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Post by Arlette Noir on Apr 24, 2023 20:35:21 GMT -5
Stargazer Field. There are many beautiful places in Charon: the peaks of Frost Gale, the westward of the Luna Sea during sunset the towers of Sol City and even the rustic fields of King's Valley. But there's just something about Moonglade that puts the rest to shame. Even in its simplest, most barren spaces, Moonglade posses an ephemeral beauty that enraptures all the senses. As Arlette walks it through, she can see the strangest little creatures dancing amidst the hills; she can hears the songs of birds that've never graced her ears, and even the faint giggles of things unseen; she can feel the long blades of grass on her fingers, as she glides them across; she can taste the faintest of dews in the air; and she can smell...
...Actually, the smell isn't great. But she knows why; if the map she bought in Eclipse City is any indication, there should be a farm coming up, not long down the trail. And indeed, this smell is the smell of a farm coming up, no long down the trail.
As she passes a rounded mound, she can see it atop a verdant hill. The first thing she sees is a triangular rooftop, jutting over fences that outline the hill's plateaued perimeter. And here's the source of the smell, contained within the pen: cows. But not just any cows; they're a unique breed whose name escapes Arlette's mind, sporting clusters of toadstool-like mushrooms on its back. She can't imagine why anybody would herd such animals, but she supposes somebody must.
Other than this, it's a quiet abode; the only sounds she can hear are those crunches of gravel underneath her feet. That is, until she hears two voices; and, in fact, she thinks she can see two figures just outside the pen.
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Post by Emil Arneson on Apr 24, 2023 21:03:12 GMT -5
Half an hour earlier. Same place. Emil got out of the carriage and stretched. A wide yawn distorted his face, framed with his auburn beard and unkempt hair, making him look like a ferocious lion. His body ached due to the long journey across Charon, the bumpy roads actually reminded him of his childhood years and countless nights spent in the barn with only pots and pans for a pillow. Not the best memory if you asked him. He wiped the sudden tears caused by yawning to hard and focused on the view around him. He spoted a low greyish house in the distance surrounded by the barns. 'Ahh...as if I've never left..just like back home' -the thought was not particularly unpleasant. So, Emil started in the direction of the farm with a little spring in his step. He was even whistling a little tune of his own making. He's here for an important business. It's now or never. That day's deal might have gotten him an order that can secure his future after all. 'The secret family recipy. Wait for me" - he muttered to himself and closed his eyes for a second, resolving himself for what was coming.
Soon enough a robust rosy-cheeked farmer walked out of the barn and waved his hand in a greeting. He looked a bit preoccupied , but quickly hid it behind the polite smile. He stretched his hand and vigorously shook it three times before letting go."So you've arrived, Mr. Arneson! Hope the trip was nice, eh? Not too many visitors we have here.... But, oh, where are my manners, please follow me! You are hungry aren't you?" "Never mind sir, I'm really fine, really. The air and...uh...everything is very nice here! Before that, can I take a look at the cows?" That's when the farmers face suddenly changed color and got covered with multiple little bids of sweat.
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Post by Arlette Noir on Apr 24, 2023 21:22:11 GMT -5
'Hm...' For some reason, it comes as strange to her, seeing these two talking outside the farm. One of them is clearly the owner, dressed in dirty overs and built for days beneath the sun. The other one, though, seems more built for crushing watermelons between his thighs; a goliath of a man, yet dressed like he's ready to bake for a party. If so, Arlette wouldn't mind knowing where this party is, seeing as there's nothing around for several miles in any direction -- nothing but this farm.
...But really, they're just talking. There doesn't seem to be anything unusual or illicit. Really, the fact that it caught Arlette's eye at all is moreso a testament to how drab this journey has been thus far, and how dull it will continue to be. She lets out a sigh, silently lamenting it all.
But it's then that she notices something. At the gate of the pen, one of the mushroom-cows is rubbing its head against the gate in a peculiar way. It doesn't seem agitated, or like it's scratching an itch; it's hard to tell what exactly it's doing. Arlette's knowledge of livestock is limited -- but they aren't supposed to do that, are they?
But then the truth of the cattle's scheme reveals itself in a dreadful moment. The fovine mastermind just manages to hook its horn around the bar that keeps the gate closed, and raises up! The bar is released from its hold, and clatters to the ground. The gate swings open, and...
It's actually less terrifying, and more sad to watch. The cows don't stampede or anything so dramatic; instead, as if they're strolling through the park on a Sunday evening, they just walk through the now-open gate one-by-one. The farmer is clearly mortified by the development, but has very little he can do to stop the moseying herd...
...
Should she really bother...?
She probably should...
"Sigh"
Resigning herself to an evening of trivial labour, Arlette ascends the short, but steep slope that brings her to the hilltop where the baker and farmer stand. She weaves delicately between the cows (they aren't much of an obstacle) until she stands before them. She should probably look them in the eyes, but she just can't look away from the sad sight of gradually fleeing livestock.
"...Apologies. I was just travelling down the trail, and saw... this. Could I be of any help?"
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Post by Emil Arneson on Apr 24, 2023 21:40:29 GMT -5
Emil gets startled upon suddenly hearing a cool voice behind him. He turns around and faces the newcomer. He sees a tall lady dressed to kill (and maybe she was). She climbs the hill, shockingly not even out of her breath at all! That mesmerizes Emil to no end and he just stands there gawking not saying a word. It's the farmer who comes to his aide, battling the awkwardness of the situation:"Ah, hello, young lady! Ehhhh....eh? Catch 'em, hey boy.....run run!" - he suddenly gets agitated and waves his hands trying to catch the nearest animal. He does a bad job, 'cause the cow instantly jumps and..heavens save them!...releases a distinct smell, strong enough to make the armies flee. The farmer's face turns red and he starts coughing rolling his eyes. Emil snaps out of his awe-like stupor and finds it really hard to combat the wave of sickness that befalls him. His eyes are watering and only seconds later the hulky giant of a man crumbles to the ground crying like a baby. The agitation of one cow cpecimen turns out to be viral, the other cows start shifting nervously, ready to defend themselves if needed. Emil wipes his tears with the outer side of his palm and attempts to stand up. He cannot let this chance to finally get his hands on some mushroom cow meat slip through his fingers just like that. He's finally standing, straining his brain over just how should he address the problem they are facing now.
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Post by Arlette Noir on Apr 24, 2023 21:57:16 GMT -5
...Well, Arlette wasn't expecting it to go bad *that* quickly. In what feels like less than ten seconds, the farmer has already managed to aggravate one of the cows, only to receive a point-blank blast of something that smells absolutely foul -- the same stench as before, but concentrated into a blast so focused and potent that it could knock a lesser man unconscious. Fortunately, the farmer is not a lesser man; instead of being knocked unconscious, he bravely crawls on his hands and knees away, climbing to the safety of his porch.
Arlette can't judge; she isn't much luckier. It's one of the most vile things she's ever smelt. Even through her mask, she finds herself coughing and wrenching in every attempt bodily possible to get this toxin out of her system. She has to step away for a great moment.
"Lu- cough! Lunala above, why do you heard these damnable things?!"
Alas, the farmer is unable to answer. He's preoccupied with being at the very edge of consciousness, looking up and probably experiencing some sort of high.
"Damned imbecile- cough!"
Arlette endeavours to her feet. For once, when she's so debilitated by stench, her walking stick can actually serve its purpose. With the stench mostly clearing, she steps toward the bulky baker-looking person, who's just stood after a particularly noxious exposure.
"You, tall one. Are you well?" It's a rhetorical question, after seeing what he went through. She doesn't envy the poor man.
The man lets out a hearty cough that's somehow still laced with thick accenting. "Nice weather, ain't it!"
"..." Alright, then. Arlette supposes that means he's okay. 'Delirious' is better than 'unconscious.'
But still, they have this great batch of fungal cows to deal with... How in Charon are they to deal with this? How would a farmer normally do it...?
Well, perhaps that isn't the question to ask, seeing as the farmer is now lying on his porch, staring straight up at the sky.
But how should *they* do it? Obviously forcing the cows in didn't work... So what if they made the cows *want* to go back in?
And then an idea occurs to her, and she turns to the baker-man again.
"Baker-Man. Allow me to rephrase my question: are you well enough to bake a pie?"
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Post by Emil Arneson on Apr 24, 2023 23:36:01 GMT -5
His fist reaction is wave of prideful astonishment: 'What is the lass even sayin'? What does she mean if I am well enough to bake a pie! I shuirly am! Don't go look down on me only 'cause you are all that!' - he huffs and he puffs, his righteous anger ready to spill over, and then it dawns on him just how strange the question is. 'Wait, is she for real? Did the bonnie suddenly got faimish?'. Being taken aback by the sudden request, he slowly nods: "Yes, I can. Bake that is. Are we talkin' Now? And...a pie? Ah, darn it, lassie, you must be starvin'! I had a bagel on me. Weir was it? Should be somewhere here...Ah!" - he rummages through the big pocket of his apron and fishes out a bagel. The bagel looks a bit weathered, but is still soft enough and good to go. He hands it out to the young woman in front of him. 'Tssk, look at her! All bones, aint she! Those city folk only know how to diet, huh!'
This simple action, however, causes an unexpected result: nevermind the lady warrior, the ones that are most interested in the offering are actually the cows. They move their big bovine snouts towards the treat and moo their approval. "..." The reaction gives him goosebumps for some reason. Not sure what to do next, he freezes up with his hand outstretched. The only part of him that moves is his eyes darting back and forth from the woman to the cows and back.
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Post by Arlette Noir on Apr 25, 2023 0:52:51 GMT -5
...Well, it isn't a pie, but it should work well enough. The cows certainly seem to think so.
Without so much as asking, Arlette deftly snatches the bagel out of Emil's hand. Immediately, all fovine eyes are on her. And she doesn't do anything to deter them; she holds the precious bagel up like some sort of trophy.
"Yes, yes. Come along... whatever you're called." she murmurs as she circles around the herd. Their eyes really are quite strange; but she stays the course. Fortunately, while the cows may be easily startled (and apparently somewhat clever!), they are far from aggressive. They follow along, staring up at the precious bagel -- even as she back treads right through the gate, and into the pen.
"Not that clever, are you?" The opportunity to jeer without being understood is not one she'll pass up.
She does her best to watch her step as she walks backward through the well-trodden pen. The ground is smooth and barren, and it isn't difficult to see why; every one of the cattle's steps is heavy on the soil. One by one, they funnel in, each hoping to get at least one bite of that precious pastry. Just a few more.
But then...
"Drat." She looks up to see one of the cows, lagging at the back. It doesn't seem to be taking the bait. In fact, it seems rather fascinated by Emil.
She shoots the baker a glare, although knowing he wouldn't see it behind her mask. All she can do is silently will him to have some sort of plan...
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Post by Emil Arneson on Apr 25, 2023 1:24:52 GMT -5
Overrun by fear, Emil finds himself at loss, yet, thankfully, the bagel ia snatched by a gloved hand and carried into the pen. 'huh?!? Is she planning to eat it...there?' - the thought somehow stirs him up and he snaps out of his shock. He quietly observes how the cows follow the tall hooded figure into the pen, obediently, as if being charmed. He slowly breathes out, it seems he misunderstood. Probably, it's not that she was hungry, but rather she had a plan. Emil's face starts glowing with understanding, he feels relieved and is about to say something, when, all of a sudden, one of the mushroom cows stops on its tracks. It sways its large somewhat spongy head stubbornly and refuses to budge. 'What now? Should I nudge it somehow?' - he doesn't want to risk it though, the memory of the sneaky fovine attack still fresh in his nostrils. Seconds pass, slowly, Emil gets a chilling feeling he has to do something. He stares at his hand, still outstretched and empty. And that's when he comes up with an idea. Although it might be strange, but what if..what if this particular cow has some special preferrences? Emil tries to recall al the cows he has seen so far, all of them valtz through his memory as a series of pictures. And all of them without exception are chewing on some sort of grass. There. He's got his 'eureka' moment. Now, what can he fetch in terms of ingredients. He scratches his head, hen nods and turns to the stubborn fovine: "Fret not, I'm going to whip something up real quick". With this he departs in the direction of the farm house, where the farmer's dazed body is still lying on the rough desk floor.
For Emil, time spent while baking trully flies. Which probably cannot be said about the rest of his new friends still waiting outside. Suddenly the door swings open, and Emil steps outside, seemingly overflowing with pride. He strides towards the pen with a lonely figure trapped in the middle of it. Then he fixes his eyes on the remaining cow and tries to be as persuasive as possible: "Here, try it. I bet you'll get addicted". Then he waves the *red clover steam bun special* right in front of the snout and step by sep lures him in. The cow follows, cautiously sniffing the air. Emil's heart pounds with anxiety: what they don't make it? what if the bun is not that good? he didn't have all that he needed - no cinnamon, no brown sugar, no citrus after all! But, luckily, the cow gets half-way over the threshhold and soon safely into the pen. Worried that he might agitate the cow by making it wait any longer, Emil carefully places the bun on the ground, turns around and signals to the lady: let's retreat. As carefully as he stepped inside, he makes his way around the big red and white bodies of the mushroom cows. He holds his breath until the moment they are outside.
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Post by Arlette Noir on May 5, 2023 21:30:44 GMT -5
Arlette lost track of time after about twenty minutes.
There are few scenarios so truly emblematic of misery as to be standing in the corner of a foul-smelling pen that's full of fungal cows that are all staring at her with rafflesiac petals. Their lack of aggression is a boon indeed, as they all simply stand and stare at the bagel in Arlette's outstretched hand. But that doesn't do anything to stifle their foul stench, nor the oppressive heat that comes from being in a practical cage full of atrocious beasts. And not to mention how tired her arm is becoming after holding her arm directly upward for so long. Every once in a while, she looks to the left, through the house's window; but all she sees is that baker's smiling face. Is he humming? Humming to himself, as she stands in a smog of stench and suffering? Arlette can't believe it. It must've been a half-hour now -- a half hour of stench, and heat, and slowly blinking eyes, and MOOO. And any second, she could leave; any second, she could cut her losses, hop the fence and leave this fungal fiasco far behind her.
But no. A Knight of the Full Moon does not falter: not for corsairs, not for cultists, and not for cattle. She stands tall, and she stands stoic. If she has to, she will hold her arm aloft until her nails chip away and her muscles atrophy into nothingness, until her bones turn to stone and her skin becomes brittle. She will stand until the moon becomes new and then full and then new again. She will not surrender to evil.
...
...
...
'When is that damned baker coming out?!'
Her question would not be answered for another ten minutes. Only then does the door burst open, and she's greeted with a face that she can't discern whether to interpret as that of the demon who trapped her here for so long or as that of the angel who's come to deliver her from this penitent trial. Either way, she is relieved by the sight, expressed in a breath that combines the bitterer aspects of a groan and a sigh.
"At long last!" she exclaims, though still quietly. "Lure it inside so we can be done with this all!"
It is strange how she became so resilient to the passing seconds as they turned to minutes. But now that they are seconds once more, watching as the baker slowly brings the cow into the pen and (by Arlette's perspective) takes his time in placing the pie on the ground, they are every one an agony. As soon as he steps outside, she wastes not a second longer; she unceremoniously drops the bagel in front of her, hops over the fence, runs to the front and pushes the gate closed with all her might. by the time she is finished, all the cows are secured within the pen once more; she replaces the bar to seal it shut, and then slouches down, panting.
"Lunala's light!" she cries in cathartic dismay. "I don't know who you are, baker, but I can't know if I should be slapping you or kissing you! Do you not realize that these are cows? They wouldn't have complained if the pie was just a little underdone!"
Many seconds pass for her to catch her breath properly.
"Oh, but forget it! I haven't the energy to do either."
One last, long exhalation, and she slowly rises to her feet. And she isn't the only one; the farmer walks over, wearing an elated expression. He limps for whatever reason, as if the cow's stench had done him physical injury.
"You've done it! Heavens, you're both lifesavers! What can I ever do to-"
"A bed. And with the best pillows you have." Arlette demands without a shred of hesitation. After all, she's had very nearly an hour to think about precisely what she wants -- precisely why she now points an accusatory finger at Emil. "And you! You're making another pie. And not for the cows."
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