Answer the Question

When enlightenment refuses to provide a name, the barbarian provides one: Kevin.

A modern-leaning pulse carries the widening gulf between the monk’s tranquil obscurity and the barbarian’s practical urgency. Around them, the party keeps mistaking evasion for profundity until patience performs the one decisive act philosophy could not: it supplies the name “Kevin” and moves on.

Every adventuring company eventually acquireth one companion who mistaketh every ordinary inquiry for an invitation to compose philosophy. I have known such souls. They answer not the question presented, but the one they believe thou oughtest to have asked instead. Whether the matter concern gold, goblins, directions, or simply their own name, they respond with tranquil riddles that leave everyone precisely as uninformed as before. The monk in this song is no fool, nor is he insincere. Indeed, I suspect he believeth he is being genuinely helpful. His companions simply require rather less enlightenment and rather more information. I also confess that the melody drew a measure of inspiration from certain modern musical sensibilities. They possessed the seed of an agreeable tune, though, as with many such things of this age, they lacked proper cultivation. I therefore refined it until it behaved respectably.

The narrator, of course, is our barbarian, and I felt it only proper that he possess considerably less patience than the remainder of his companions. The wizard finds the monk fascinating, the bard scribbles down every cryptic utterance, the cleric mistakes obscurity for wisdom, and the ranger appears determined to discover hidden meaning in every sentence. The barbarian alone hath the courage to observe that if goblins lurk beyond the next hill, then “Aye, there are goblins,” is a perfectly adequate response. His frustration mounteth with each increasingly useless answer until, at the conclusion, when the monk refuseth even to reveal his own name, he simply christeneth him “Kevin” and proceedeth accordingly. There are moments when philosophy must graciously yield to practicality, and I daresay the lake gained rather more clarity from the exchange than the conversation ever did.