And the breaking news... Late this afternoon, one of the colony watchmen spies a Canton-flagged merchant cog slowly thread its way through the river channel up to Kings Ten. The visibly-spooked captain of the Bucolic Bukavac presents himself to you telling you of his recent outward bound trip to Kezmarok: “We pulled up there around the bay riding a fine trade wind, good fine sailing. I reckon it should have been evening, but you could barely tell that the Sun Lord was setting down for his evening sup as the sun light was all bright, white hot and noon like. As we passed by that wide western cape, we tacked back toward the docks of Lower Kezmarok--and sweet sufferin' Hakeba—it weren't there at 'tall. Ain't nothing there now on the flats, no docks, no Golden Dome of the Patriarch, no hippogriffeum, nothing but that damned granite rock looming up over it with its big ole walls. There are still people up there on the Rock [High Kezmarok], I saw 'em up on the walls. Ev
