38
There is no complete version of this tale found, but we at the Imperial Club of Books and Quills have reconstructed it to the best of our ability.
The villagers called it “large-village-on-the-dead-men’s-sea-with-walls”.
This was an apt description, even if they didn’t need to be so wordy.
Grace decided to christen it “Walltown”.
She approached the entrance.
There were villagers there, but they looked queer.
Grey skin, and they carried weapons.
“May I enter?” Grace asked.
“Would the Empress in the South approve?” Asked the one with the crossbow to the one with the ax.
“I dunno,” he said, “and frankly, I don’t care. Who are ya, miss?”
“I,” she said dramatically, “am Gracelyn Gwen, First Rider of the Empire. Jarl of the north field towns. The Great Slayer of the dead. I ask you again, may I enter?”
She drew her sword.
“Of course you may enter.” This man carried no weapon, though I suspected he was in command. He had strange black robes.
Grace and I were given a special suite, but we wanted to explore the town.
There were “normal” villagers, going about their business, but they were much more quiet than usual.
The grey villagers watched from afar, not intermixing.
We walked into a library.
Every eye was on us.
“Bow, my friends. This-“ said the cleric, but Grace cut him off.
“I’m Grace. A traveler from a distant land. Do you have a,” she fumbled for the word, “cartographer?”
“I’d be the one to ask.” Said an old guy in white robes.
They spent their time interpreting the map. I was busy observing.
“Are they,” I murmured aloud.
Grace scowled.
“Are they holding you hostage? The grey ones, I mean.”
Everyone in the library laughed.
“Yes,” murmured a librarian, “yes they are.”
“But we can’t do anything about it.” Said the cartographer.
“They have swords and bows, and worse things. We don’t fight.”
“Even if your lives are in danger?” Grace yelled. “That’s no way to live.”
“It’s our way.” Said the stubborn cartographer.
“Perhaps you should go,” the cleric said.
Perhaps.
That night, the two of us argued.
“You stupid woman,” Grace said, “you should not have said that.”
“I…”
“You don’t speak. I am in charge. Remember your place.”
The villagers called it “large-village-on-the-dead-men’s-sea-with-walls”.
This was an apt description, even if they didn’t need to be so wordy.
Grace decided to christen it “Walltown”.
She approached the entrance.
There were villagers there, but they looked queer.
Grey skin, and they carried weapons.
“May I enter?” Grace asked.
“Would the Empress in the South approve?” Asked the one with the crossbow to the one with the ax.
“I dunno,” he said, “and frankly, I don’t care. Who are ya, miss?”
“I,” she said dramatically, “am Gracelyn Gwen, First Rider of the Empire. Jarl of the north field towns. The Great Slayer of the dead. I ask you again, may I enter?”
She drew her sword.
“Of course you may enter.” This man carried no weapon, though I suspected he was in command. He had strange black robes.
Grace and I were given a special suite, but we wanted to explore the town.
There were “normal” villagers, going about their business, but they were much more quiet than usual.
The grey villagers watched from afar, not intermixing.
We walked into a library.
Every eye was on us.
“Bow, my friends. This-“ said the cleric, but Grace cut him off.
“I’m Grace. A traveler from a distant land. Do you have a,” she fumbled for the word, “cartographer?”
“I’d be the one to ask.” Said an old guy in white robes.
They spent their time interpreting the map. I was busy observing.
“Are they,” I murmured aloud.
Grace scowled.
“Are they holding you hostage? The grey ones, I mean.”
Everyone in the library laughed.
“Yes,” murmured a librarian, “yes they are.”
“But we can’t do anything about it.” Said the cartographer.
“They have swords and bows, and worse things. We don’t fight.”
“Even if your lives are in danger?” Grace yelled. “That’s no way to live.”
“It’s our way.” Said the stubborn cartographer.
“Perhaps you should go,” the cleric said.
Perhaps.
That night, the two of us argued.
“You stupid woman,” Grace said, “you should not have said that.”
“I…”
“You don’t speak. I am in charge. Remember your place.”
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