Sipping her wine glass empty and sighing at the boy who sits opposite of her table, mist swirling around them. “There’s a local legend around the kingdoms close to the Módbeorg. That which tells of a monster from the dark west. Simply knowing that was enough for many to unhear the whole tale” Once again glancing at the boy’s intrigued expression. Blowing her cigar for the mess she put herself in. “…but it seems you really wish to know, fine.”
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“Know that the Dark West isn’t home to Mystery but Forgotten History. Many haven’t had the brain to remember. And our little tale of Unyan begins with a scholar who wanted to study the valley once known as Grenetun.” Blowing her smoking cigar, “The scholar came from Fa’Yore who hasn’t a clue about the beast. She only got the word of rich soils in Cyndoryll that the locals and Nautrens have planted their wonder herbs. Not a brain also remembered what these herbs were. But the plants served greatly in preserving Cyndoryllian population during that first Absternicous. Our scholar, she’s your every gut of brave. Didn’t hesitate to venture and want these wonder herbs. She wasn’t a fool to go alone, had a group of other scholars that sacrificed themselves on the road when they encountered a beast. Our scholar hadn’t made that sacrifice yet, as she remains sole and reached Módbeorg. There, beasts weren’t her greatest threats. The Nautrens were, they didn’t allow anyone to get past their tree root borders. Anyone who tried to go in, which our scholar did try, found themselves tangled by the living roots. And they would await starvation, then death.”
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“But, about the Unya—”
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“Yes, you needn’t tell me. I’m getting there.” Knocking her armadillo awake for it to spit out the same wine and refilling her glass. “If Hemreans, Djahatians, and Yoreans have their high royals, Nautrens have Nautriarchs. Think of them as stewards to a king—Alongadol. One of these Nautriarchs was a male who captured charms with our scholar and helped her get through the rest of the Nautriarchs…” Eyes dazing to her own reflection on the wine water, “He helped her when it wasn’t allowed. They’ve got through, and our scholar harvested much of the herbs and rich soils. He didn’t know, for he was out stalling. Until Alongadol shouted from his chambers and the entire Módbeorg bellowed. Every Nautriarch attended to him, and our scholar had already left. From where the life herbs were, is now an airless valley. Stretched across the back of a droughted land---that was realized too late by the Nautrens. The entire valley base, where the rich soils started as patch that they thought was spreading naturally, was the back of a slumbering beast they call Unyan. The Nautrens didn’t spend much thought of telling the news to every Cyndoryllian, thinking that they can prevent people from passing through the valley but it only attracted what’s evil inside Hemreans.”
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“They thought of treasures past the danger. Killed themselves, suffocated, and became feed. The herbs were, somewhat a blessing, beauty that hid a beast. And from it, grew smaller beasts that shares its scales and feathers. Though harmless, a Nautren’s instinct is best to follow than even an elf’s ability of seeing the future. So, they made a tale. That which I’ll tell now.”
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“…wait, so what about what you just said?”
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“Just some history, alright then. Nautrens, favored by linguists, loves to tell in poetry. Listen carefully:
In times of war, when foes did rise,
The king sought aid from peaks on high.
To mountains, hills, he made his plea,
"Surprise our enemies, grant victory!"
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The earthen giants heard his call,
And set upon the foe with stony maul.
By boulder, rock and sliding land,
They crushed the raiders, every man.
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Yet greed soon gripped the thankless king.
He sent his men, axes to swing.
They felled the trees, laid forests bare,
No thought to mountains' wrath or care.
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Where once green valleys rolled and swayed,
Now barren badlands, lifeless, stayed.
No breath of air nor breeze's sigh,
For vengeance brewed 'neath angered sky.
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With grinding gait and thunderous tread,
The peaks and hills left stony bed.
They marched as one with wrathful stride,
To smite betrayers, regicide.
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The kingdom quaked 'neath earthy might,
As mountains moved to crush and smite.
Once gleaming halls and ramparts fell,
'Neath stony heel and rocky swell.
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When dawn arose on shattered plain,
No trace of mad king's squandered reign.
Just dusty flats and wind-swept lea,
A graveless tomb for treachery.
Have you understood it?”
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“A story about a king, who angered the mountains and hills?”
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“Very much its face.” Nodding and feeding her armadillo some bread,
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“It says something about treachery. So, it is about betrayal?”
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“Another face.” She says, turning back to the boy while lighting another cigar, “Why can’t the Nautrens be direct in warning the people? They have already tried and failed, yes. But why the threat? The poem states of angered mountains and hills, treading across the land and making plains with no reserve for kingdoms or Cyndoryllians. It’s like they’re telling us that they own Cyndoryll. And can do much of their power against us. But their eyes heavily stalk the slumbering beast. Wake it, and incur not just one disaster, but two. Cyndoryll have already got their hand tied to civil wars; we’d best not trouble them.”
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“Ah but—”
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“Hello, has anyone seen a boy around here?” Amerie’s voice, outside the mist. “He is short with blue eyes and cute spiky bangs on his v hair. Oh, and he is wearing a cloak, emblem with Kinguin Capital.”
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Isaac turns to the lady, with eyes wondering and torn between something.
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“I’ve said much already. It’s your decision whether you’d still head there or not.” Twirling her fingers in the air and the mist slowly dissipates. Welcoming themselves back in the dark and warm feel of the tavern. Beautiful aroma of roasted goat hinds and juicy lamb ribs. With a giantess trying to wake up two drunk men and asking if they know about the boy.
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Who so happens to call up to her, “Amerie, I am here” before holding her hands and leaving the establishment.
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“Where have you been? You left poor Peacock at the stables”
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“I bought some dinner for us.” Showing a steaming plastic bag,
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“Mmmmn~” inhaling the crispy air, “Smells good.”
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Once a quarter past the peak now at half with the first sun kneeling towards rest and the second at the first half before peak. Streets are painted in the early tangerines with stalls intriguing the giantess to buy fruits and satchels. Isaac only allows the former, adding peaches, apples, berries, and grapes to their steaming plastic bag. They pass by a jewelry store that sells talismans whom the owner yell through open windows—“Can ward off Nautrens!”. Then they pass a cloth shop for camouflaging amongst the Nautrens. And finally, a caravan that makes fun of the ‘unreal fantasies’. The boy glances up at the giantess who seems annoyed but keeps her lips busy on the berries for snack.
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Long minutes after, they hear Peacock squabbling with a lady’s voice. Rushing down to the scene and they see Peacock attempting to stop the horse from leaving with his giant feathers, they lady on the horse is the same one Isaac saw at the tavern—the one who ran without pay. Amerie quickly steps in and ask for the horse to calm down, with Isaac telling the wild woman to calm down. But then she rears her horse, pushing the giantess back before turning and galloping to a narrow street.
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“HEY UDDERS COME BACK!” Peacock flies after it but Isaac yells for Peacock not to. “But, our horse! She stole it!”
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“Nothing we can do about that anymore” Amerie says, standing and dusting herself off. “Goodness,”
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“What now? We do not have a horse anymore princess” the boy mutters
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Which Amerie nods, and smiling, “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I only asked for a horse just to feel riding one and give Peacock a rest. But that won’t be happening. Peacock…can we?”
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Another ride on his back? Peacock might as well become an ostrich. “O-of course Princess! Anything you need. You can ride me!”
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And the giantess walks up to sit on the enlarging verdant bird. Isaac follows, setting himself and their dinner properly before accidentally plucking off a feather. “OW!” Peacock says before that same feather immediately grew back, “Do not do that please.”
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“Sorry,” He holds on tight, as Peacock flaps his wings and sets for the high clouds. Amerie points towards the ice capped mountains with forests whose leaves are blue. And telling Peacock to fly low or they might scare the Nautrens living there.
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