Malicious idle prattle and kicking up a stink. To their cargo drags themselves and the foods back to the event out upon the villages still carrying foods for the people.

Coming from the south, farmers cannot count their heads as well as it cannot be counted for fingers. Lordaezal City, the southern part of Aluthea where ice and fire clash its hazes during their twenty-four-hour period of breaking their own backs for living, not for them alone but their grazed horses even now and then has the same sufferings as the farmers.

Maverik Yatar together with his wife and fellow farmer on a cargo wheeling the masses, still in the sense of the knobbly Fusion road a few miles before Lordaeral [https://img.wattpad.com/566b9e1efbdaf422b3a85ed7713a89f126a80a32/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f54323049347957366262765658673d3d2d313131323737353033342e313639396130396337653138336666313338333539373434303634372e6a7067?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]

Maverik Yatar together with his wife and fellow farmer on a cargo wheeling the masses, still in the sense of the knobbly Fusion road a few miles before Lordaeral. Hugged by warmth into the close proximity of morning sickness, fail to remember a good slumber on that cold morning. Many farmers are ahead within the wagons of goods, the last are them.

Maverik: These people eat like our horses, damn.

Ritchler: But for us, we can't even get a sack.

Day after day, before the scintillating sunny day they're stacking the hays on their farms, not by a hair's breadth, the South gathers everything. Livestock and Foods or goods being sent for the North for them to eat and keeping in reserve belonging to them. At their moment, neither darkness now surrounds them except their minds thronging with nastiness towards the high one. The severe blowing wind hit their faces, long distance between cart to cart in line thus the voices are not for all to hear.

Ritchler: What a pity, all we can eat is a single corn.

Maverik's friend, Ritchler, giving utterance to the disappointment. His drooping black hair with sweat beneath his farmer hat he mounted beside him, exposed black pustules on his face out from his day-to-day back and forth conflict with the demon called stress. Before the break of the day, none shall be traveling at the land of nod thus needed to be picking fruits or growing crops for the Northern cities; wealthy land like a world dungeon of raining gold.

Maverik: Well my friend, we can't do anything about it really.

Maverik drinking from his waterskin made out of goat and passed it to his wife, Irene Yatar of Family Cazicle, but then again, Ritchler running his mouth still.

Ritchler: They gave forces, we don't. We're just living peacefully with animals we caretake. Them, wolfing down like never ate for a week. Drinking wine...ales...precious like it came from the Gods. When our drinking water so less at the point we have no other choice but to drink a puddle water...damn them.

A long deep breath and shaking one's head of shame.

Maverik: It's a shame but they're the rulers, look at us, we have a farm. Man, just thank yourself that you're living. But hey? If you want to rule just tell them! Well, you're a fighter I can tell so maybe you can take a hand on one of these...Shakars, Knighthood, Archery, Pike and Halberdier, Shagatar City right? The south! So why not take the forces in regards to the Dragon's mouth.

Talks and jokes from Ritchler's back while he leads the horse, counting with his fingers. He can hear the smirks behind him, the smile or laugh he never see at the moment, from shame to laughter to anger all in one speak,

Ritchler: Screw that, if I can just do that all in one life of mine then I will be the best ruler in this realm let me tell you. Kidding aside, so what!? We don't have the nakilaes like them whereas we are the one feeding their greedy mouths with veggies and meats. We're letting them drink the finest grape wine we're crushing.

Let alone them talking all along the alone sun slowly rising, rising their voice on every aspect of open rants about Aluthea Feudalism. Farmers' words are neglected, every so often by the castle men including the council, a word never heard among more so at the hidden like them. Maverik's eyes, red like his reeking crossness it sees abomination among the ruler's actions but keeping himself calm and free from vanity. Reality slapped his rubbish mouth with grim sadness.

Maverik: You see fam, they try to make the best out of this kingdom they say, look at that, all burnt and non even the high lords wanted to clean it, nothing to do anything about it, corpses laying around and crap. My Father, was there. A message was sent. I never knew anything about pigeons at the age of eight. Shit's never been settled out my head, turning my parents into ashes, damn them.

Ritchler: I'm sorry to hear that.

Maverik: No...no, i'm trying to forget that. For me, those are the damn people, it's their fault and i also think they're behind this chaos.

Pointing out the eastward, countless indeed. The horrible remains they see it lying down, leafless trees more like lifeless standing charcoals from the burns it dealt. Black as it seems to be a cobble oven, embers still alight as it happened a day ago, and to the furthest extent of the eyes is a field covered with cinders of the past. Enchantment forest they call it, now it was an aftermath of chaos be the cause of the unknown ending the happiness it brings. Regardless of the breeze, the smell of burnt woods and few remains shells the noses; stinks.

Never knew, Never revealed, but in the book where everyone knows, reading it is unmistakable [https://img.wattpad.com/61e97a23ecb59363de97d7c689621e17e82f623b/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f77677366335744346650524f45773d3d2d313131323737353033342e313639396130623264393564636336643231323938313039353131322e6a7067?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]

Never knew, Never revealed, but in the book where everyone knows, reading it is unmistakable. The book of knowledge is kept hidden, never a name is heard about it. The book where there engraved the gloss of truth is committed on its sodden paper that nobody is having their hands touch it because it was never known or seen, ever. It'll maybe just be a myth, a legend, or just somewhere in their minds playing games at them spreading something magical that is never printed at the chapter of truth.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Maverik: Trails like it's miles away, no doubt. I still wonder what just happened here. But atleast, we're never dirty like them.

Maverik wondered while he gapes upon the restless scorched wasteland from their muddy soft spot grounds beside it. Healthy shrub on the left, dreadful and withered one on the right, withered like a wandering ghost.

Ritchler: I guess you're sleeping that time or maybe not come across a single pigeon. Ask your wife, maybe she knows it.

Maverik looked at his wife in front of him, the peer on those gorgeous green eyes made him smile forgetting his question to all intents and purposes. Recalling the words after their marriage. Her eyes glitter with tenderness, that smile, a sweet one, and a hand matches with mine.

Irene: I never knew my love.

A delightful tone but a bitter answer, he badly wanted to know it. Well, I guess the both of you are having a great time in bed. She kept her caring while his friend talks, not by the look of her sturdy dirty dress as a result of the farm works but by loving care she gave to her lover and her complexion as white as a milk, not even a dirt can fade it away. She collected her thoughts, tired can't block it elsewhere.

Irene: We came here in this road of course, coming across this mess is really a letdown for us, and...disappointment on ourselves. We are part of this country so we must know everything about it, it's a responsibility, even a single calamity, and tragedy, like this.

Irene groused, from her soft pink sweet lips came out another sword-sharp answer. He was calm like the beauty she stated.

Ritchler: What I'm upset about you know, they didn't clean up the mess in here, believe it or not, they're still stuffing their faces with richness but can't fix up the road jumble that the south suffers. Having a great time but nor a penny we receive, but at least our palace is clean. We're responsible than them, not shedding a single blood, we're showing mercy.

We're responsible than them, not shedding a single blood, we're showing mercy [https://img.wattpad.com/fa6986596701ca47ee73e22ebc7ce6b1b6c2f741/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f697a304d715f35376e7163556f413d3d2d313131323737353033342e313639396130613763646131356637353238393930373239353735392e6a7067?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]

OY! MOVE FASTER!

An outrageous loud voice interrupted their head-to-head chatting, banners, and proud pennons within the column of patronage behind them. Erected spear drawing the winds and barbarous clank of panoply heavy metal coverings as they rode up and down the meadow. Pride turn to ego, that is how the south sees it. Swords, Crossbows, Bows in their hand and spear above the sky is all they can see behind them whenever they're going for a trip to the north as if there is always a horde of ignoble serpent tail at the back of odalisques and blackbirds, forgotten.

Sir Aagaron: Hey! King Agarino II is having a new heir remember? Will you really let the new living ruler be ashamed!?

Aagaron of the Castleguards screamed at them, nothing more but showing ego on his title cutting them at the left of the road. Riding a day ago also tired as well as the farmers, bearing a sheathing of ample build steel than a brown wet fabric. In the absence of the expected shade of high regard varnish his pride copper chest plate, tassets and bulk helm covering his terror collides him.

Sir Aagaron: Ride faster you fools! Last in line and slacking off, looks like the horseshoes aren't clean enough eh? Ahhh, what a tongue-tied fuckers. What are your names!?

Not talking, aphonic gracelessness surrounds the fading blue morning sky. Aagaron asked him enraged, ear-shattering dire voice shuddering.

Ritchler: Maverik and Irene at the wagon, the Farmers. Mine is Ritchler a farmer and also a herdsman.

Nothing came up next but a stare of dishonor to the knights that leads them to Lordaeral Arena abutting the wasteland. They can see it, the castle glowing in the secret of the darkness of the vanishing night sky, unilluminated, be suffused with spark by a spark of dragon's breath a top of the Castle's Summit. This is magnificent, Irene on her seat she stands by surprise, three of them eyes wide as it came forth the sockets forgetting the stern faces of the men, they have never seen a dragon ever before. Scorches of cold flames of a white-blue shade, red like the lava of ember breath set alight the sandstone arena.

Knight: Oh here we are before we leave to lead another...you got some food?

A castle guard squeeze in the broke of their little argument. He sounds cocky for a swordsman, while walking up the fruitful wagon and picking up sack by sack. The smell of freshly picked apples, grapes, quinces, and peaches made the men in iron sound with pleasure as they munch down the meat and juices of food.

Leg by leg of salted smoked turkey and rabbit legs dripping in warm grease he saw, not taking a bite of the Wheat and Maslin bread fresh from the oven of Selizel, taking one and pass it for the men, not at all be found by the faces a shift of remorse. Flocking together the sympathy of Maverik as one of the sworn farmers to carry people's hungry stomachs during an important event, no more last silence.

It was very kind of you.

Ritchler: That is for the people of the north, we deliver this to them, and we don't have a...

Sir Aagaron: What do you think of us boy? From the south like you? We eat like used to in the north so piss off, we're hungry and we need to eat.

The line leader with a sword in his hands stared blankly, enjoying a morning breakfast from his black glove-drawn hands.

Ritchler: And so we are.

Sir Aagaron: No, no, don't you dare talk again. Go to Lordaeral with the stuff you picked yes? If they ask why it's not exact, come up with any reason but not by us or we will put your head on a spike. Do you understand that? The drawbridge is near it see? You can see it, look, our men. See it with your bare eyes if you're stupid enough to never know. Just go there, you know what to do.

A hot fire mess from a messed up man of honor while chumbling a loaf of bread on his heated mouth, plastered by courage and prayed by vows he never is dutiful to commit. The farmers can't do anything but weep inside their emotions while an omission where never a price atop of their heads is planted.

As sworn to their duty and prayed to earn, for the right price, they'll do anything but not what they expected. Heading back to the tail of the trail, leading other wagons for the labor trip, hear the wheezing, laughing, and chuckles riding back off the map. Incapable of talking to the horseman castle guards of the north, Ritchler is currently stunned by what happened.

Rithcler: Now what!? They got what they wanted then we earn fuck all! What a bunch of fucking northern cunts! We work our ass of before morning then this? We can't even get a plenty of penny for our living.

He pledge oneself to bring it whole, almost half of the foods are taken by the guards and so the wages are going to be half as they earn; few give, few receive. Nothing will turn up better if they answer like this in front of them, life will be the debt.

Maverik: Hey, they are waiting for us we need to move before it starts, you need to calm down. We will talk about that later. The council will settle this.

He whispered like a vengeful Ghost, not ready to die, keeping the heat after him, after his heart, the heat where he must fight for wealth and poverty of the boundaries. There should be blood on their golds.