enjoying the beautiful sights and pleasant aromas, when I ran into a small boy with a pet chicken. A bit intrigued, I asked him about his chicken, and he politely informed me that the rooster was his grandfather. Now, as feathery old men often do, this got me to thinking about philosophy and such, and I found myself wondering over the boy's future. What awaited him? How will he fend for himself and his fowl grandfather? Will he be eaten by the monsters of the Underdark, enslaved by one of our neighbors, or will the politics of our society be his master? How will his patriarch know when to crow without the rising of the sun? All these questions and more flooded my head as I walked away empty-handed, but a bit less empty-headed. Of course, I did ask the boy what he wanted to do. He has obviously thought it out well, since he realistically wants to "beat up drow" when he grows up. Honestly, I hope that he does. Not because I have anything against our friendly, benevolent dark-skinned pals, but because of the boy's hope. Right now his future is a dream, and we have too few dreamers in our city. Instead, our dreams have been swept into the darkness of caves, our memories devoured by illithids, and our heroes stoned in cages. We content ourselves to dredge out a mediocre life in a corrupted city because we can't remember anything better. At least this boy has hope, and he has passed some on to me. Perhaps in reading this, he'll pass some on to you. If enough of us hope, perhaps he will grow up and live his dreams... but if not, I'm afraid that he will grow up and, like most of us... become a mere chicken.

Adale Adarion