The wind blows cold and hard over this land. I’ve visited
here for a few decades and I still haven’t got used to it. This Pictland chills
you to the core.
My trading here was almost complete, with only a dozen old
instruments left in my ship, when I heard the familiar cough of someone in
power who wants to abuse it.
I looked up.
“I have permission from the local leaders-“ I began.
“New tax for mooring here.” said the ringleader, smirking.
Thinking quickly, I smiled.
“Of course, here I have here some Bag… I mean, Warpipes,
very scary…”
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