Can cities be said to be constructed of falsehood; or duplicity; or deception; or faith? Certainly, many call Averra a city of truth. I would not claim such. Rather, I would suggest that Averra is of itself, partaking neither of the grand cosmopolitanism of Teknar, nor of the studied insolence of Argo, nor of the ice-blue, frozen character that infuses Cimaguile, nor even of the naïve barbarian pride of Aloor.
Averra being of itself, its name will vanish when the city does. Historians, mythologists, writers of fact and fiction, all will forget Averra because it is but itself. Most great cities take on aspects in excess of reality, and when they fall—and all cities fall—they are recalled by their mythical excesses, or more properly by the illusions of their excesses, and not by what existed in actuality for so long. For this reason, if not for others, there will be no grand epics of Averra, no tragic tales of rulers’ offspring stolen or bought or bartered.
The truth of mere existence carries little weight in the ballads of the bards or in the tomes of history or the romances re-created from vagrant scraps of discarded history. The tellers of tales and singers of songs whose art endures are recalled because of the excesses they depicted beyond the recounting of mere existence or accurate portrayal. Whether we recognize it or not, all beings prefer excess to accuracy. Averra has never devoted itself to excess, except perhaps to an excess of accuracy, and that is why the city and its artists will be forgotten far sooner than those who glorified the varied excesses of other cities.
AVERRA
The City of Truth
Johan Eschbach
377 TE