Explosions are not the best way to start your day, but they certainly are the most exiting.
I’m afraid to say I speak from experience. In fact, that experience happens to be the reason I am currently running away from several heavily armed guards.
Alright, alright, I’ll start from the beginning.
Once upon a time, there was a war. I cannot tell you which war, because there were no people who bothered to give it a name after it ended.
See, we were the unknown, shadow-figured ‘enemy’ in this war, and although history is written by the victors, most of my kingdom cannot write and the ones who can are much to rich and lazy to name a war they barely took part in.
But the commoners called it The War.
Our country, Poltin, was so peaceful most of the time that we had no more than skirmishes. And we almost never wrote, so all our tales of victory were word-of-mouth. I myself heard of The War from my father, who, according to him, went into battle with no armor and still came out fine. He also killed almost a fifth of the opposing army.
My father is chubby, short, bald, and half deaf, so you can see how this is not a very reliable source of information.