Archedius wrote:I follow the local and ask general questions about what has happened, specifically I ask about current conflicts and lawlessness.
The local man is happy to talk. He tells Archideus of the attack on the city and the great fire, which apparently took place five days ago.
''It was awful! Monsters everywhere, and somehow the city caught fire! ''
The man doesn't seem to have a clear grasp on exactly what the monsters were-
''I dunno, some sort of goblins is what I thought when I saw the first few come o'er the walls, but I expect I was wrong. Goblins bleed, don't they? These things didn't seem to bleed or feel pain like any natural creature. Some of them looked sorta human, too, like kids, maybe. Only they weren't human, I'm sure o' that. Priests say they were some kinda 'un-dead.'''
Walking through the streets, Archideus can see the city has been ravaged by fire, and there are signs of a battle, as well. Now and again, he passes a group of men pulling corpses from burned buildings, or clearing rubble from the street. Part of the city has canals in place of streets, and the old swordman notes debris floating in these waterways. Some citizens are employed in fishing this junk out, and cart it away in wheelbarrows.
His guide continues to speak-
''Yeah, so Lord Ildool, he's worried about lootin' and riotin', that sort of thing. He's had to hang seven men for trying to rob the public storehouses. Maybe half the soldiers and old watchmen are dead, injured, or missing. That's why he's hiring more men. ''
After a long walk, the local man points out a warehouse with several watchmen standing in front of it. A row of desks manned by quill-scratchers stands near the door, and a line of men is formed up along the street, passing by the desks on their way into the building.
''Here you are, grandfather. Just give the scribes your name, and they'll see you get a billet and a badge, just like me. Good luck.''
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
-from Moby Dick (Hermann Melville)