Do you think you understand the City? Its squalid humours rising from waste, from too many; its people, great and poor? The Old City, where the unwanted live – say not, unwanted, but uncherished. From there the workers, the cleaners, the servants come, crawling from their unlit dens when the great sun rises, and the good and great require their work. From those unwashed middens, … Continue reading Sunset over Greyhawk