"Gut-wrenching Humiliation will eat you from the inside out and diminish all that you are," says the Guide.
Peasants walk bare foot through Humiliation their chest bowed from kwashiorkor. Servants walk around the high-walled castles stumbling upon rocks, banging their toes and cutting them open. They bleed swollen and purple. The dry, barren land stretches for flat miles. The peasants walk and walk and walk and fall from the edge of Humiliation in despair. Or they stumble and fall down upon the infected land and die of wasting disease. “
"I wish we had a dragon not a plague. A dragon could be fought,” a peasant says.
“A dragon requires heroes and heroism," another says. "We have nothing like that here.”
"Welcome to our fait accompli,” says the Guide. “There is no escape from here unless one makes their way to the Capitol Shame where giant raptors sometimes agree to carry humble beings upon their backs.”
A horrible sinking sensation congeals around Miss Doe Friend's heart, she is sorry she came and for the first time unsure why she and The Traveler are friends.
"She uses me," thinks Doe, as she looks upon Shame, the sprawling dust city in Humiliation. "She does not understand my plight."
Shame sprawls. It takes up space, but there's nothing here of use. The inhabitants are listless. Many of them work in the underground mines or tend the shops, where nothing unbroken is sold.
It rains often in Shame and turns the dust into mud. Inhabitants trudge through it.
"I carried a thick crust of it upon my best boots," says Miss Emeline Traveler.
The bread of shame is dry and tasteless, but plentiful. The water pulled up from the wells tastes bitter and looks unpleasant.
Instead Miss Emeline, Doe Friend, and Amma-Pom drank weak fermented brews at the Shame tavern.
"Disagreeable, but safer," said Doe.
The taverns are always full, sprawling, and there are many of them down every narrow alleyway.
"Is that a hero?" a peasant said, when they saw Miss Emeline.
"No, not here, it couldn't be," said the other but with a hint of doubt as The Traveler's persona is certainly unparalleled and distinct.
"We won't stay long," Miss Emeline said to Doe. "I see your discomfort my dear friend, I do."
"Are you a hero, here?" a young peasant asked Doe, meeting her on the street.
"No," Doe said, despondent. "I am sorry, there are no heroes here."
But Miss Emeline overheard and she stopped and engaged the little one of Humiliation.
"Don't mind my friend, she is having an off day. Yes, little one. We are heroes. Don't doubt your own eyes, you have seen us true enough. But we are here to bring you dragons not slay them."
Then Amma-Pom shifted into her most dragonesque shape and gave out quite a roar.
The little one laughed and Doe too, and everyone around turned at the strange sounds to look.
Peasants walk bare foot through Humiliation their chest bowed from kwashiorkor. Servants walk around the high-walled castles stumbling upon rocks, banging their toes and cutting them open. They bleed swollen and purple. The dry, barren land stretches for flat miles. The peasants walk and walk and walk and fall from the edge of Humiliation in despair. Or they stumble and fall down upon the infected land and die of wasting disease. “
"I wish we had a dragon not a plague. A dragon could be fought,” a peasant says.
“A dragon requires heroes and heroism," another says. "We have nothing like that here.”
"Welcome to our fait accompli,” says the Guide. “There is no escape from here unless one makes their way to the Capitol Shame where giant raptors sometimes agree to carry humble beings upon their backs.”
A horrible sinking sensation congeals around Miss Doe Friend's heart, she is sorry she came and for the first time unsure why she and The Traveler are friends.
"She uses me," thinks Doe, as she looks upon Shame, the sprawling dust city in Humiliation. "She does not understand my plight."
Shame sprawls. It takes up space, but there's nothing here of use. The inhabitants are listless. Many of them work in the underground mines or tend the shops, where nothing unbroken is sold.
It rains often in Shame and turns the dust into mud. Inhabitants trudge through it.
"I carried a thick crust of it upon my best boots," says Miss Emeline Traveler.
The bread of shame is dry and tasteless, but plentiful. The water pulled up from the wells tastes bitter and looks unpleasant.
Instead Miss Emeline, Doe Friend, and Amma-Pom drank weak fermented brews at the Shame tavern.
"Disagreeable, but safer," said Doe.
The taverns are always full, sprawling, and there are many of them down every narrow alleyway.
"Is that a hero?" a peasant said, when they saw Miss Emeline.
"No, not here, it couldn't be," said the other but with a hint of doubt as The Traveler's persona is certainly unparalleled and distinct.
"We won't stay long," Miss Emeline said to Doe. "I see your discomfort my dear friend, I do."
"Are you a hero, here?" a young peasant asked Doe, meeting her on the street.
"No," Doe said, despondent. "I am sorry, there are no heroes here."
But Miss Emeline overheard and she stopped and engaged the little one of Humiliation.
"Don't mind my friend, she is having an off day. Yes, little one. We are heroes. Don't doubt your own eyes, you have seen us true enough. But we are here to bring you dragons not slay them."
Then Amma-Pom shifted into her most dragonesque shape and gave out quite a roar.
The little one laughed and Doe too, and everyone around turned at the strange sounds to look.
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