Betta sat before the great wall in the forest. The wall did not separate things. It did not support a house. It served no other purpose but to exist in the clearing. It was old. Old as balls, if it is to be believed. It’s bricks were a mix of void stone taken from one of the ancient monoliths and limestone. Such things no longer exist in this land. Once the monoliths cursed the world with thought, the world repaid them by turning them into building supplies.
Somebody had in recent years written on the wall in white paint:
“Ubi sunt crura tua?
Inimici tui te non potuerunt occidere.
Nulla tibi sunt arma nec tibia, miles
Ubi sunt crura tua?”
Betta spent too long looking at it before leaving it. Tis a ruin. People all over the world have found that if you spend too much time around them, they can drive you to your own ruin. The orc had no time for walls of graffiti. She walked through the woods until she came to a small village.
It was a village that had been built in the style of many of the small villages in the area. The north of France had an odd quirk to it. When Egypt deposed its pharaoh five or so years ago, the king of France made the man a guest of his house, and the loyalists that followed him citizens of France. However, a few of the wealthier Egyptians that fled to the nation decided to invest in their community in a queer way. They transplanted entire buildings into the middle of the french countryside, brick by brick. The locals, who were initially weary of their new neighbors eventually grew to admire the yellow-brown clay buildings. Eventually copying the aesthetic through wooden and painted bricks made from the local clay. Mostly, it seemed like a lot of the authentic Egyptian businesses were operated by french people wearing dirty togas, belted skirts, and kalasiris. She even spotted a few Frenchmen wearing nemes.
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The village was quiet, a few people were milling about, but the majority of the people seemed to be hard at work. There was a small market in the center of the village, with various wares and produce laid out in the open. The Betta wandered around the village, taking in the sights and sounds. As she did, she noticed the walls of the buildings were covered in hieroglyphs and symbols, telling stories of the community’s past and present. But also some of them were just random words. Like there were a handful of hieroglyphics above a bar that read, "Clams." but the french translation beneath read, "Pub.". After a while, she moved on, feeling a sense of respect for the community she had just encountered.
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The result was a village that looked as if it had been pulled from a dream. An Egyptian-style town, seated in the middle of the woods. Betta wandered into the town, that she would come to know as Thonis. She could discern from the vague pictures on the sign above one building that it was either a tavern or some kind of distillery. Either way, she was interested in gathering as much booze as she could carry on her back.
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Betta walked into the tavern and sat down at the bar. The barkeep, a large man with a purple birthmark on his face, looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"What'll it be?" He asked.
Betta thought for a moment. "Do you have any ale?"
The barkeep nodded and poured her a glass. Betta a tall glass of rough-looking booze. Its foam was thick and didn't quite defuse. Betta was a drunk, but she felt that she was a drunk of quality. She tossed the barkeep a gold coin and carefully slid the brew down to a man who was passed out at the bar.
"Perhaps wine, then?" she offered.
The barkeep shrugged and pulled out a bottle of red wine. He poured her a glass and Betta slowly sipped it as she considered the facts of her situation.
Betta gestured for a bit more and the barkeep was happy to oblige, pouring more of the dense red liquid into her glass.
"Avez-vous de l'argent pour cela ?" he said. *Do you have the money for it?*
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She nodded and continued to drink, getting steadily more intoxicated as the night went on. Eventually, she staggered out of the tavern and made her way back to the wall in the forest. She leaned against the wall, slumping down to the ground. She stared at the graffiti, trying to make sense of the words.
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"Inimici tui te non potuerunt occidere," she muttered. "Your enemies could not kill you."
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She shook her head and began to cry.
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"Ubi sunt crura tua?" she sobbed. "Where are your legs?"
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Betta awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache. She sat up, groaning, and looked around. She was still in the forest, leaning against the wall. The graffiti was still there, taunting her.
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"I defy you, bastard wall!" she screamed and began to hit the wall with her fists.
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French children gathered to watch as the foreign knight hit the wall with sticks. French children, you see, are different from other children. They find the attitude of Betta, childish. As they smoked colorful pipes and watched her hungover tantrum. If pushed, the children could turn into tyrannical little robber barons. You know, as opposed to the easygoing robber barons.
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The wall, of course, did not respond. If it did, it would have been upsetting.
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Betta stopped hitting the wall and leaned her forehead against it. She closed her eyes and sighed.
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One of the french children turned to his friends, "Ce chevalier est devenu fou."
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The others nodded in agreement and quietly left Betta.
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After an hour or so of this, Betta returned to Thonis and the bar, but instead of looking for drink, she looked at the barkeep.
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"I know you can understand me," She said. "Do you know where I can find the cave of the Bear Leech?"
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The barkeep looked at her, confused. "I do, but you realize that it's further south from here, yes? Somewhere in Vivarais, I believe."
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Betta nodded. "I'll find it."
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The barkeep looked at her, skeptically. "Sure."
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Betta left the tavern and headed south. She had no specific plan, but she figured that if she kept moving, she would eventually find the cave.
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