Barnstaple, a fortress in north east Devon made from the purest white marble, is a glowing beacon of light, shining hope and prosperity towards the rest of the jibbering inbreeding slappywags in Devon. The spires of its major landmark - The Cider factory - can be seen for miles around, The towns industrious population spend the day working hard in the Cider Factory, then they return home to discuss peotry and books by Enid Blyton. Though it must be said the mud beaches leave a lot to be desired - sand mainly. The visitors from the countryside have tainted its noble population with a desire for cheep liquor and ITV. The feral dogs and their pets roam the streets looking for a pert hedgerow to rape, whilst their deranged children practice blood worship and regularly sacrifice Budgies to appease their lord; Kul'Thuzzar. And to be fair, there is more than a fair amount of horse shit on the roads.
A motley group of singing minstrels, stumbled across the mineral rich estuary and named it Barn - meaning a place to store Animals and Bodies - Staple - Meaning a type of two-pronged, usually metal fastener for joining or binding materials together. Using mainly forks they built a small settlement with a stockade around it to protect it from roving bandits, Beast of Bodmin and feral insurance salesmen. The entire town was abandoned for 44 years in the 18th century after a potato shipment became infecting with the Penzance Plague. When the citizens returned they found their once noble town to be filled with Jethro Tull fans with wonkey eyes. Nothing has changed since.
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