Hello again! You thought Iwas dead, didn't you! Well, you were correct. I was unispired and feeling all… Blehish. But now, give special thanks to the fuelers to this chappie- The ROTK CD, hours of reading The princess Bride, and writing a WHOLE lot of descriptions of Furcadia. XD
Legolas: And you sure have been on there A LOT.
Hannah: …
…
…
Just read it. XD
***
The Kingdom of Prox- the Firey Empire laced with gold and beauty. All who lived in Prox where often joyful and carefree, jubilant in their wealth and glory. There was no poor man; the nobles would ride into town on their gallant white steeds, tossing gold to the lesser, peasant-like community in the valley below. Every new born was blessed with holy water, and the old given draught to stretch out their glorious days. And never did the Proxians grow tired of their perfect lives; each had a job of which they freely chose. Most were artisans; making statues of the gods, nobles, even other workers.Then there were weavers; who traded with the far, far away land of Xian, for silk that would heal at the touch. Also popular were the jewel-makers and weapon forgers- of which, the weapons that were made were only used for showing off- there was no war in Prox. Even the shoe makers had their high place; everyone in the town had a pair of knee-highs, no matter the color.
Prox lay in the mountain-ridden land of the North; but they had fields and oceans of grass, wheat, and even rye for making the best quality ale. It was as if the gods had laid a finger down and smoothed out the land perfectly, with the mountains shielding Prox from attacks, yet leaving land to farm and to build a bustling city, not to mention the enormous citadel. The place was as vast as it was grand; and it was very grand indeed. Every morning, the sun flooded the streets, the small brooks were always a-babble, and the clopping of hooves can be heard in the early hours of the day. Now, the streets were not gold and the buildings not of emerald; but all houses were white washed, and had their own garden and cobblestone path. It was filled with life each day, greeting one's neighbors, washing the dirty plates, and playing with the cat who belonged to just about everyone on the street.
But, enough about the city.
The palace was a firey red, made of some of the hardest stone in all of Weyard, as were the ambitions of the King. The King of Prox was known as "The King" to all of his followers, even his dearest friends. He preferred it; it made him feel important. He was strong yet stout- a bit pig-nosed, if you will, but a kind soul. He was never very greedy, for he had all that he wanted- an entire kingdom in his plump fingers. He smiled and rode into town unescorted, catching up on gossip in a near-by tavern. No one could hate the fellow.
His wife, Marna, was far more important in this kingdom. Now, in most kindoms over Weyard, a woman would never have the chance for rule over a man. But this tall and fair woman was gentle to her people, and fierce toward any perspiring conquerers. She wore only one, simple white dress, yet her lovely figure was undhidden. But men respected a woman like that, and did not look at her, but her eyes instead. She had the power to flip the kingdom onto it's back and slice open it's underbelly for all the worth it's got; but she dares not. She loves her people and would never betray them.
Their only daughter was the fairest yet shyest of all in the kingdom. She looked thin and a little pale, but that was how every girl wished to look. Golden locks cascaded over her breast, and she had eyes that were murky and blue. Oh, but no one got to see this high cheek boned, curved, beautiful face: she lived in her room at all time. Her only chance of seeing others would be through her tiny window that was above her bed. Sometimes travelers would see her and cry out, 'Alas, alas! A lass at last!', and all would come to see the trapped figure. But she was no longer there. Just hiding in the back, wrapped up in self-pity; something that kept her cold no matter how much she was
covered.
But our story does not start here, either.
But through the young eyes of a tavern worker, one whom is weary and ready for rest.
"Missy," a man hiccuped as he leaned back on his chair, plopping his boots on the table. The girl smiled and looked up.
"Yes? And what would you like?" She said a with a grin. She put a misplaced blonde hair behind her ear.
"Missy, missy…" The man droned on, giggling blissfully as he drifted off to sleep. The girl rolled her eyes and sat back down at her normal spot on the opposite side of the bar. She sagged and yawned. There was never anything exciting at THIS tavern. Oh yes, across the the street, at the Broken Sword Inn, but no one would ever visit the dreary place she called home.
"The Lightouse Tavern," She recited in a dull tongue. "…Is a place where everything is about satisfaction, Oh, and about some good ale." She sighed. All we ever go here were a couple of very old men, or drunk young ones. And they were never very good looking. She smirked as a thought came to mind. She sat up and reached across the bar, her fingers grabbing the brim of the hat the sleeping man was wearing. She pulled it up slowly, as not to wake him.
No luck.
Another scar-face. When was she ever going to settle down, so she could live like everyone else? Being able to greet your neighbors? Washing the dishes? (Actually, she already does that.) Having a pet cat! Oh, she would name him something like, 'Sir Nero' or 'Knight Agatio' or even 'Mister Fluffawilkens'? She grinned at the thought of her own cat. Or her own house.
Or her own husband.
A small smile played on the corner of her mouth. Such dreams would be reached later in life, she had plenty of time before anything would come her way. She was to work in her father's tavern until she was about 250, a meager age for anyone in Weyard.
Now, life in Weyard was bountiful and over flowing- everything had a seemingly eternal life. Or at least, most critters lived to be anywhere between 10 to 35 hundred years. Yes, life was long, but filled with excitement. Every 100 years, there would be a celebration among the small town, or street. The elemantals where balanced.
Just then, as the girl was cleaning out a seemingly perfectly clean mug with an old rag, her father made his way down the stairs. Flop, flop, flop, was what noise echoed as he clumsily plopped his large shoes down the polished steps. She grinned and turned to meet him.
"Good morning, father," the girl politley bowed her head.
"Good morning, Menardi," he said with a simple nod. Her mother had picked out that name for her ages ago, being ready to name her child something as graceful as she was to become. When the girl was born, there was no terrible celebration like the town normally throws; no one really seemed to notice that Menardi was ever conceived.
"Good morning, Miss Harshaw. Oh, what is that cloth your carrying around?A baby? Who's is it?" Was the response that her mother received from the neighbors. Her mother never got mad; she was just happy she had a child at all. Oh, and of course, when Menardi's sister was born, Karst, it stirred up a huge commotion.
"Oh, look at how beautiful she looks, and at such a small age!" The others would say about Karst.
"What beautiful hair! What color is that? A magenta?"
"Can she work at my tavern, of course, when she is older?" Came a booming voice of an older man with a grin on his face- Mister Garon from the Broken Sword Inn. And, that was what happened. Karst left her own father's bar to work at his main competition. And tht attracted such a crowd. And that is how the famliy lost her.
"Any customers?" Mister Harshaw yawned, stretching in his gown like nightclothes. Menardi smirked and pointed the the sleeping man. He frowned and sighed as he sat at one of the tables. Hie groaned and lifted his dripping arms out of a pool of beer that remained on the table. "Could you clean this up?" He would have normally asked. But he just sighed and stood.
"Menardi," his father said in a serious tone. She looked up from the mug she was cleaning.
"Yes, dadda?" She said sweetly. His face looked troubled.
"I need to close the tavern," He said finally. Dismay crept over her and stroke her a hard blow.
"Wha-What?? I mean, sure, we don't get too many customers, but we get enough! I… we… this is our home! We can't close!" She hook her head. There was no way…
"Menardi, I know you are dissapointed, but we simply don't make enough. You can go work at the Broken Sword, and I'll get some more gold from the nobles when they pass by. This tavern is ruining our reputation!" He cried. Literally. He didn't want to close up, really, but he can see their neighors scoff when he says he's off to 'work', no one liked the ale, nothing was good anymore.
"But … daddy!" Menardi cried as she ran to her father and they wept with each other.
"But," he continued. "We can wait a while before closing. Maybe a week or two… or three… or.. I don't know!" He cried out. They both just sat for a long time, in a saddened, and loving, embrace. But their tears dried and they went nack to 'work'. Menardi and her mug; father and his supervising. They eached sniffled, but went on with life.
And life was back to normal for a week or two. Only a few customers.
Until one cold and stormy night.
Well, actually, it was a warm and sunny, and it was mid-day, but having a cold and stormy night usually means something important was about to happen.
And something DID happen.
A stranger wandered into the bar, cloaked and hooded, no vivble skin shown. He sat in the back and smiled.
There's going to be a lot of changing around here, the man thought as he looked around…
***
Well!! That was nice. ._.;;
Legolas: Well if THAT wasn't boring.
Hannah: *Shrugs* Yeah, it was. But I had to lay out the fundamentals before layin on some hard core angstyness, fighting, violence, romance, and STUFF. Oh, and if you thought this chappie was a tad silly, blame the Princess Bride. I love that book to DEATH. Yay. (Is happy and listens to "Return Of The King" "The End Of It All" and "Into the West") =^-^=
Announcer guy: Herm. Well, please tune in whenever Hannah updates. Oh, and if you want an update, review. Yes. Oh, now I'M the bad guy, making you write a TWO WORD sentence for an update. Pity. Meow.
--Sailor Hannah (Conquerer Worm)
