It all started with a hammer. Well, that’s not quite right. It all started with a caravan. A bunch of people so soft they needed not only horses to carry them, but wagons to sleep in and mules to carry what they refused to. People each relying on so many others for what they should be able to provide themselves. Things as simple as protection and navigation. People who couldn’t even feed themselves without someone nearby who’s only skill was the feeding of others. Teamsters who couldn’t cook, cooks who couldn’t drive, fighters who could do neither. As if by putting more and more useless people into a group, the people might stop being so useless. It’s madness, really.
And yet as helpless as these creatures were, they seemed to know what they were doing and why. Not as individuals, mind you. Every man jack of them was as lost as a blind bitch on a boat. But somehow, despite it’s stark-staring pointlessness, the caravan had purpose; direction. And all those miserable folk, well, they didn’t seem to notice how miserable they were. They seemed . . . well, they seemed to belong.