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It is fifth day when the horses around can gallop around Cyndoryll plains. Queenuin seagulls have a hefty catch and the sun beams against the cold coats of Adviser Hornney. He thought that the weather would be the same—both rain, snow, gloomy and people depressed at the streets but somehow the port of Micelea is as bright as how he expected spring to be. He would not be sitting around like a sweaty pig if he knew about it. At least there is a constant breeze but he has to stay indoors by how terribly these winds are causing his hemorrhoids to vomit.
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“Lord Adviser Horney” Knocks a soldier beyond the door that desperately tries to shush the explosive farts but it cannot, “Are you okay?”
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“Y-Yes! Hurry tell and leave peasant!” Which he thinks the soldier is a peasant but in fact someone who pridefully wears his badges on his armor, though, all he can see and think off is how much liquid and wind has to pass through him just so he can get out for a minute and come back for five.
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“The high royals from Aigai have docked and waiting for you lord Adviser” Knocking twice again, “Do you want me to help you?”
“I hope there is a way but there is not!” Horney grunts, letting out a big one, “T-Tell them, I will be there in a minute.”
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And the soldier leaves, walking out of the abandoned tower and into the seabreeze. Five ships, three made out of wood, one modern with white and metal, while the other looks like it is made by bundling rafts together. It spans wider than the rest of the four ships and a dome that slowly fades reveals Djahatians. Tall individuals with flesh as dark as charcoal. But they are well known to be dosed in jewelry, especially if they are royals. They step off their ship, slippers made out of gold with piercings that twinkle like stars. Everyone wears the same theme of clothing, floral designs on the ladies’ elegantly flowing fabrics with the men only wearing the fabrics to cover their genitals and behind. Flexing their muscles and rich skin compared to the high royals fashionably stepping off the modern ship as if it is a runway. Yoreans---Their hair glistens smooth like dew drops and an array of fashion ranging from shorts to pants for both genders. Their pale skin harshly contrasts against the Djahatian like day and night with their facial features being tinier except for their full lips. Jackets, coats, tank tops, anything modern that the Djahatian and Hemreans do not know off. And of course, the high royal Hemreans from the three wooden ships wearing their purples, and reds and fitting for spring. Three representatives come up to the soldier bearing the badges, who introduces himself as, “General Raugur” He exchanges handshakes with the representatives, their temperatures on contact being cold, lukewarm, and hot.
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“Fine day to greet you General Raugur” Speaks the Hemrean, “I believe that a lord Adviser will be escorting us?”
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“Yes, he is going to—”
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“I am here!” Says the young man who is still tucking in his undergarments and coating himself heavily, once again—like a sweaty pig. “I am Lord Adviser Horney, greetings to you fellows” Handshaking the representatives again but the Yorean does not wish to, saying that she is allergic to sweaty people. And the handshake to the Djahatian seared Horney’s hand, burning it read. “W-well then, nice to meet you all. And I believe that our blessed high royals are ready to immediately go for the capital?”
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The Yorean look around, wondering about something which the Hemrean does as well. The Djahatian looks like his stare is going to burn a hole on Horneye’s neck.
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“Is something the matter?” Horney asks,
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“Are Cyndoryllian reception to high royals this substandard?” The Yorean says, “We have come from our far distant lands yet there is nothing hands down, prepared for us.”
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‘What is this lady talking about?’ Horney nervously thinks before gesturing the Hemrean with his eyes,
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“Oh, have you not heard? We were told about special drawn carriage are to be provided by the capital. Hence why we arrive earlier than expected…”
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Crack---Horney can hear his own skull crack. And the heavy seabreeze gargles his stomach again and clench his buttocks. “Tha—t’s” He gasps, breathing in and breathing out while looking at General Raugur, “Where are the carriages!?” shouting at him,
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“Lord Adviser you did no—”
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“I DID!” Shrieking now, “NOW WHERE ARE THEY!?”
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The general thinks that the lord Adviser truly did not prepare the carriages, or maybe he forgot. But the only way to find these carriages is to ask from the nearest kingdom and have the high royals wait, which he tells so about Queenuin and a possible thirty minutes wait to the representatives. “Of course, while waiting you can as any of our laborers around the port to be your servants and can only wander within the port only”
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“Hah! So, you never prepared anything. What a spontaneous mess,” Utters the Yorean before turning her back and sashaying for her fashionistas. While the Hemrean simply bows and the Djahatian leaves without gesturing or saying anything.
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Horney had to once again take a number 10 at the abandoned tower. With General Raugur asking a messenger to run for Queenuin in request for carriages while also overseeing their guests at the port house not big enough to shelter the entire Yorean guests. Some have started to play around in the waters like the Djahatians who boldly jump around and catch dogfishes for a snack. while the Hemreans are out wandering by the beach and mountain side.
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The lord Adviser comes down from his abandoned tower, noticing some of the guests running around the port having fun. Down at the port house, the hiding Yoreans are madly ordering the laborers around as if they are their personal slaves.
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"You there, peasant!" barks a haughty Yorean noble, pointing a bejeweled finger at a startled laborer. "Fetch me a drink, and be quick about it!"
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The laborer, a grizzled old man with weathered hands, bows his head respectfully. "Right away, m'lord." He scurries off, mumbling under his breath about the audacity of these foreign royals.
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Lord Adviser Horney waddles into the port house, his face glistening with sweat. The stench of his digestive distress precedes him. The Yoreans wrinkle their noses in disgust.
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"Ah, Lord Adviser," sneers a Yorean lady, fanning herself dramatically. "How good of you to grace us with your...fruity presence." Her entourage titters behind their hands. “I cannot wait in our coming for Mayfairy. They say that the celebration holds important traditional roots as well as in celebrating the Nauterens and bountiful harvest.”
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Horney forces a smile, trying to ignore the cramps twisting his gut. "My apologies for the delay, dear guests. I assure you; the carriages will arrive shortly."
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"They had better," sniffs the lady. "This is hardly the reception we were expecting. And what is that dreadfully fruity odor?"
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Horney's face flushes crimson. "Just the, ah, sea air, I'm afraid. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He turns to hurry away, but a particularly violent spasm seizes his bowels. To his horror, he feels a warm, wet sensation spreading down his leg.
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The Yoreans erupt into raucous laughter as Horney flees the room, leaving a trail of filth in his wake. Their merriment echoes through the port house.
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Outside, General Raugur shakes his head as he watches the spectacle unfold. He had expected Lord Adviser Horney to be a man of refined dignity, a shining example of Cyndoryllian hospitality. Instead, the poor fool has become the laughingstock of the port.
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"Medicine for stomach pain, my ass," Raugur mutters to himself. "What he really needs is a miracle."
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Just then, a messenger comes sprinting up the path, his face red with exertion. "General Raugur, sir!" he gasps. "The carriages from Queenuin...they're here!"
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Raugur breathes a sigh of relief. Perhaps this disastrous reception can be salvaged after all. He strides off to greet the carriages, leaving Horney to wallow in his own misery and filth.
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As the guests file out to board their respective transports, the Yorean lady who had mocked Horney earlier pauses to regard a nearby laborer. "You there," she calls imperiously. "See that Lord Horney is given a fresh set of robes. And a bath." She wrinkles her nose. "A very thorough bath."
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The laborer bows deeply before helping the Lord Adviser carry out of the port house as if he is a pregnant lady in labor. They dunk him into the seawater, wash him thoroughly as told but the lord Adviser keeps on shooting. It is disgusting and after ten minutes, the Horney gets out of the brown-green beach saying that he has emptied his whole last night dinner meal. He proceeds on and into his carriage with General Raugur leading the soldiers and carriage riders in one single file.
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The carriages trundle along the narrow road, the hooves of the horses kicking up dust as they navigate the winding path through the Cyndoryll plains. Inside the lead carriage, Lord Adviser Horney shifts uncomfortably, his freshly washed robes doing little to ease his lingering embarrassment.
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General Raugur rides beside him—though outside on his own horse, his eyes fixed on the breathtaking landscape unfolding before them. The plains stretch out in a tapestry of vibrant greens and golds, punctuated by the occasional cluster of wildflowers. In the distance, the mountains loom, their snow-capped peaks glinting in the sunlight.
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"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Raugur remarks, glancing at Horney. "I never tire of this view."
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Horney nods distractedly, his mind still replaying the humiliating events at the port. "Yes, yes, quite lovely," he mutters.
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In the carriages behind them, the foreign dignitaries are equally entranced by the scenery. The Yoreans, despite their earlier disdain, find themselves marveling at the rugged beauty of the land. As well as reminded of their homeland when looking far at the snowy north distance.
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"I must admit, this is not what I expected from Cyndoryll," says the Yorean lady, her voice carrying a newfound note of appreciation. "It's rather...breathtaking."
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Her companions murmur in agreement, their eyes wide with wonder as they take in the sweeping vistas.
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The Djahatians, too, seem impressed, though they express their admiration in more subdued tones. They nod approvingly at the lush grasslands, their jeweled fingers pointing out particularly striking features of the landscape like ruins or patches of sand that seems to move.
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Which the friendly Hemreans tell them about Nautrens being an abundance during the May spring. “So the sprites, spirits, and entities would naturally gather in Cyndoryll during the month and by the end of spring, they would leave to scatter once again around Glorious Atormis!” They chatter excitedly, their faces alight with joy as they drink in the sights.
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Back in the lead carriage, Horney leans towards Raugur, his voice low and anxious. "Do you think they have forgotten about the...incident at the port?" he asks, his cheeks coloring at the memory.
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Raugur chuckles softly. "I would not count on it, my lord. But perhaps this journey will give them something else to remember Cyndoryll by."
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Horney sighs, sinking back into his seat. "I suppose that is all I can hope for at this point."
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As the carriages continue their journey, winding their way through the heart of the Cyndoryll plains, Horney finds himself slowly relaxing. The gentle rocking of the carriage, combined with the soothing sounds of nature, works to ease his frayed nerves.
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He glances out the window, marveling at the way the sunlight dances across the grass, casting long shadows and illuminating the delicate petals of the wildflowers. For a moment, he forgets his embarrassment, lost in the simple beauty of the world around him.
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Then, after a few minutes ride, General Raugur asks the carriages to halt.
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“What is wrong?” Horney steps out to see their carriages are next of a native barbarian crowd that filled the plains as far as they can see. Something seems to be stopping them from walking further while Horney and his entourage are stopped by a woman giving labor on the road, blocking their path. Horney looks at the general who seems to be pondering but the lord Adviser advises in a harsh tone, “What are you idling around there for? They should not be delivering in the middle of the road, so get them out of the way!”
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General Raugur frowns at Horney's callous suggestion. "My lord, we cannot simply 'get them out of the way.' This woman is in labor, and she needs our help."
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Horney scoffs, his face twisted with impatience. "Help? We have far more important matters to attend to than playing midwife to some lowborn wench. Tell them to move aside, or I'll have our guards give a quick painless end to their labor."
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The general's eyes narrow, his voice taking on a steely edge. "With all due respect, Lord Adviser, that is not how we treat our people. These are not just 'lowborn wenches,' as you so crudely put it. They are the heart and soul of Cyndoryll, and they deserve our compassion and respect."
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Horney opens his mouth to protest, but Raugur cuts him off with a sharp gesture. "I will handle this, my lord. Please, remain in your carriage."
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With that, the general dismounts his horse and approaches the crowd, his posture erect and his expression determined. He kneels beside the laboring woman, speaking to her in low, soothing tones.
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The foreign dignitaries watch from their carriages, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. The Yorean lady leans out of her window, her earlier disdain replaced by a hint of admiration for the general's compassion.
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"He can ask our help but oh well,” she murmurs to her companions.
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Meanwhile, Horney paces inside his carriage, his agitation mounting with each passing moment. He can hear the woman's cries of pain, mingled with the murmur of the crowd and the general's calming voice.
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"This is absurd," he mutters to himself. "We should be halfway to the capital by now, not playing nursemaid to some mud woman."
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Outside, General Raugur confers with his soldiers, his brow furrowed in thought. The muddy plains on either side of the road are treacherous, and he knows that attempting to navigate around the crowd could result in carriages getting stuck or even overturning.
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He turns to one of his men, his tearing eyes working with sweat. Scratching his own head. Some of his soldiers suggest foolish solutions that he ignores. With some attending to why the crowd of native barbarians are not walking forwards. As the minutes tick by, Horney's frustration boils over. He bursts out of his carriage, storming over to where Raugur kneels beside the woman.
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"General, I demand that you get this rabble out of our way at once!" he bellows, his face red with anger. "I will not tolerate any further delays!"
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Raugur rises to his feet, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury. "Lord Adviser, you forget yourself. This 'rabble,' as you call them, are the people we are sworn to serve and protect. If you cannot show them the respect they deserve, then perhaps you are not fit to hold your position."
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Horney sputters, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Before he can formulate a response, a cry goes up from the crowd. It is not from the mother, nor a baby. But from a dung beetle spirit that timidly crawls towards the laboring woman. Staring at her struggles first before to the disbelieving eyes of General Raugur and to the impatient lord Adviser. It crawls for the side where it rolls the soil, toppling grass and creating a wider dirt path for the carriages to take and go around the woman.
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“WOAH! MA! LOOK!” A Djahatian child points at the dung beetle spirit, same with the Yorean children and adults who grow fond of the nauteren’s magic. Creating a road out of the soil it rolled and stretched out like it is a carpet. General Raugur and the rest of the carriages are able to pass around safely. Thanking the dung beetle spirit that slowly fades out into the grass plains.
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The soldier who went on to check with the front of the crowd return with bloody hands and forearms. “General!” Their voices shaking,
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“Speak calmly soldiers.”
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“T-there’s a line of undea---”
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The earth rose—almost immediately without warning and raising native barbarians as well as the entire entourage into the sky. Horney and the soldiers all try to calm their guests before suddenly, the children and the barbarians once again excitedly point out the countless sprites, spirits and entities fading in and hugging everyone. Blue balls of light bubbles out from the ground before their surface itself rattle and move through the clouds. Heading closer to Kinguin capital with the threat of undead left behind on the ground.
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