[ WP ] Since childhood you 've been told that only death awaits you outside the wall . For years you have been curious . Today is your chance .

THE WALL IS BUILT... EVENTUALLY 
 
 Centipedes slink through smooth gaps in a rotten facade. Moss hides in the shadows and vines creep towards the light. The wall has existed all my life, and all through the lives of my oldest memorable ancestors. It is the lore of our people, that they traveled from distant lands where compassion was an economy, and peace an inescapable truth to seek opportunity. Well, another inescapable truth is that man, even in a place of prosperity, will often succumb to wanderlust. That is the story of these ancestors. Which in a way, is the story of myself. Or at least, why I came to be. 
 They boarded a ship and set forth to the west. For weeks, the sea lay docile beneath their ship. Lazy waves lapped the hull, and steady winds pulled her forward. The travelers, who fancied themselves much more intrepid than they were, laughed among themselves at their own good fortune. `` If only the naysayers back home could see the state of things on this veritable pleasure cruise!'' they would exclaim defiantly. 
 This trend settled into a routine before long, and such was the new life of the wayfarer. The sun would break the horizon, and they would rise from sleep to great it. Meals were consumed, feet took to dance, and wine was drunk. Unfortunately, even the most steadfast of routines is fleeting in the scheme of life, and one night bad luck finally befell them. A new trend. And one that would last certainly longer than the previous. 
 The captain saw through a glass large clouds of deep black swirling in the distance. Dusk was minutes off, so he took to worry. The coarse was altered, and the ship's path now listed somewhat to the South and away from danger. It was a reasonable precaution, and would have been a perfect solution if the maps were more reliable. They, however, most certainly were not. Therefore, it was not. 
 If smooth seas never made a skillful sailor, it is no surprise that the captain and crew had some serious shortcomings. To blame any single one of them for the wreck would be terribly unfair. The real culprit was hidden somewhere in the barrels of wine and mead stored below deck. And in the habit they had made of good fortune. With bad weather behind, and brisk air above, the crew had mostly joined the passengers within the ships belly. With so many people gathered so closely, either violence or levity are guaranteed, and on this evening the mood kept a lighter tone. 
 Above, in the crows nest, a lonely man listened resentfully as voices sang, and feet stomped to the tune of jovial tunes played by practiced hands. Fiddles, mandolins, and accordions bickered playfully for hours and with each passing minute the weary occupier of the crow's nest grew more bitter. Just before midnight, when a particularly quick tune was met with a particularly rowdy cheer, his mind was made. `` Crow's nest be damned! Mead be downed!'' 
 The latter part of that statement has sprung from the mouths of men before many a poor decision. And always with the same degree of vigor. Within moments the deck of the ship sat vacant, while the hold was full to burst. Libations continued to flow, while a jagged rocky coast sneaked ever closer.
