&^#!, Day 10
Time ticks slowly as it counts down to Princess Pollution's doom. I feel no sympathy for her, even now as the pain, caused by years and years of neglect on her own mostly mechanical body sinks in. Her gears have rusted and turn slowly, if even at all. The pain from rust and uncleaned grime is starting to wear on her. What doesn't affect her machinery, affects her husk of a human body. She barely notices how the poisons have affected her... but surely, it is there.
I have awaited this for a long time now, ever since she saw me as a threat and forced a dog's collar around my neck, chains around my wrists and ankles. I waited and waited as I slowly earned her trust and became her advisor in more... medical matters. Perhaps she forgot she saw an enemy in me. Perhaps she didn't think I had the guts to poison her as I pretended to give her medicine. Perhaps she actually knew, and planned on dragging my soul down with her.
Regardless, time marches on. She will regret doing harm to my town, to my country, to OUR planet. She will regret the moment she sold her soul to the Monarch over some mechanical auguments and a several dozen countries to rule. She will regret pouring sludge into our rivers and smog into our air. She will find that no amount of wealth, nor knights nor auguments, will save her from the judgement the Nether has in store for her.
And I hope that I will be the one to send her on her way to the River Styx.
&^#!, Day 17
I... I...
...I can baaarrelllye rite
what happened
thththe monarcharch he
was sudden just whisked
heard news of ch-childa onece aagin
almost died but princcesas
sssomehow
SOMEHOW
he... he...
--------------------------------
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Time marches on, caring little for the world of Mondor. The world was a land of eternal smog, puffs of foul mixtures coughed up by the many factories that lined the surface. Clearly, the Machina Monarch cared little for environmentally friendly things. He cared only for efficiency. Quality AND quantity. He didn't care how many trees he had to cut or how many tons of waste he had to dump in the drinking water, he would have his factories. He would have his forced industrialization, forcing the peasantry out of their farming jobs and into slave labor, where it was rare where they even had someone that gave them more than a couple coppers. He would get his grubby hands on everything and anything he could have, even if that meant putting it under a fellow noble's name.
The world was his, the environment be damned. Let those heroes come and try to take it from him. He will crush them like their ancestors prior. The neverending cycle of defeat.
And one day... the Fountains would be his, too.
-------------------------
"Did you hear? A six year old defeated the Pollution Princess!"
"Did he now? Hard to believe, but I guess this destined hero thing is true!"
"Man, that Peter boy got some prospects before him! He'll save Mondor, fer sure!"
Rumors floated about in the small town of Bloomington, as men and women alike went about their busy day. It was odd how the sun shined down on them, piercing through the clouds of smog and greeting the green, green town. The villagers would be proud to say that they were one of the few towns that was able to stick to their roots, because none of those machina guys paid them a visit. Farming was a huge priority here, as they were the center of agriculture for those cities that weren't so lucky. They were never out of work, and they were damn glad for that! None of that stuffy factory business, no sirree!
Listening to these rumors was a young lady, black braid of hair tossed over her shoulder as she put pen to paper.
"Peter of Tinsdale, aged six as of now, weakened the Princess of Pollution, hereinafter named Petra, and watched as she choked on her own blood, endquote."
She took a look at what she wrote and frowned, crossing it out hastily and scrunching up her nose.
"No, no... Young Boy Slays Petra for Peace of Mind!"
Scrrriiiitch.
"Ugh... How about 'SUPER CHILD DISMANTLES DAME OF DESTRUCTION'- Wait, that's a completely different noble, darn!"
She rips out the paper entirely, crushes it into a ball, and tosses it in a bucket full of other paper balls. With a groan, she flops over into the grass, staring at the mostly grayish-blue skies.
"Nothing sounds right," she complained, wiping the sweat off her brow. "And all this based on rumors rather than fact! If I want to eventually become a historian, this won't do! I'm not a gossip bookwriter."
She rolls over onto her side, at the expense of getting dirt all over her green dress.
"But everybody is claiming it as truth. A six year old went and offed Petra. Petra, a ruthless princess who always thought one step ahead. Petra, who had millions of bodyguards. Petra, who... supposedly started getting sick a year or two ago, hold on..."
The girl stood up and dusted herself off before running into a small little library and pulling up one of the archived newspapers. She thanked the heavens that someone cared enough to keep this on record. It's not like anybody really cared about history these days, at least not in this village. Sure, they had their little festivals about the First Founding and First Blooming and the traditional Stuff Yourself Silly contest on the first day of summer, as well as the Fountain Choosing, but aside from that, you don't really hear anybody talk about the old wars, the old heroes, or anything, really. It's just a hot topic for a day or two at most before poof, it's all gone.
As she took the pile of papers back outside, she wished that maybe others would care about their heritage and history a little more. She'd have to work hard and study up on becoming a historian, though. She would record every last hero, every last event, or her name wasn't Janet Kingston!
Janet opened up the bundles of papers and scanned through them.
"'Farmer Ernie won contest for Best Pet $%!* 2012', 'Sid the Sluggish complains of back pains, 'Lady Nadia claims to have the 'biggest bundle' a woman could ever have, much to the jealousy of the court...' Aha! 'Petra Ill? Pollution Princess Complains of Pains.' "
Giggling like mad, the reporter takes notes on the article.
"Okay, she said the pains started earlier... then she started feeling more and more tired as the year went on. Peter would have been..."
She counts on her fingers and stares.
"...Five. So uh, he was still burbbling and playing with plastic, I think."
She wraps a finger around a blade of grass and holds it tight. The grass began to grow, grow, grow, until it was long enough to wrap around the length of her arm. She takes a look at the other articles from later on in the year, hoping to find some sort of pattern.
"This here talks about her pains getting worse, but not much else... bah. This one talks about how she developed some nasty coughs... Eh. Oooh, this one!" She places her finger on an article that was rather small, as if it were an afterthought. She was convinced she struck gold, though.
"Petra started consulting her Court Magician, Hansel Rivendale, for help," the reporter told herself excitedly, laying down on her back and wriggling her feet in the air. "He agreed, and that was history! Then she started getting more ill and now she keeled over to that Peter kid! So if you take in all the facts together..."
She picked up her notebook and pen, scribbling down her notes as a grin spread across her face. When it all came together, she jumped to her feet, swinging her notebook round and round.
"Peter couldn't have possibly done this on his own, especially if he was six! Petra was poisoned, so he had an advantage! And who better to poison her than her medical advisor, Hansel?"
Villagers stopped their business to stare at her like she was crazy. They exchanged glances and made gestures to suggest that maybe she flew off her rocker. Only one was bold enough to face her: a young man with big, buck teeth and scraggly brown hair.
"That's where yer wrong, Janey!" he said with a smirk. "It had to be young lil' Peter doin' the work! Princess died at his feet!"
Janet glared at the man and retorted, "If your wife died at your feet, does that mean you killed her? I'd hope not, because you'd be strung up like a hog."
"That don't mean nothin'! Lil Pete's the chosen one! Who else coulda done it?"
"Oh, I don't know... someone else who hated her guts? Like her court magician, Hansel?"
"Hans-wut?"
More stares. Janet's cheeks flushed red. She was getting nowhere, fast. She had to take a different route...
"Do you have any solid proof that Peter, a six year old and probably a novice at fighting a slime, nevermind a Princess who was known for being ruthless, actually did it?" she asked, smirking right back. That would take care of it!
Silence. The man turned to the other villagers and they whispered among themselves before he turned back towards the historian.
"The Prophecy, 'o course!" he replied. The crowd repeated it like a bunch of parrots.
There went her ace in the hole. Annoyed, Janet stormed off, leaving the crowd to babble on and on about the prophecy.
----------------
"Nobody will listen."
Janet sat far, far away from the village. In fact, she sat on the edge of a fountain, standing high above the clouds, aura-like waters flowing from its spout. Her feet dangled off the edge, kicking up cloud puffs as she drummed her fingers on her cheek.
"Nobody will listen," she repeated. "The facts, however small they are, are right there... Whoever heard of a six year old defeating a princess?"
They have, of course, a disembodied voice replied helpfully.
"Yeah, but it's from this Prophecy... how do we know if it's really true? For all we know, the Princess dying at his feet could have been a coincidence."
Perhaps. But they believe. And belief makes it true to them.
"I wish I could believe their little fantasy. Oh yes, would be quite nice for a child to slay half the continent's troubles."
He has slain a few kings. Not very gracefully, but it was done. He has quite some courage and power... traits of a hero.
"But he wasn't responsible for this feat of heroism!" she yelled, spit flying from her lips. "No child could ever get close to the Princess to poison her and weaken her enough for the final blow! He probably doesn't even know what poison is! Besides, poison, in a kid's eyes, probably isn't a very heroic way of killing a villain!"
How unbecoming of you, Fountain Shaman. I thought you were more cool-headed than this.
With a few deep breaths, the woman calmed herself, letting the rage flow right out of her. She sighed, resting her hands on her chin, disappointed.
"It's just so sad, that everybody's so convinced a kid won the day. Yes, he did, but not without help. And that help isn't being recognized."
History is written by the victors. And the victors remember no such name as Hansel Rivendale.
"Thank you kindly, Gaea," she replied bitterly. "I'll be sure to remember that. Now, though... does he have any intention of doing anything else that's remotely heroic?"
To my knowledge, no. He is currently celebrating with his family. Troy reports more factories being built and the Monarch intending to replace the late Petra with another princess within the next few years.
The woman grit her teeth.
"I can't just sit here and let this happen, can I? My abilities are going to waste here, especially since the area is doing well on its own. It's better if I can use them to revitalize an area that's half rotted or something! Gaea, can't you please give me an idea of where to go?"
The spirit was silent as could be. Silent for several minutes. Janet held her hands together and waited with baited breath.
And thus, the spirit Gaea finally spoke, There is one place where your aid would be needed.
And she whispered it in the shaman's ear, her plan.
Janet's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets from shock.
"You want me to WHAT?!?"
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