I have found my way into town. It's a shanty array of lopsided buildings with thatched roofs (rooves?) and smoke lazily winding up into the now grey sky. The weather has cooled considerably, the air itself feels damp.
There's a rather imposing fellow standing on an overturned crate in the centre of town, right outside the local pub. He looks like something of a foreigner with his odd robes and waist length dreadlocks. In one hand he holds an enormous hammer sporting an aged and worn leather grip and quite a bit of rust. In the other he holds aloft a metal tankard which he waves about somehow without spilling its contents as he rants at the crowd.
"And the LOOOOORD said...."Let Dem Dreenk Slate or.....or... Dey Shall be Beaten!...and..." he bellows... then he looks about at the sky as if he's actually listening to someone before saying "...and... stuff...Mun"
Interesting fellow I thought as I mugged a small child in a back alley and shook all the loose change out of them before walking into the pub for a drink and some gathering of local information. Not sure if drinking slate could be good for you, surely they'd be better of lining paths and rooftops with it?.
I'm really going to have to find a way to steal...er...earn some cash to finance my trip back to my realm... sigh. When i find out just which direction it lies in.
Sigh.
Reduced to ...dare I say it... working for a living!
Oh the shame.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
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