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Bishop’s Port


The imperial troops stood in a semi-circle about the confused tax officer. He held a faintly glowing map in his gloved hands which he stared at intently, then the coastline, then back again, frustration and confusion danced across his features in equal measure.

“It cannot be gone.”

A burly sergeant at arms, scratched his salt and pepper beard as he lent upon the shaft of his ornate polearm. “Aye it can.”

The vulpine featured official peered at the sergeant over the rim of his bespecticles. “What was that Meeks?”

“During the war. The sharp ears did all kinds of weird stuff. Their robes, the ones who walk around in circles and blow sh1t up, from miles away. Them. They would sometimes vanish whole villages and towns or port em away. Good at that, if for nothing else those skinny scum.”

“And you think this has what has happened to a whole port? Ships an’ all sergeant!” 

Meeks, a veteran of the Great War held the officers gaze. “It’s a suggestion, Master Issiah. Nothing more. Nothing less.”



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