A Scholar's Colloquy

I recommend the chai,
It's delicious.
A story, perhaps?
Which tale would thee have I tell,
Odyssey, or Aethiopis?

For lack of better judgement
One must speak of thine regard,
In highness lore though truth implored:
A beginning without an end.

It started in ancient Europe,
Whence the clouds arrived post-haste.
Precipitation abundant, humanity in decline
Amidst chaotic ruse solemn duty became a tool,
That a single martyr, at wit's end, used.

Disease had ridden the field of crow,
Alas morale had still-steepened low.
Some sought chance, the rest, they sought an aid.
To pillage the belongings that of their dead;
The mend to cleanse the change.

In-center much later this martyr humble,
Opening heart to wisdom;
Forsook his past to gaze anew,
A dawn that welcomed few.

Continuing onward, the King heard tell of a man who could provoke a flame.
With avarice; Being reckless, this man went, intrigued.
"With what sorcery doth thou astound?", The King sat down his glass.
This man replied, "With that of faith, and exalted beliefs."

Moving on to ancient Greece, horses in stable,
A council in progression.
So many minds dedicated whole-timely
To the creation of a weapon.
That inferno came at last, and tore asunder stripes azure.
Though in wrong hands one can hardly know if victory
Is ever assured.

Khwarezmian capital, seized,
Every man, woman, and child -
Slaughtered by the
Punishment of the Lord.
Thousands, millions, How many would you say?
It's of no importance now,
The architect found the grave.

Native to their land,
Savage, yet traditional culture.
Others detest what many enjoy
By simple obscurity, plain disregard.
Does that mean that one may take from whomever he feels the need?
Compassion was never implicated by the blood-lust throughout that siege.

A castle in the highlands, guarded by a beast.
By stake, chill, knife and guile,
Bodies were left with such in its wake that
One glance gave most a mile.

Next, you know, is a small village by the sea.
Willing, and able, a fable I've brought to thee.
Two tons of pine, maybe even more,
Charcoal a'plenty, never enough a'fore.
Prosecution, damnation, sheer atrophy of a world,
That never once inquired about the meaning of what it abhorred.

A revolution, through stolen land.
No place to go, a sea in between;
What would someone really want with
Something they didn't need?

A country below a cliff.
To follow after those before.
Though in truth, lunatics always do find meaning
In shallow depth.
Pursuing religious pride, rancor in tow,
Antiquity shall explain the rest.

You ask me what I mean by this, and to be honest I must reply:
Why would someone ever conceive these things if apprehended with their own eyes?
You deem this subtle rubbish;
I define the sum.
Ignorance and bliss are divided things,
The truth from which you flee - Though you've discovered none.
Parables you requested, or mayhap were offered thee.
Did you procure what you'd aspired?
Have you received your sodden glee?
The chai here is delectable;
Unlike its History.