--==** Romancing SaGa 3 **==--
Game created by Squaresoft
Novelization written by Lord Kyrn (lordkyrn@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer Lite: Names, places, events = ©Square / Novelization = ©me. Play the game. Now read or piss off, I don't care which.
Prologue, Part 2: Introductions
"Watch closely, now. The special effects are very impressive." --- Terry Pratchett
See now the planet of Atheras, like a bumpy blue-green-white marble. It's funny that on such a small thing, the lives of billions are at risk. Few of them - maybe a thousand, possibly fewer - are actually aware of this fact, though. A good thing, too. People can live, and have lived, their lives accepting the fact that any day, something 'unexpected' could happen which would kill them. It's usually in the back of their minds, and not something they think directly about too often, or for too long. But the ways they expect their 'unexpected' end to be are in normal, relatively uncomplicated ones. Rarely ever do they consider that it might be due to neither such a natural cause, nor on a larger scale than just one person.
Look closer at this marble, at the Jormunstad, the greater western region of the main northern continent Emliskov. It is there that the fates of these lives shall be decided, by a handful of people who happened to be at certain places, at certain times. Not necessarily always the /right/ places, the /right/ times, or the /right/ people, though. This is their story. It starts in many places, with many people, all over the continent. Let us see them as they were just before the story begins.
In the easternmost area of Jormunstad, in the capital city of Loanne:
We are inside Loanne Castle, center of government for the unoriginally- named Kingdom of Loanne. A young blonde woman is walking down a well-lit corridor as thunder booms outside, in the traditional dark and stormy night that is the beginning of stories everywhere. She stops, and cocks her head slightly, hearing voices somewhere. She traces the source of the sound to a pair of large, ornate doors by a railing overlooking the stairway below. She listens to the voices. After a few moments, her eyes go wide.
Loanne Castle, a different room and a few minutes later:
A woman in a deep purple dress, slightly older than the blonde, sits in a study, reading a sheet of paper, most likely some sort of report. Her hair, unlike that of the blonde, is white, pulled into a bun, with spiraling strands hanging down in front and in back. This is not the white of age, but rather the pure white of the Elite Royal Guard, a rank only a few people may hold at any given time. She looks up, as the blonde girl rushes in and starts going quietly and mildly hysterical. She listens to the blonde girl's story, and her eyes narrow. After a few minutes she calls for a servant.
The Northeast Track, near Shinon Province, one night later: Four friends walk along the wagon path, talking and joking, even in the middle of the rain and thunder. A man in a red jacket sports long spikes of hair, dyed green in the style of the ancient swordmasters. He does, indeed carries a blade, as if to prove this point. The man next to him is slightly taller, and has hair that looks, as he himself is the first to describe it, "moldy-brown." He wears glasses, and his cape is drawn up about him, keeping him dry. He has the look of shrewd businessman, which is exactly what he is, although the glasses probably encourage this image. The woman next to him is grinning at the joke just told by the green-haired man. Her thick jacket is keeping her insulated from the elements, but she wears no head covering or hat, letting her brown ponytail get soaked, but she doesn't really look like the type who gives a damn how her hair looks like all that often. Slung into holsters of her own design on either side of her belt are small two hand axes. A girl with pale green hair walks close by her, not saying anything, but smiling at some of the jokes, occasionally. She carries a bow, and has a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder. It's not immediately obvious until she gets into her element, but the girl is a skilled hunter. The four turn a bend, and come upon the small frontier town of Shinon. The local inn, The Duck-of-Prey, is well-lit, and they head towards it.
The Duck-of-Prey, Shinon Province, a few minutes earlier: A man sits at the bar, chatting idly with the innkeeper. His skin is a slightly burnt brown, not often seen in these parts. or any others away from the Librof Mountains, near the Naj Desert. He wears a deep blue greatcoat, and has long, straight black hair. A curved sword sits in a scabbard at his waist. The barkeep asks a question, and the man dark- haired man remembers a time not so long ago, in the desert.
Maxis', Great Arc: A old, sea-faring man who looks to be on the bad side of 60 also sits in a bar, although he doesn't really fare well on the seas these days. White hair flows forward from over a red headband, and this is indeed the white of old age. Odd, though, that there should be so much hair on one getting on his years surely, baldness should have begun its treacherous advance, and yet it hasn't. Other things are odd about this man. He wears scruffy, ragged clothing, yet at his belt is a well-used, much-loved silver- crested axe with a keen edge despite the nicks. A large-handled cane rests against the bar by his seat. He takes another swig, and mentally curses a name, as he has done for 7 years now. It is a name with many other names, and many evil deeds to its titles.
Seaforge Smithy, Pidona: The door of the Seaforge & Daughters, Co., bursts open, and a woman in a green tank top and work pants rushes out, her mass of reddish-brown hair only kept partially in check by the red bandana and goggles on her forehead. Following her are several men and a blond boy in his 20s. They all head for the docks, where a small crowd has gathered, and one of the dock patrolmen has just finished lifting up a soaking-wet body out of the harbor. It is a fresh corpse, dead no longer than a few days. The woman's eyes go wide, and her mouth drops open. She checks the body's face, sees who it is, and begins to cry. The young boy kneels down beside her and holds her, as squeezes his eyes shut against the pain and sadness. The other men who followed are muttering darkly to themselves, and shaking their heads. They don't like what has happened. The woman looks over the boy's shaking shoulders, and notices something about the body. She lets go of the boy, and reaches over, willing herself not to shudder as she turns the corpse's arm slightly. For the first time, she notices the deep scratches on the arm, which form a word, and a symbol. She looks at the clenched fist, and manages to pry it open. Now that the death grip is broken, four small, red, rock-like things tumble out.
Draferatu Castle, Podol: A pale man sits in on a throne in a dim, chilly room. Not much can discerned about him in the gloom. He sits, silently, with the infinite patience known only to those who have experienced being (or, in the vast majority of cases, ARE) dead. An hour later, there is a *tink-tink* sound at one of the windows, and the pale man gets up for the first time in an hour. He walks over to the window and opens it. A large raven flies in, bearing a slim black pouch attached to its chest by means of a harness. The pale man opens the pouch, and takes out a folded sheet of paper covered in small handwriting, and reads it. The information comes as no surprise. He brings over two dishes, one of water, and food in the other, then walks down the twin staircases by the throne. Preparations must be made.
Outside the Lasaiev estates, Librof: An upstairs window opens wide on newly-oiled hinges, and a pair of arms shove a mattress out the window. There is the sound of quiet but hurried packing, then a young girl in her late teens sits on the sill. She is dressed in all dark gray clothing except, for some reason, a bright yellow coat. She tenses herself, and jumps, landing feet-first on the mattress. Even with the mattress to cushion her fall, hitting the ground jars her slightly. She waits a few moments, then, checking to make sure everything else is still where it should be, she opens a pouch on the yellow coat, removing a small rose quartz crystal. Her lips move silently, trying to recall something, and after a minute or two, speaks some strange words. The crystal's pale pink flares into a much brighter, more solid shade for a second, and the winks out. The girl is still for a moment, then walks toward a circle of torchlight and hesitantly reaches toward her long brown hair - except it is now a hue of bright pink. She smiles, letting her hair fall, then turns, and dashes off toward the city gates.
Central Moses, the next day: An elegantly dressed man and woman, both somewhere in their late 30s, stand by a large stone well, heatedly arguing. Pointing, gesturing, and yelling, the conflict intensifies. Finally, the woman says something with a gesture of finality. The man's fists clench, and his eyes begin to literally glow red. The woman asks one last question, flipping her sea- green hair out of her eyes. The man responds by bringing up one arm, opening his hand, and screaming something in a language not heard in Moses for many, many years. A ball of fire leaps out of his hand and streaks toward the woman. It splashes against something invisible a foot in front of her, briefly revealing a marbled-green bubble around her. She raises both arms straight up into the air, and rises about 20 feet off of the ground. Smiling, she calls out in a tongue sound much like the one the man was using, and points a finger at him. The man, wearing a blood-red jacket, jumps up out of the way of a bolt of lightning that strikes the spot he had occupied a moment before. Instead of landing back on the ground, he shoots into the air, bringing himself on an even plane with the green-haired woman. He smiles at her grimly, and begins chanting in the same ancient language as a barrage of lightning bolts flies at him, but are shunted to either side of him as they are about to strike.
The duel has begun.
The West Forest, near Zweig: An attractive light-brown-haired woman wearing a blue sweater stands, on a stepladder beside a gigantic metallic monstrosity in a spacious workshop. She is reaching inside of the thing, moving something around, and swearing occasionally. The thing is easily the length of a diesel locomotive, and half the height of same. This however, looks a lot more menacing, both in reality, and in general design. The thing has an overall golden sheen to it, with black trim. The woman is clearly frustrated with some part of its inner workings. All of a sudden, there is a loud clattering, rattling noise, as of a shaking cage, from somewhere in another room off of the workshop. She looks up for a few seconds, looks back at the machine, then back to where the noise came from. Finally, she hops gracefully off of the 7-step ladder, walks over to a door, opens it, and walks inside. Unseen by anything or anyone, the eyes on the strangely twisted skull-hood of the monstrosity begin to glow.
15th Street, Yamas, late that night: In the slums of Yamas, a man is about to die, and he won't even know it. He is the owner of a bakery in the city. It's been a business in his family for many years now, and all of a sudden, he is told to relocate his business. Representatives of the Dophore firm have told him he needs to find another spot for his bakery, because they hold the deed to the land. Both he and they know this isn't true, and that even if they did, he wouldn't be able to find another spot that would work for a bakery, in- city. He has challenged this, and taken it to the city magistrates. He is quite certain that he will win the case, and he does indeed have a goodly amount of evidence on his side. There are some who do not wish this to be the case. The bakery owner has been slated to have an "accident," due to steel poisoning. The man with the knife behind him has been quietly following in his footsteps, and is getting closer. Now he is no more than a foot away. The assassin raises his knife for the strike, then pauses at an odd fluttering sound. It costs him his life. A shadow lands atop the assassin, knocking the wind out of him. He drops the knife, which lands with a clatter. The bakery owner whirls around, and stares in amazement at the scene occurring behind him. A caped figure in black is locked in combat with a slim man in black, who has drawn another knife from somewhere. The caped figure bears a letter on his cap. The bakery owner sees this and rushes forward to help the caped man. The slim assassin sees this, and twists around, knife aimed for the bakery owner's chest. The blade's point comes within 3 inches of his heart before the arm holding it is yanked back around in an arc with a number of unpleasant snapping noises. With inhuman speed and pain threshold, the assassin grabs his knife with his other hand and tries stabbing the bakery owner once more, but the intended victim's left fist slams into the man's gut. The assassin falls over and cracks his head on the cobbles. The bakery owner turns to thank the caped man, but he is already gone.
Limit Island: Out on The Isle of the Farthest Reaches, as it is known to the natives, one of the lobster-men indigenous to the island peers out of a tent. Its trained senses cannot find any sign of the great beast terrorizing the island. He ducks back into the tent, and comes out a moment later leading six other lobster-men, all about 5 inches shorter than he. They set off towards the innocent-looking path leading down to the waterfalls. Only three will return.
Some 25 miles north of Shinon: A man with long, blonde hair sits at a desk in a tent. He is the commander of the forces currently camped at the edge of the Shinon Forest. He pores over maps and charts, trying to determine his army's next movement. He'd *like* to be back home right now in his own bed, asleep. This campaign has been an arduous one. He is unaware of the fact that is home will be, in a matter of hours, not his anymore.
On the waterfront section of urban Vanguard, at night: Many people will say later that there should have been a guard posted by the beaches. This is a common response to tragedy, and even if there had been watchers, they would have been killed before they could raise an alarm. Four shapes slowly rise toward the surface by the tides. When they emerge from the water and begin silently trudging up the grass hills (no sense in leaving tracks), the creatures would have been seen as four, dim, towering shapes. The one in the lead motions to the others, and they head for the coves.
The Mung Village, the Great Prairie: Farther east, in a yurt on the flatlands of the Great Prairie, an old woman's eyes snap open. She is shock. Things have begun earlier than expected. Not everything is ready for what should have started some years later. The situation has changed. She calls for her apprentice. A black-haired girl bursts into the yurt, carrying a powerful looking bow in hands covered by black gloves. Before the old woman can speak, the younger girl speaks in a rapid tongue rarely heard west of the Naj Desert. The old woman's eyes grow grim, and she follows the girl, who has walked back outside the yurt. She comes face to face with an enormous, six-and-a- half foot tall gray creature that looks like a hybrid between a dragon and a beetle. It speaks to her in rasps, buzzes, and clicks. The old woman covers her eyes.
As we draw back, the story has already begun.
Let the SaGa . continue.
Game created by Squaresoft
Novelization written by Lord Kyrn (lordkyrn@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer Lite: Names, places, events = ©Square / Novelization = ©me. Play the game. Now read or piss off, I don't care which.
Prologue, Part 2: Introductions
"Watch closely, now. The special effects are very impressive." --- Terry Pratchett
See now the planet of Atheras, like a bumpy blue-green-white marble. It's funny that on such a small thing, the lives of billions are at risk. Few of them - maybe a thousand, possibly fewer - are actually aware of this fact, though. A good thing, too. People can live, and have lived, their lives accepting the fact that any day, something 'unexpected' could happen which would kill them. It's usually in the back of their minds, and not something they think directly about too often, or for too long. But the ways they expect their 'unexpected' end to be are in normal, relatively uncomplicated ones. Rarely ever do they consider that it might be due to neither such a natural cause, nor on a larger scale than just one person.
Look closer at this marble, at the Jormunstad, the greater western region of the main northern continent Emliskov. It is there that the fates of these lives shall be decided, by a handful of people who happened to be at certain places, at certain times. Not necessarily always the /right/ places, the /right/ times, or the /right/ people, though. This is their story. It starts in many places, with many people, all over the continent. Let us see them as they were just before the story begins.
In the easternmost area of Jormunstad, in the capital city of Loanne:
We are inside Loanne Castle, center of government for the unoriginally- named Kingdom of Loanne. A young blonde woman is walking down a well-lit corridor as thunder booms outside, in the traditional dark and stormy night that is the beginning of stories everywhere. She stops, and cocks her head slightly, hearing voices somewhere. She traces the source of the sound to a pair of large, ornate doors by a railing overlooking the stairway below. She listens to the voices. After a few moments, her eyes go wide.
Loanne Castle, a different room and a few minutes later:
A woman in a deep purple dress, slightly older than the blonde, sits in a study, reading a sheet of paper, most likely some sort of report. Her hair, unlike that of the blonde, is white, pulled into a bun, with spiraling strands hanging down in front and in back. This is not the white of age, but rather the pure white of the Elite Royal Guard, a rank only a few people may hold at any given time. She looks up, as the blonde girl rushes in and starts going quietly and mildly hysterical. She listens to the blonde girl's story, and her eyes narrow. After a few minutes she calls for a servant.
The Northeast Track, near Shinon Province, one night later: Four friends walk along the wagon path, talking and joking, even in the middle of the rain and thunder. A man in a red jacket sports long spikes of hair, dyed green in the style of the ancient swordmasters. He does, indeed carries a blade, as if to prove this point. The man next to him is slightly taller, and has hair that looks, as he himself is the first to describe it, "moldy-brown." He wears glasses, and his cape is drawn up about him, keeping him dry. He has the look of shrewd businessman, which is exactly what he is, although the glasses probably encourage this image. The woman next to him is grinning at the joke just told by the green-haired man. Her thick jacket is keeping her insulated from the elements, but she wears no head covering or hat, letting her brown ponytail get soaked, but she doesn't really look like the type who gives a damn how her hair looks like all that often. Slung into holsters of her own design on either side of her belt are small two hand axes. A girl with pale green hair walks close by her, not saying anything, but smiling at some of the jokes, occasionally. She carries a bow, and has a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder. It's not immediately obvious until she gets into her element, but the girl is a skilled hunter. The four turn a bend, and come upon the small frontier town of Shinon. The local inn, The Duck-of-Prey, is well-lit, and they head towards it.
The Duck-of-Prey, Shinon Province, a few minutes earlier: A man sits at the bar, chatting idly with the innkeeper. His skin is a slightly burnt brown, not often seen in these parts. or any others away from the Librof Mountains, near the Naj Desert. He wears a deep blue greatcoat, and has long, straight black hair. A curved sword sits in a scabbard at his waist. The barkeep asks a question, and the man dark- haired man remembers a time not so long ago, in the desert.
Maxis', Great Arc: A old, sea-faring man who looks to be on the bad side of 60 also sits in a bar, although he doesn't really fare well on the seas these days. White hair flows forward from over a red headband, and this is indeed the white of old age. Odd, though, that there should be so much hair on one getting on his years surely, baldness should have begun its treacherous advance, and yet it hasn't. Other things are odd about this man. He wears scruffy, ragged clothing, yet at his belt is a well-used, much-loved silver- crested axe with a keen edge despite the nicks. A large-handled cane rests against the bar by his seat. He takes another swig, and mentally curses a name, as he has done for 7 years now. It is a name with many other names, and many evil deeds to its titles.
Seaforge Smithy, Pidona: The door of the Seaforge & Daughters, Co., bursts open, and a woman in a green tank top and work pants rushes out, her mass of reddish-brown hair only kept partially in check by the red bandana and goggles on her forehead. Following her are several men and a blond boy in his 20s. They all head for the docks, where a small crowd has gathered, and one of the dock patrolmen has just finished lifting up a soaking-wet body out of the harbor. It is a fresh corpse, dead no longer than a few days. The woman's eyes go wide, and her mouth drops open. She checks the body's face, sees who it is, and begins to cry. The young boy kneels down beside her and holds her, as squeezes his eyes shut against the pain and sadness. The other men who followed are muttering darkly to themselves, and shaking their heads. They don't like what has happened. The woman looks over the boy's shaking shoulders, and notices something about the body. She lets go of the boy, and reaches over, willing herself not to shudder as she turns the corpse's arm slightly. For the first time, she notices the deep scratches on the arm, which form a word, and a symbol. She looks at the clenched fist, and manages to pry it open. Now that the death grip is broken, four small, red, rock-like things tumble out.
Draferatu Castle, Podol: A pale man sits in on a throne in a dim, chilly room. Not much can discerned about him in the gloom. He sits, silently, with the infinite patience known only to those who have experienced being (or, in the vast majority of cases, ARE) dead. An hour later, there is a *tink-tink* sound at one of the windows, and the pale man gets up for the first time in an hour. He walks over to the window and opens it. A large raven flies in, bearing a slim black pouch attached to its chest by means of a harness. The pale man opens the pouch, and takes out a folded sheet of paper covered in small handwriting, and reads it. The information comes as no surprise. He brings over two dishes, one of water, and food in the other, then walks down the twin staircases by the throne. Preparations must be made.
Outside the Lasaiev estates, Librof: An upstairs window opens wide on newly-oiled hinges, and a pair of arms shove a mattress out the window. There is the sound of quiet but hurried packing, then a young girl in her late teens sits on the sill. She is dressed in all dark gray clothing except, for some reason, a bright yellow coat. She tenses herself, and jumps, landing feet-first on the mattress. Even with the mattress to cushion her fall, hitting the ground jars her slightly. She waits a few moments, then, checking to make sure everything else is still where it should be, she opens a pouch on the yellow coat, removing a small rose quartz crystal. Her lips move silently, trying to recall something, and after a minute or two, speaks some strange words. The crystal's pale pink flares into a much brighter, more solid shade for a second, and the winks out. The girl is still for a moment, then walks toward a circle of torchlight and hesitantly reaches toward her long brown hair - except it is now a hue of bright pink. She smiles, letting her hair fall, then turns, and dashes off toward the city gates.
Central Moses, the next day: An elegantly dressed man and woman, both somewhere in their late 30s, stand by a large stone well, heatedly arguing. Pointing, gesturing, and yelling, the conflict intensifies. Finally, the woman says something with a gesture of finality. The man's fists clench, and his eyes begin to literally glow red. The woman asks one last question, flipping her sea- green hair out of her eyes. The man responds by bringing up one arm, opening his hand, and screaming something in a language not heard in Moses for many, many years. A ball of fire leaps out of his hand and streaks toward the woman. It splashes against something invisible a foot in front of her, briefly revealing a marbled-green bubble around her. She raises both arms straight up into the air, and rises about 20 feet off of the ground. Smiling, she calls out in a tongue sound much like the one the man was using, and points a finger at him. The man, wearing a blood-red jacket, jumps up out of the way of a bolt of lightning that strikes the spot he had occupied a moment before. Instead of landing back on the ground, he shoots into the air, bringing himself on an even plane with the green-haired woman. He smiles at her grimly, and begins chanting in the same ancient language as a barrage of lightning bolts flies at him, but are shunted to either side of him as they are about to strike.
The duel has begun.
The West Forest, near Zweig: An attractive light-brown-haired woman wearing a blue sweater stands, on a stepladder beside a gigantic metallic monstrosity in a spacious workshop. She is reaching inside of the thing, moving something around, and swearing occasionally. The thing is easily the length of a diesel locomotive, and half the height of same. This however, looks a lot more menacing, both in reality, and in general design. The thing has an overall golden sheen to it, with black trim. The woman is clearly frustrated with some part of its inner workings. All of a sudden, there is a loud clattering, rattling noise, as of a shaking cage, from somewhere in another room off of the workshop. She looks up for a few seconds, looks back at the machine, then back to where the noise came from. Finally, she hops gracefully off of the 7-step ladder, walks over to a door, opens it, and walks inside. Unseen by anything or anyone, the eyes on the strangely twisted skull-hood of the monstrosity begin to glow.
15th Street, Yamas, late that night: In the slums of Yamas, a man is about to die, and he won't even know it. He is the owner of a bakery in the city. It's been a business in his family for many years now, and all of a sudden, he is told to relocate his business. Representatives of the Dophore firm have told him he needs to find another spot for his bakery, because they hold the deed to the land. Both he and they know this isn't true, and that even if they did, he wouldn't be able to find another spot that would work for a bakery, in- city. He has challenged this, and taken it to the city magistrates. He is quite certain that he will win the case, and he does indeed have a goodly amount of evidence on his side. There are some who do not wish this to be the case. The bakery owner has been slated to have an "accident," due to steel poisoning. The man with the knife behind him has been quietly following in his footsteps, and is getting closer. Now he is no more than a foot away. The assassin raises his knife for the strike, then pauses at an odd fluttering sound. It costs him his life. A shadow lands atop the assassin, knocking the wind out of him. He drops the knife, which lands with a clatter. The bakery owner whirls around, and stares in amazement at the scene occurring behind him. A caped figure in black is locked in combat with a slim man in black, who has drawn another knife from somewhere. The caped figure bears a letter on his cap. The bakery owner sees this and rushes forward to help the caped man. The slim assassin sees this, and twists around, knife aimed for the bakery owner's chest. The blade's point comes within 3 inches of his heart before the arm holding it is yanked back around in an arc with a number of unpleasant snapping noises. With inhuman speed and pain threshold, the assassin grabs his knife with his other hand and tries stabbing the bakery owner once more, but the intended victim's left fist slams into the man's gut. The assassin falls over and cracks his head on the cobbles. The bakery owner turns to thank the caped man, but he is already gone.
Limit Island: Out on The Isle of the Farthest Reaches, as it is known to the natives, one of the lobster-men indigenous to the island peers out of a tent. Its trained senses cannot find any sign of the great beast terrorizing the island. He ducks back into the tent, and comes out a moment later leading six other lobster-men, all about 5 inches shorter than he. They set off towards the innocent-looking path leading down to the waterfalls. Only three will return.
Some 25 miles north of Shinon: A man with long, blonde hair sits at a desk in a tent. He is the commander of the forces currently camped at the edge of the Shinon Forest. He pores over maps and charts, trying to determine his army's next movement. He'd *like* to be back home right now in his own bed, asleep. This campaign has been an arduous one. He is unaware of the fact that is home will be, in a matter of hours, not his anymore.
On the waterfront section of urban Vanguard, at night: Many people will say later that there should have been a guard posted by the beaches. This is a common response to tragedy, and even if there had been watchers, they would have been killed before they could raise an alarm. Four shapes slowly rise toward the surface by the tides. When they emerge from the water and begin silently trudging up the grass hills (no sense in leaving tracks), the creatures would have been seen as four, dim, towering shapes. The one in the lead motions to the others, and they head for the coves.
The Mung Village, the Great Prairie: Farther east, in a yurt on the flatlands of the Great Prairie, an old woman's eyes snap open. She is shock. Things have begun earlier than expected. Not everything is ready for what should have started some years later. The situation has changed. She calls for her apprentice. A black-haired girl bursts into the yurt, carrying a powerful looking bow in hands covered by black gloves. Before the old woman can speak, the younger girl speaks in a rapid tongue rarely heard west of the Naj Desert. The old woman's eyes grow grim, and she follows the girl, who has walked back outside the yurt. She comes face to face with an enormous, six-and-a- half foot tall gray creature that looks like a hybrid between a dragon and a beetle. It speaks to her in rasps, buzzes, and clicks. The old woman covers her eyes.
As we draw back, the story has already begun.
Let the SaGa . continue.