My Husband Is Always Right.

Two conspicuous wagons, followed by cloaked figures on horsebacks, travelled through a twisting path leading towards the crumbling fringes of a city that had lately succumbed to ruin. The trees lining up were uprooted, the stones embedded upon were shattered, and the long-awaited congregation of merchants and travellers along the routes were solely forsaken. But the city still stood tall against a foretold calamity, or that was what the pitiful locals were made to believe by their conniving baron, who was absent throughout the whole tribulation, inflicted upon by a hasty idiotic servant of a particular ascended being.