Reiyend

392 years after the Founding

So ya’ wanna know about Treodor, reader? Take a stroll with me through the shit stained streets of Driftmark. (An’ write down every las’ word of this, scribe.)

Now, ya’ walk down any bustlin’ street in the Empire of the Broken Vow (but shh, don’t call it that) and yeh’ll see that humans make up most of the unwashed masses. Coupla’ half-elves thrown in here, coupla full-elves there, and a surprising number of gnomes all over the place. Give me a sec, let me see if I can snag a gnome for ya’.

Ey, you! Short stuff! Care to chat for a momen’? Jus’ one question - where ya’ from?

Well we lost him. There he goes. Never ask ‘em where they’re from, they’ll take it to the grave. Very secretive little fellas, gnomes.

I’ll be a whoreson, here comes a guard. Dip down that side alley. Good, we lost ‘em.

Ehem - where was I? Right.

Over here, see sweat-drenched halflings running from place to place, doing most of the real work. Yeh’ll notice a lot of halflings in the cities, they ain't got villages of their own any more. Orcs or sommat. Skipped that chapter.

Observe the dwarves breaking their backs smithing and building. Smart, industrious fuckers. Don’t ask them dwarves where they're from either, unless yeh’re wantin’ of a sharp kick to the shins at the least. All their towns got wiped out by the Empire a couple'a hundred years back.

Alrigh’, I’m feelin’ dry. Let’s enter that tavern over there - no, not that one, that one’s owned by a Firbolg by the name of Kancy. Really nice guy, but he smells like manure. (treehuggers, the lot of ‘em)

No, this tavern'll be the one. It’s warm, and the swill doesn’t taste quite as much like piss as yeh’d get from some of the other places around 'ere.

Oh Pelor's mercy, this is perfect! I was hopin' for this. See that one in the corner? Draws the eye, don’t he. The one that looks like a demon from the storybooks yeh read as a child? That there's a tiefling. About a decade ago they started springing from perfectly normal wombs and everyone is assed trying to figure out why, though everyone’s got a theory. They look mean, and don’t get me wrong, some of ‘em are. But don’t judge a book by it’s cover. They have it rough looking like evil incarnate and all. Heard they grow up fast too. So tha' ones probably not much older than 10, if you can believe it. Gives me the chivers to think about it.

Let’s look around and really get ya’ a good variety… ah, tha’ one, the one that looks like a lizard. A fucking dragonborn. Tha’ is a rare sight tha’ is. They’re mostly traders from that desert south of Blackhold… shit... can’t remember the name. They’re prickly bastards. Steer clear unless yeh have business and even then make it quick, I saw one breathe fire when a local got a little too familiar one time.

And let’s see...

There’s a one more singular individual for you to meet, to really complete the picture. Let’s get outta here, won’t take a momen’.

Just over here, into the market… I saw one of ‘em there the other day… yes! There he goes. See how everyone’s watching? Tha’ there’s an Eladrin. Yes, it’s a fucking elf. No, it’s not the same thing. See the way the hair kinda glows? See the way they walk? Like they’re better than yeh? The empire keeps ‘em locked up in the “Vassalage”, not too far from ‘ere. They need special papers just to leave. Empire’s been afraid of ‘em for a long time. Powerful magic, they say... an jus' you wait... there's gonna be a reckoning one day...

An’ that should jus’ about do it. No, you prick, I’m not payin’ for yer drink. I’m payin’ you to write, not to fucking nozzle down the sauce. Let's go before my bum knee gets worse than' it already is.

Excerpt from An Uneducated Guide to Treodor for The Uneducated by Zip Blarsly a.k.a “Rolling Stone Zip”

dictated but not read