Every Story Has A Beginning

Citelia is a city. There is no denying this. It has a keep, a palace, outer and inner walls and throngs of buildings in between. It has a big double gate, always guarded, and soldiers patrolling throughout. People who saw the city for the first time usually said things like:

“Now that’s what a city should be!”

“You see the size of it?”

“Please stop treading on my toe.”

“A masterpiece of modern thingy.”

There was only one problem: Citelia didn’t like being a city.

Perhaps I should explain. When the site for Citelia was being chosen, there had been a disagreement between builders and designers. The builders had wanted a nice simple site, something in the mountains, maybe by the sea. You know; a respectable place for a city.

The designers would have none of it.

They were the dreamy type of people who could usually be found curled up under a tree reading about someone who spent his time going by trails in forests that hadn’t been properly cobbled and that not many others would go due to the high volume of Gnats, Mosquitoes and Mosquats¹. In short, they were a bunch of hopeless romantics. They insisted that the city be built in a more romantic place, the center of an enchanted forest.

The argument had raged for days until finally the builders agreed that they would build the city there as long as the designers would promise not to sing anymore songs about how great and romantic it was going to be.

The problem with cutting down a solid percentage of an enchanted forest to build a city is that a whole lot of leftover magic with no idea what the hell to do with itself is hanging around. It built up in the construction site, and when the last brick was laid, a consciousness appeared in the city.

For a moment, let’s assume that reincarnation is what happens after we die. Now try to imagine this: You’ve just finished up a fun life as a mosquat, having bitten many of those artistic jerks on their path less traveled by, and you reincarnate to find yourself a massive stone construction, unable to move or do anything about all the weird creatures wandering all over you. It would be the equivalent of waking up and discovering some of the more naughty biological orifices have suddenly become anthills.

This would make any sentient creature with orifices² permanently uncomfortable and moody as it did Citelia, so Citelia would occasionally crumble this, crack that or drop a few of those in a half-hearted attempt to get the creatures to stop living there. They didn’t of course, it just added to the spice of life.

This story, contrary to what the introduction may have implied is not about this city. It does however explain something very important that is about to happen to a certain unlucky thief, plying his trade in the midst of a dark, moonlit night...

1 Think Muscrat that buzzes, flies, and has a rampant thirst for blood.

2 There are two specific species without orifices, neither are very happy with their lot anyways.