The following fable is one told to me as a very young child by my mother
who may rest in peace. If this story is true or not I cannot say, only
that it, as all stories do, holds some truth within it.

Once there was a great warrior woman who chose to leave the art of
war and instead persue exploration. She spent many days exploring
realms beyond even those lands now known. One day she came upon
a village. It appeared to be old and abandoned, yet out of curiosity she
decided to see if it held any secrets. Quickly she was attacked by a
raving madman, who's speech was strange to her. They fought for
hours with her being driven away nearly dead. After healing she went
back and was again attacked. Soon she became obsessed with this
madman and for years they would fight until near death, always with
her being forced to retreat. Eventually she learned his tounge, for
although the madman clearly wanted her dead, he was also quite
willing to be heard. Apparently his whole village had died one day
while he was away. Upon his return his grief was so great that he vowed
to stand guard over the bones of his people for the rest of his life. He
came to see his village as sacred, that none were worthy to view it. His
obsession with it had, over the many many years, driven him to insanity.
He had gone so insane, that when traders from his own village, who had
also been away, returned, he killed them in a fit of insane rage. The
Warrior Woman, seeing how her own obsession was turning her as mad
as the madman decided to finally leave. As she left she shed a tear, one
tear for the poor soul who had been driven insane. A soul basically
destroyed, over grief, obsession, and guilt. One tear, for the one who
had no-one else to shed them for him. One tear, for a life taken, though
the body still lived.

Make of this story what you will.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Scarlatan, in the year 237 AF.