Kor-Sen himself found his fate pleasing enough as he strode though the busy market streets of Drelk. The town was busier and noisier and happier than his native city, and the people were brightly dressed and prosperous-looking, going about their business with more cheerfulness than in priest-ridden Sen-Mar.  Some called out a greeting to him as he passed, and if others looked down their noses at his homespun robe and worn leather sandals, that was no trouble to him. He wandered happily about for some time, looking at everything as if he were new-born into a world of delights; then he paused for refreshment outside an inn that had benches and tables spilling over onto the roadway outside its little tap-room. Children materialised like magic at his feet.

‘Got a spare coin, Sir?’

‘IssKor money, Sir?’

‘How do you know that I am from IssKor? I might be a wandering fiend from the northern wastes, come here to eat up wicked children.’

He thrust his face towards them and growled, scattering them all screaming in every direction. One girl stuck her head back round a corner to hiss, ‘Smelly old goat-hair – must be from IssKor.  ‘Smell like a goat and stupid as a donkey, do what the priest says, OR YOU’RE DEAD!’’

The land of IssKor