It was a national shame. A blot on the pride of the land. The symbol of their strength and unity was ruined.
The wall. Their wall. That grand monument was smeared by the stain.
Allow us to explain, in the City of Derleth there lay a white wall. Five miles long and a thousand feet tall. Impassable, thick, smooth, and clean. It had stood for seven hundred years and might stand until doomsday.
When sunlight radiated off its surface, the wall glowed like very heaven. And the tales of older times spoke of its practical purpose as a brilliant defence. Of how barbarian hordes tried and failed to penetrate this angelic barrier, leaving the city protected and unconquered.
Now, in our more civilised age, it was an attraction to impress visitors. Painters painted it, poets composed verse of it, and travellers from faraway lands would tell their people of its awe-inspiring presence. It was indeed a wonder of the world, the nation’s pride. Save for one nagging detail.
That ugly, embarrassing stain.
It was a cold dry morning, when the residents of Derleth woke up to find that their blessed monument was now tainted, for upon the section of wall looming over the cathedral and courthouse, there sat a large, unwieldy blotch. Shaded in a dirty yellow recalling vomit, this stain was to anyone who stared at it, a horrid eyesore. And to make matters worse, it seemed to be growing every day.
As for what caused it? Well, isn’t that a good question? Oh, of course, people had their theories. Some said their city had sunk to such a level of decadence, God smeared their wall as punishment. Others guessed it was probably a fungal infection brought in by foreigners. A few suggested it was simply age, for nothing lasts forever.
How could they remove it? A few brave souls scaled the wall, touched the stain, and then wincing in disgust at the dirty sensation, tried scrubbing away at the blemish with soap or bleach to no effect. Others painted over it, but this didn’t last, for the paint soon turned a soiled colour before peeling away. Some brought hammers and chisels to cut out the stained rock itself but were talked out of it, for this would leave a gaping hole in their cherished structure, leaving it like a cracked tooth.
Years went by and the wall didn’t shine so brightly. It didn’t seem like a cloud from the sky, or a piece of heaven. It appeared clumsy, artificial, and so mundane. Paintings and drawings displayed the wall’s former glory, but people questioned if this majesty ever existed.
That bruise didn’t just kill the symbol of Derleth, it killed her history. The tales of defence against venomous armies or waiting out sieges seemed farfetched. More of a silly fairy tale than awe-inspiring myth.
The stain had killed the magic, had killed a nation’s heart.
