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Clicks the hour of surprises
All who comprises in Mægfæge
Witness and Perform with the Staged Princesses
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Like sardines in a can, the people are shoulder to shoulder against each other. Their cheers and clapping rock the muddy ground. With Giza’s native barbarian bodyguards being pointed with swords by soldiers who replaces them. The people pushing them away and towards the center of all ear-piercing buzzing. Excited smiles maniacally laughing at the native barbarians fighting off in rage against the undead even though some of them are heavily panting, flesh torn, and parts bitten.
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They do not hear the elders, Nautrens and mothers calling out. Wanting them to come back but the festivity is at large, pulsing their anger at heart.
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Meanwhile the guest high royals are smiling and showing off their fruits to each other. Some watch the performances but always ends up trying out the different themed stalls. Noticing how the eldest High Princess Giza’s stalls have the most filled baskets. Measly prices being won by peasants who treat them like treasure. While those seen as nobles or royals by the stall owners are given genuine Mægfæge inspired crafts. Bracelets, necklaces, and other accessories that the common folks are not wearing. Other than eating bread and joining their High Princess Giza watch the performance.
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"High Princess," Queen Thau Lau walks up with a wide smile, glancing at the performance, "Quite a lively swarm, your people are. Princess?"
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Stone-faced Princess had to glance who it is “Queen Thau Lau, I did not notice. Pardon me, your majesty” Did not wanted to notice the walking charcoal
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“Is Mægfæge always like this?” The Queen asks, gesturing towards the hacking and beheading of undead while also seeing the native barbarians sweaty and bloody. “Loud and lively”
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Cheers erupting whenever an undead’s head roll in the air, or a native barbarian gets beaten and screams in guttural fear.
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“Yes” Giza says pretendingly, “Our Mægfæge has always been loud and lively ever since my father took up the throne. It is also how the history books described the festival. Celebrating New Life, though, this performance is not my doing.”
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“Not your doing? By who then?”
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Answering without any hint of excitement or pride, “My siblings perhaps.”
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Which the Queen tries to step closer but the soldiers cross an x with their swords, blocking her, "And how are you faring? I myself am quite overwhelmed, must be too for a High princess as composed as yourself."
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Turning away from the queen, "I am well. My people’s excitement and smiles are my own." She pauses, studying how the raging barbarians suddenly taking a turn to glare at her and Giza quickly shifts back to the queen's face. "And you? How are you finding the Mægfæge?"
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"Absolutely golden” She mentions, “Warm by everyone’s shoulder to shoulder, skin to skin, and the great campfire in the middle. Speaking of, my children are concerned by Nautrens’ absence. They and I myself, thought we might see them, lots of them”
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And Giza took a second, that which she thought of extending indefinitely but this walking charcoal is a Queen. Clenching her jaw with a slithering tongue, "The Nautrens? They are attending to other matters. Ensuring the smooth running of the festival behind the scenes." She waves her hand dismissively, a\
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Queen Thau Lau nods, her gaze still fixed on Giza’s stone facial features. "Of course, of course. That might be their case for this Mægfæge. But surely missing out in the revelry? Their own celebration?
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The Nautrens have their duties, Your Majesty.” Directly responding with a harsh glare, “They understand the importance of their roles." Turning back to the performance with her cold and unlit shoulders facing the charcoal, "As do we all."
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The queen chuckles, "Indeed we do, High Princess. Indeed, we do." She falls silent, before heading back to the crowd and disappearing from Giza’s periphery like a smoke.
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“Nautrens…” Giza ponders, remembering the great flame spirit burning the cathedral but dowsed by the downpour. She turns to the manmade campfire burning brightly even amidst the drizzle and snow, keeping everyone warm. But the great flame spirit she saw, placing a hand to her chest---warmed her chest---her insides that this campfire cannot. “…Where are they?”
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“Run!” Cries someone, “They coming! Those brutes ran away!” And so do they. The audience running away from their own performance as the undead shambles for them. Fools who say that the undead are simply slaves and criminals are bitten and torn first. Giving the wide eyes a vivid and bloody example of an undead gnarly feasting on the fools.
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Danger coming out of the forest by the countless, not to mention the ones being feasted on are rising the same as undead. “High Princess!” And the soldiers urge only the royals to retreat towards the great campfire. The nobles pushing off anyone in their way. Peasant children, crying in front of Giza, kicked down and stomped by the people’s stampede. “High princess, get a hold of yourself! We have to go!”
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The Nautrens…the people…and now this unliving. Is this how the Mægfæge should be celebrated? She only did what was asked of her. Just that, and this is what she gets? It sure looks like a festival, but feels the wrong kind, especially when the Nautrens are not present. “Where are they…” eyes glowing dangerously gold, and the soldiers instinctively steps back. A fast-sprinting undead pounces at the princess and she turns it to stone, swerving herself as it shatters to the mud.
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Valiant soldiers fighting off to protect the people immediately turn into stone along with the enemy. Some who recognize these unliving—hugging them and foolishly getting bitten, are stoned as well. A moment of bravery, and a moment of love, forever in stone before the people themselves and the undead shatters them in their stampedes. Despicable, absolutely despicable. Until her forehead rings, and ache, feeling as if someone is trying to press her entire head flat and pushing their thumbs into her eye sockets. Groaning as the high princess flickers her ability off, the undead pouring in waves more than when the native barbarians were fighting them.
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Just then, a blur of red streaks through the air, and undead heads are severed from their bodies. The crowd erupts in applause as Prince Naberius, dropping his wooden stick soaked with black blood, stands tall amidst the carnage. The people revel in the sight of dismembered body parts, their fear temporarily forgotten in the face of such a thrilling spectacle. Thinking and cheering for red skinned with horns prince to fish the rest of the undead.
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But Prince Naberius turns his back to the forest and look up to the High Princess. With a grin, he spreads his arms, showing everyone his tong devilish tongue as he announces, “People of Kinguin! Witness, yours truly. High Princess Rumen—”
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And the ground rumble, trees shivering with their leaves as the sound of barbaric yelling pierces through the drizzle. Slow walking undead shambles out first before crowds of native barbarian charges out, eyes red for one man in all red, whose grin widely smiles---A blaze. Burning bright blue on the screaming native barbarians and blazing before a giant fisted hand surfaces from the ground.
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Opening its stitched fingers like a blooming flower before Rumen, grinning from ear to ear, steps down for her grand entrance “AHOY Mægfæge!”. The ground erupts behind her with the blue flames exploding to bloody fireworks. A giant undead with its body parts stitched together rises and stands greater than the campfire. It looks down at the ants below and the clouds rumble. A downpour falls on the frightened high royals, and hail strikes the heads of the cheering audience.
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