Post by Fewms on Mar 1, 2008 3:52:49 GMT
A Hashishim's Wanderings Through Pre-Revolutionary Morpork
By Whitey
The wagon creaked away down the street and was soon lost to view amongst the throngs of people entering and leaving Shambling Gate. Khalfani stood staring for a moment, lost in the wonder of so many people in one place, and pondering how they could ignore the pungent smell that permeated the air and made it thick like treacle. The nose plugs he had purchased were all but useless against the sensory onslaught and the odours were making him queasy. Letting the crowds ebb and flow around him, he reflected for a moment on the long journey that had brought him here from Khot-Lip-Khin.
At first he had travelled from the city of Djelibeybi with a Klatchian family on their way to Ephebe. Halfway between Ephebe and Djelibeybi, Khalfani had bid the family farewell, and set off for Il Drim. Once there, he had caught a carriage to Zelah and booked passage on a barge heading towards Ankh-Morpork. The days on the boat had been pleasant enough, choosing to work for his keep with the crew rather than use the little money he had to pay the fare. As the barge drew closer to it's destination Khalfani had disembarked and continued the rest of the journey with a train of wagons, which had brought him into the city itself.
Khalfani had heard stories of Ankh-Morpork, back in Djelibeybi - tales of destitution, poverty and inhabitant's detestability. He had only half-believed them, choosing instead to judge with his own eyes, but now he was here he was inclined to agree. The squalor he was seeing before him was total when he compared it to memories of his home land. 'How does this city survive?', he thought. It was beyond him. Pushing these thoughts aside Khalfani concentrated on the task at hand. He needed somewhere to stay for a day or two, just while he prepared himself for his task.
Delving into the bag he had slung over his shoulder, he finally found a sliver of paper and took it out to read. It told him to head for a house on Attic Bee Street, where he could board for a while. The name sounded unfamiliar on his tongue as he asked passers-by for directions. They eyed him curiously with suspicious overtones, he thought, but at last a young boy gave him the instructions he sought.
"'Ere, where you from, mister?", said the boy, but Khalfani had already disappeared into the crowd. The closeness of the people packed around him put him on edge and he made slow progress. The sounds of Morpork life drifted around him, children's laughter, the cries of street-hawkers and merchants. Most of all the incessant drone of conversation washed over Khalfani, words indecipherable amongst the mass of noise. 'I miss Klatch already', he thought grimly.
By Whitey
The wagon creaked away down the street and was soon lost to view amongst the throngs of people entering and leaving Shambling Gate. Khalfani stood staring for a moment, lost in the wonder of so many people in one place, and pondering how they could ignore the pungent smell that permeated the air and made it thick like treacle. The nose plugs he had purchased were all but useless against the sensory onslaught and the odours were making him queasy. Letting the crowds ebb and flow around him, he reflected for a moment on the long journey that had brought him here from Khot-Lip-Khin.
At first he had travelled from the city of Djelibeybi with a Klatchian family on their way to Ephebe. Halfway between Ephebe and Djelibeybi, Khalfani had bid the family farewell, and set off for Il Drim. Once there, he had caught a carriage to Zelah and booked passage on a barge heading towards Ankh-Morpork. The days on the boat had been pleasant enough, choosing to work for his keep with the crew rather than use the little money he had to pay the fare. As the barge drew closer to it's destination Khalfani had disembarked and continued the rest of the journey with a train of wagons, which had brought him into the city itself.
Khalfani had heard stories of Ankh-Morpork, back in Djelibeybi - tales of destitution, poverty and inhabitant's detestability. He had only half-believed them, choosing instead to judge with his own eyes, but now he was here he was inclined to agree. The squalor he was seeing before him was total when he compared it to memories of his home land. 'How does this city survive?', he thought. It was beyond him. Pushing these thoughts aside Khalfani concentrated on the task at hand. He needed somewhere to stay for a day or two, just while he prepared himself for his task.
Delving into the bag he had slung over his shoulder, he finally found a sliver of paper and took it out to read. It told him to head for a house on Attic Bee Street, where he could board for a while. The name sounded unfamiliar on his tongue as he asked passers-by for directions. They eyed him curiously with suspicious overtones, he thought, but at last a young boy gave him the instructions he sought.
"'Ere, where you from, mister?", said the boy, but Khalfani had already disappeared into the crowd. The closeness of the people packed around him put him on edge and he made slow progress. The sounds of Morpork life drifted around him, children's laughter, the cries of street-hawkers and merchants. Most of all the incessant drone of conversation washed over Khalfani, words indecipherable amongst the mass of noise. 'I miss Klatch already', he thought grimly.