Sandpaper. They take bites of air, chewing it, gargling it, before spitting the disgusting words at me. They grind at my eardrums like sandpaper. Their looks are a bit more forgiving, but they still bring disgust to my stomach. Their brown, oily skin, the unkempt hairs on their face and body, and their filthy, bloodstained rags, that they call “clothes” grind at my eyes like sandpaper. Thankfully didn’t suffer for long, as they opened their palisade gates fairly quickly. After being motioned by one of the brutes, I scampered in.

While the sounds and looks of the place were displeasing, the smell was quite lovely. Roasted lambs, cows and a pleasant fragrance, which can’t quite place, gave this city of patchwork tents and ogres a homely feel. Even if only for a few moments. My boots were sinking and slipping on the mud, while I was stabbed in the back by dozens of eyes. The brutes surrounded their dotted campfires, making me reminisce of old friendships, relationships and quiet evenings. Their yellowed smiles and rough conversations fell to whispers and frowns, as I walked around them. Dread filled me. I’ve never felt so alien.

Another palisade came into view, as I scaled to the top of the hill, this time, guarded by a cleaner, more formal version of the previous gatekeepers. I presented my writ and the pair started to grind their clunky language into my eardrums. After the argument, they motioned me to stay. I nodded sheepishly and I waited. The view was i tetesting, to say the least. I saw the scattered villages, the lush forests, the cool river and the desert of mud, filled with tents, campfires, palisades and strange flags. A black stain on the countryside. A piercing whistle and a hand on my shoulder yanked me into the wooden citadel.

Familliar faces, boys from the next village over, were standing near the mountain of the man. His robes were a sea of violet, his belt was a golden rope, fit for a crown. The decoration of his clothes was extravagant beyond words, resplendant above measure, truly a regal figure. One of the boys cleared his throat, “I did as you asked, I begged and pleaded, before the commander.” He placed his hand on my shoulder, a pained expression of empathy on his face. “But he couldn’t be swayed.” Rattling chains followed his words, as a bound, naked woman with a sack over her head was thrown before the company. My wife.

Horror filled my gut, as I sank to my knees. I failed. The commander had a self satisfied smirk on his face, as he spit some words at my kinsman. “He applauds your efforts, however futile they may be.” He removed his hand and marched back to the side of the commander, every step drew the meeting closer to the end. My heart was pounding, knowing that all my plans had gone to waste. The boy turned to me and shook his head. “They don’t take pork.”