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Daisy
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jul 28, 2012
The Red vale sheathed the pride of the Nautali Kingdom; Mendall City. It was a pearl amongst a savage beast, the capital of Nautali and according to many the living heart of Isadoln-Dale itself. Largely occupying the majority of the gorge with carefully sculpted infrastructure and sky-kissing towers; standing like some kind of unreal sentinel in the midst of a territory surrounded by thick forests. It was a bustling center of life for humans, where every major road across the known land seemed to buckle and bend to reach the economic nova. It was such a center of success that Mendall could easily sweep you into her bosom and suffocate you with city-living throes while forgetting the very wild land outside the premise. It was that large, and that pompous - because that is how humans liked it. They enjoyed comfort and luxury, and Mendall City was a duchess in the art of keeping the Nautali Kingdom strongly grounded in the basic needs of power and happiness.
If only the King could mirror such grandeur. Sadly his Highness, Merek Dilakt, had been forced to keep his solitude from public eye for the past two years. Young in his forties, who ought to have another 30 years under his belt, his health had been steadily decreasing ever since the crown had graced his temple. It was approached at first as common illness, or a lingering winter cold, or a puzzling fever deep in the bones that proved hard to shake. But now, after so many seasons of ruling out ‘why’, Merek was inclined to listen to the old Senior Magician’s insistent push to look towards the dragons as a possible reason.
They were so rare, those dragons. Even the Majesty himself who was supposed to be ordained by the beasts and linked to their supremacy had never seen one with his eyes. So many ages and generations have passed along with Kings and royal blood that the days of dragons were now fairy tales near myths for the grand majority of people. Only the court documents and old scribes and decaying books in the palace library declared the events as fact. Refusing to separate themselves from the flying lizards, these detailed accounts proclaimed that the Kingdom of Nautali was birthed in the shadow of their wings and that the beating hearts of those who would sit on her throne would unite as one with the regal souls of these living dragons.
Perhaps old Henri had a point. The master magician was not known for outlandish or thoughtless words, so Henri must genuinely believe this to be true. Was King Merek’s poor health a result of dragon neglect, or trouble with the beasts?
Merek felt himself grow weary once again, and tired. He would need to rest again and sleep. He couldn’t afford to spend much more energy on tossing this around in his head. He needed to lay this to rest. Answers must be found, especially now when Trenoch and Estaris threatened war. Already unauthorized blood had been shed on both sides of the borders in thoughtless squabbles and passionate beliefs. Nautali needed, and deserved, a strong King to face these issues.
He sat on an elaborate chair on the dias of the room. Partially slumped, his rich attire was padded and arranged in such subtle ways to hide his ailing body. But it was hard to cover up the hollow color of his skin in his face, if one could see passed his thick beard. He had brown hair that looked dusty today, compared to days in his healthy prime when it would shine with vibrant life. There was still a fight in his eyes; a stubborn spark that refused to surrender to whatever plagued him. But it flickered with doubt occasionally and labored with uncertainty.
These brown eyes rested upon the man who had just now entered the private room; the King’s Chosen. Merek knew him well, and trusted him beyond reason. So did Henri, it seemed, who was the only other person in the room standing slightly off to the side. For while this man’s service would grant the kingdom more benefit if he was assigned to lead a legion along the borders of Nautali to keep back intruders, it seemed a bit ridiculous to be charging him with a quest of this likelihood. But Henri reminded Merek and insisted that any issue or business regarding the dragons was not to be approached half-assed. Nautali must sacrifice the best it could afford. So with much ado, Merek nodded his head in acknowledgement to the approaching man and spoke with as much strength as he could muster through his ailing voice, “Thank you for coming at this early hour. I am afraid I am in need of your service yet again.”
If only the King could mirror such grandeur. Sadly his Highness, Merek Dilakt, had been forced to keep his solitude from public eye for the past two years. Young in his forties, who ought to have another 30 years under his belt, his health had been steadily decreasing ever since the crown had graced his temple. It was approached at first as common illness, or a lingering winter cold, or a puzzling fever deep in the bones that proved hard to shake. But now, after so many seasons of ruling out ‘why’, Merek was inclined to listen to the old Senior Magician’s insistent push to look towards the dragons as a possible reason.
They were so rare, those dragons. Even the Majesty himself who was supposed to be ordained by the beasts and linked to their supremacy had never seen one with his eyes. So many ages and generations have passed along with Kings and royal blood that the days of dragons were now fairy tales near myths for the grand majority of people. Only the court documents and old scribes and decaying books in the palace library declared the events as fact. Refusing to separate themselves from the flying lizards, these detailed accounts proclaimed that the Kingdom of Nautali was birthed in the shadow of their wings and that the beating hearts of those who would sit on her throne would unite as one with the regal souls of these living dragons.
Perhaps old Henri had a point. The master magician was not known for outlandish or thoughtless words, so Henri must genuinely believe this to be true. Was King Merek’s poor health a result of dragon neglect, or trouble with the beasts?
Merek felt himself grow weary once again, and tired. He would need to rest again and sleep. He couldn’t afford to spend much more energy on tossing this around in his head. He needed to lay this to rest. Answers must be found, especially now when Trenoch and Estaris threatened war. Already unauthorized blood had been shed on both sides of the borders in thoughtless squabbles and passionate beliefs. Nautali needed, and deserved, a strong King to face these issues.
He sat on an elaborate chair on the dias of the room. Partially slumped, his rich attire was padded and arranged in such subtle ways to hide his ailing body. But it was hard to cover up the hollow color of his skin in his face, if one could see passed his thick beard. He had brown hair that looked dusty today, compared to days in his healthy prime when it would shine with vibrant life. There was still a fight in his eyes; a stubborn spark that refused to surrender to whatever plagued him. But it flickered with doubt occasionally and labored with uncertainty.
These brown eyes rested upon the man who had just now entered the private room; the King’s Chosen. Merek knew him well, and trusted him beyond reason. So did Henri, it seemed, who was the only other person in the room standing slightly off to the side. For while this man’s service would grant the kingdom more benefit if he was assigned to lead a legion along the borders of Nautali to keep back intruders, it seemed a bit ridiculous to be charging him with a quest of this likelihood. But Henri reminded Merek and insisted that any issue or business regarding the dragons was not to be approached half-assed. Nautali must sacrifice the best it could afford. So with much ado, Merek nodded his head in acknowledgement to the approaching man and spoke with as much strength as he could muster through his ailing voice, “Thank you for coming at this early hour. I am afraid I am in need of your service yet again.”
