Familiarity strangely lost itself
From blazing fervor for forgiveness
It is gone, like merchants with their sell
And nobody is beside him to tell
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The merciless rain bat’ bat’ bat’ on the brothel windows, waking Ober with an aching forehead. How beautiful the wooden ceiling looks, rather than all those wenches who are after the money and every noble who comes and goes in the brothels, trying to also snuggle. Fortunately, he has checked off everyone he wanted to invite and it is high time, though gloomy, to leave.
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“Already?” The brothel owner asks behind her reception desk, “I can have my sisters company you for a bit. Wait out the rain and all.”
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“No…” softly declining but almost without any emotion, “Those House nobles and leaders spent my time long enough when I still have much to do”
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“…” she groans, seeing Ober’s pitiful expression and hunched shoulders, “That is true, well” She waves him goodbye, though her hand barely does a wave, not wanting to mean anything simply come back any time for company, “Thank you for gracing us lord magister. We’ll for sure be around when the festival starts.”
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Ober nods and leaves without footsteps. Greeting the downpour with a dark face. Ah…clouds do be dark gray, how sorrowful it is. A mass of it instead of a cluster. How silent the streets are. He has no cloth, nor an umbrella to cover him. Nor does he wish to ask Bell to be one. He simply, walks out into its graces and drench himself wet and heavy. His purple robe drink gluttonously hefty. Keeping him cold and wet instead of warm and compassionately dry.
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Each ambling step brings him to question why it is raining and why he is out in the rain. The cloud does not look like it will part away. With its rainwater streaming down his wrinkly cheeks and aged chin. No way does his legs stop, find shelter or shuffle faster or slower. Walking down the empty road, his silhouette taking the center gray. A foggy curtain that he walks into and seen by no one.
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The houses look like they are uninhabited. Windows that seem to be lit is simply what he wanted to see. Houses, here and there, with the water rushing down the steps and possibly flooding the underground spaces. Turning to a street and the LaughingKnights sign sways by a sunken gust. He walks inside, seeing broken plates, mugs rolled on the tables and floor, with a giant poster flaying above the bar counter that says ‘Knights at war! Laughing all over Hemrea and spreading the joy to everyone!’.
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Raided and abandoned with how there are no swords nor shields around the establishment. The armor and weapons rack are empty, and roaches roam around with the mice. Intruding winds tear off the aged poster, drifting and dropping it onto the bloody stage. Covering a man who got a knife stuck on his back. ‘Dead for more than a day’, Ober thinks as he searches the dead man’s pockets and see from a notebook that this is the establishment owner. Creaking did the floorboards and signage fare him well. No one to see him off, no jesters around the drizzle and mist.
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Two voices streak through the noisy rain. A couple in a house with dark corners. Yelling at each other for being worthless and useless. For being unstrategic with a lack of leadership causing their family business to go bankrupt. Eventually that family too might crumble.
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Then there is a child wearing a yellow coat,
Happily chasing after a paper boat.
No body is with him to run
One blink and he was gone
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Merry waits for him at the stables, whinnying as soon as she sees the old man. He did not see her at first other than the red glint in her eyes piercing through the gloom. Walking up close before patting his friend’s majestic soft fur. “How have you been Merry?” Merry rubs her snout all over Ober’s face before hearing a metal click. The pinching heavy carriage opens and Ober lifts himself and settle himself on the back of the horse with ease. “We have one last man to invite and sponsor. Off to the eastern fields Merry.”
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And Merry neighs before rearing. Her heavy steps gallops through the downpour noise. Even in the foggy curtains, she maneuvers herself at a speed greater than any average horse who would be struggling to see forwards.
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She leaps over canals, conquer pass bridges and swerves instantly whenever there is someone walking pass or a stall blocking the road. Then, they leave pass the unguarded iron gates. Ober bothers himself at first and thought of reporting it to the princesses but on second thought, he thinks it would be better if they face the consequences.
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Growling and howling, a restless giant’s silhouette sweeps his club over the wheat fields, intending to hit three other smaller silhouettes. “let’s just leave It’s too much for us! / But that girl! / Now! It’s going after the girl, let’s go!” Yell those men fleeing the opposite way the giant is heading. Ober hears her, wailing about a broken foot and that it hurts too much that she cannot move. Wailing and wailing like a banshee for help, not to leave her alone. The giant raises its foot, eager to stomp.
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Ober does not bother with silent words, yelling his voice to cut through the downpour “Petrafeax!” and the giant remains still with its leg raised, before falling sideways like chopped down tree.
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“Are you okay?” Steps down the old man, and muttering “Lacnung” while holding onto the girl’s twice spun foot. Warm green light pulses from the ankle and the leg spins back twice to its original facing.
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“T-thank you.”
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“Before you go, do you know where Hodlad’s farm is?”
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But the girl does not listen and stood up as soon as she can before running away. Leaving Ober to stand alone and unanswered.
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Ober turns to the giant who still lays motionless on the side of the road. “It is strange for you to be so close to the capital.” Patting the giant’s temple, “What’s wrong? Remémoro“ He sees it. Being as tall as the giant and watching the Kinguin capital from rolling hills. Three Kinguin soldiers come up to him, yapping about gold and treasure if they can take the job in the barrack’s bulletin board. Whatever they are talking about, Ober surprises the trio with his giant body and they raised their swords at him. He shows them his open palms, meaning no fight but the trio with fear in their eyes, charge forward without any thought in their eyes. Before stabbing Ober’s toes. Then the entire world around him pulls him back to the present. Rain beating down on his panting, the still giant, and Merry who is watching the fields.
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The soldiers are at fault and their hiding behind a creak quickly gets found out by the magister. “You three” He bellows while being on Merry. “Where is Hodlad’s farm?”
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“H-Hodlad’s?”
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“That farm? Or estate?”
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“If you mean the estate sire, simply follow the road and you’ll find a fork”
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“Y-yes! Then—head for the vein mountain”
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“Thank you for saving us Good sir!”
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“Did you kill it?”
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Ober stares down at this worthless pile of garbage before saying, “Dispose him yourself.” And they look at each other with gleeful smiles, even though Ober never really said that he killed the giant. At least they would be killed, or live to grow themselves in being responsible soldiers. He rides for the road—King’s road that leads him to the fork those garbage mentioned. On the left wooden arrow writes Ādr-beorg, while the right writes Collem. Ober tries to remember, ‘the vein mountain’ before heading for the direction of Ādr-beorg.
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Passing by fields of headless wheat, and an array of vegetation all drowned in gray. The fog curtain covers thousands of acres that would have been seen as grand. Laborers carry out wooden beams for hammering construction, and the hunters are as busy as ever in firing steel bolts at oversized rain birds that tried to eat some of the wheat. A waning spirit walks along the edge of the street, alone with the rain waters trying to devour its feet.
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Finally, they arrive at an uphill and Ober remembers so that Hodlad’s farm is in the middle of a crater and it is. Barely seen with its dark shadows of corners and trees against the white. Merry gallops down with Ober wanting to finish this whole invitation charade as quickly as possible, not noticing the silent amiss in the noise of rain. Merry rears at a blade of water that glides pass under her front legs, Ober glances quick enough to see the tall grasses beheaded.
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“Morphids!” Ober looks around and sees a mass of water taking on a humanoid form, wobbling with its stick lower body attached to the flooding pool of rainwater. “Merry, I will head on inside for Hodlad and you go run around with these morphids”
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Merry nickers and Ober jumps off her before uttering “Sidhe” and disappearing. Merry stands alone with the morphids all surrounding her. She trots at first, before prancing like a deer, and her tail elongates to whip the living splashes out of these creatures. But the rain quickly reverts their bodies as they were. Water bladed hands rushing for the horse that flees farther away from the farm.
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The old man manages to knock thrice and a man suddenly start yelling on the other side.
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“Y-YOU CANNOT TRICK ME MORPHID! I KNOW YOU CAN SHAPESHIFT!”
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“Shhhh!” Ober ended up passing through the door like a ghost, “It is just me. Do not yell out like that, lest you want the invite those creatures in!”
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“O-oh…OH! Lord Magister! You’re drenched! I—forgive me, it was just those things, there is more of them compared to the rains before!”
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“Blame this place for not having a proper flood drain.”
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“Oh! Is it the flood causing them to pop in?”
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“Wherever there is rain and a pool of water, yes”
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“I see, but w-what brings you here? I will go serve us some bread and coffee.”
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“I prefer tea.”
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“Oh right!” Hodlad brings from his kitchen a towel and a basket of stick loaves before bringing in the warm cups of coffee for him and tea for the magister, “Forgive my welcome lord magister, It was just that I was not expecting you.”
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“It is fine, and I will be quick about this lord Hodlad because my horse is still out there—”
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“Your horse!? Well, you can stay here for the time being. I can call another in for you later. I bet the morphids have already got to it.
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“No need,” Ober dips some stick loaves into his tea before munching and sipping comfortably, “Have you received news about the coming festival for next month?”
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“Mægfæge yes, and the lord magister will be the one hosting it.”
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“I would like to invite you, lord Hodlad, in sponsoring for providing the inns and taverns for Mægfæge.”
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Ober studies Lord Hodlad's face, trying to gauge his reaction to the proposal. He expects to see a glimmer of interest or perhaps a calculating look in the tavern owner's eyes. However, reality proves different as Hodlad's features twist into a greedy smirk, his eyes narrowing with a shrewd glint.
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"Sponsor the inns and taverns for the Mægfæge, you say?" Hodlad leans back in his chair, stroking his unkempt beard. "And what, pray tell, would be in it for me, Lord Magister?"
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Ober feels a sense of unease settling in his stomach. He knows of Hodlad's reputation as a ruthless businessman, notorious for cutting corners and exploiting his workers to maximize profits. The man's establishments are known for their subpar conditions, with rumors of watered-down ale and questionable food quality.
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"Well, as the kingdom's sole tavern and inn owner, your sponsorship would provide great exposure for your businesses during the festival. It would be an opportunity to showcase your hospitality to visitors from far and wide," Ober explains, trying to appeal to Hodlad's business sense.
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Hodlad lets out a grating laugh. "Exposure? I've got plenty of that already, Magister. No, if you want my sponsorship, I will need something more... tangible."
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The tavern owner leans forward, his eyes glinting with avarice. "Here is the deal. I will sponsor your little festival, but in return, I want exclusive rights to sell my ale and food at all the events. No other vendors allowed. And I want a cut of the profits from the festival itself."
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Ober frowns, not liking the direction this conversation is heading. He had hoped for a more generous offer from Hodlad, considering the significance of Mægfæge to the kingdom. The magister knows he must tread carefully, as angering the influential businessman could have repercussions.
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"Lord Hodlad, while I appreciate your offer, I must consider the fairness to other vendors and the overall experience for the festival-goers," Ober says diplomatically. "Perhaps we can find a compromise that benefits everyone involved."
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Hodlad scoffs, waving his hand dismissively. "Fairness? In business, there's no such thing as fairness, Magister. It's all about seizing opportunities and making the most of them. You either accept my terms, or you can find yourself another sponsor."
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Sighing inwardly, realizing that negotiating with Hodlad will be no easy task. The magister must now weigh the potential benefits of having the kingdom's only tavern and inn owner as a sponsor against the demands and consequences that come with striking a deal with a man like Lord Hodlad.
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Ober takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure in the face of Hodlad's unyielding greed. He had expected the tavern owner to be difficult, but the reality of the situation is proving to be even more challenging than he anticipated.
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"Lord Hodlad, I must be frank with you," Ober says, his tone growing firmer. "The Mægfæge festival is a time-honored tradition that brings joy and unity to our kingdom. It is not merely a business opportunity to be exploited for personal gain."
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Hodlad leans back in his chair, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Magister. Everything is a business opportunity if you know how to play your cards right. And I hold all the cards when it comes to taverns and inns in this kingdom."
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Ober's patience begins to wear thin. He had hoped to appeal to Hodlad's sense of community and goodwill, but it is becoming increasingly clear that the man has none.
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"I am not here to play games, Lord Hodlad," Ober says, his voice taking on an edge. "The festival requires your support, but I will not allow it to be held hostage by your unreasonable demands."
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Hodlad's eyes narrow, and he leans forward, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Unreasonable, you say? Well, let me tell you what I think is reasonable, Magister. If you want my sponsorship, there is one thing that would make it all worthwhile."
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Ober braces himself, expecting another outrageous demand.
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"I want a princess to marry me," Hodlad declares, a wicked gleam in his eye. "That is right, Magister. If you can arrange for me to wed a princess, I will sponsor your little festival without any further demands."
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Ober's jaw drops, stunned by the audacity of Hodlad's request. Especially when having to propose this idea to those devils. He had expected the man to be greedy, but this goes beyond anything he could have imagined.
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"Lord Hodlad, that is an absurd and impossible request," Ober says, his voice rising with indignation. "I cannot and will not arrange a marriage for you, let alone with a princess. The very idea is preposterous!"
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Hodlad shrugs, leaning back in his chair once more. "Well, then I guess we do not have a deal, Magister. You cannot expect me to sponsor your festival out of the goodness of my heart. I'm a businessman, not a charity."
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Ober's frustration reaches a boiling point. He rises from his seat, his robes swishing around him. "I see now that it was a mistake to seek your sponsorship, Lord Hodlad. The Mægfæge festival will proceed without your involvement. Good day."
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As Ober turns to leave, Hodlad calls out after him, his voice dripping with mockery. "Good luck finding another sponsor, Magister. You'll soon realize that I'm the only game in town."
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Ober storms out of Hodlad's farm house. “Sidhe” he utters bitterly before finding Merry.
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