FENLAND

“No one wants the marsh. No one needs the marsh any more. Not since the magic blew it up. Not since the lands divided. The river that flows through it they call Fenland’s Arm. Stupid southerners. They think they’re safe from the marsh if they’re far from the arm. Stupid southerners. We Mudds rule the south. We Mudds are the true kings of this rotting land. The others think themselves better than us, than me.

It was us who stopped the High King from far off marching north and taking them all, it was us and our marsh. Four Falls, Dinaf, Rookscry, Fulcom, the North, they all need us, the stupid fucks! The bog protects us. The bog provides. Shiny knights on shiny horses, travelling through our lands? I think not. The roads are of ill use. And horses’s shiny shoes get stuck. Stupid southerners. That’s when we strike. Out of the stinking mist, slashing and gashing destroying the bastards. Shiny armour is stupid, but it is strong. Shiny horses are stupid but they are tasty. We Mudds took the seat of Crosskin long after the others abandoned it. Long after the world changed. They left it for ruin and forgot it was there, what was there. We did not forget. My people wandered the lands for years after the war. We wandered under the rule of the so called High King. High King of what I say! I ain’t oathed myself to him, I aint oathed myself to none but the marshland. I am Fenland through and through. I came from it and I belong to it, and when I die I will become it. Like my father and brother before me. Stupid bastards. My father was old and weak, I killed him on the battlefield. He saw me coming. My brother watched it, I knocked him into the marsh and forced his head into a pile of shit. He drowned, I laughed. My brother wanted a go as well. Challenged me, he did, single combat. What would I be if I refused? I choked him with his own knife, the blade was so dull it took me an age to cut his head off. The poor bastard choked before I could do it. Stupid bastard. Lesson learned. My blades are always sharp. We Mudds take what’s ours. We Mudds took our land, and our title. Marsh King Mudd, I like that. Stupid cocksucking Marsh King Fen, ruined the land before us, but we got it back. Pity the name stuck. Generations of weak kings, but no more. The Mudds are here now, me, I’m here. My bastards carry my name, my wives carry my name, it’s my kingdom now. Stupid Fens, ruined the name, could have been Muddland. That sounds much better, don’t you think?”