thethemeis: Shiny Happy People
theauthoris: LiamD
A very long time ago, in a distant land, there existed the beautiful Kingdom of Rosaria. It was a land so rich and alive in exotic plant life and so calm and peaceful, that the Rosarians were given the nickname the Shiny Happy People by outsiders. In the extensive annals of its rich history, no serious warfare or disease had ever disrupted the serene tranquillity that was Rosarian life. Many of the neighbouring towns and villages saw the kingdom as a kind of heaven on Earth, a Shangri-La unreasonably existing in the midst of a violent, undeveloped world.
Of course, every society has its secrets. While the outsiders may not have believed it, the Kingdom of Rosaria had many.
Victor knew it was a bad idea. From the very beginning, the sheer impetuousity of the plan had given him a nauseous feeling deep in his gut. But realistically, what could he do? As an unhappy Outcast Of Rosaria, Victor had nowhere else to go. Attempting to survive alone here would be just as suicidal as a lone journey to the nearest village of Tahon. Even if the other outcasts were kind enough to spare him a mule, there could be no guarantee he'd make it to Tahon before his rapidly diminishing personal supplies ran out completely. So when Richard Balk, the leader of their small band of outcasts, had declared that they would kidnap her royal highness the Princess Imara and demand to be accepted back into the Kingdom as ransom, Victor saw little choice but to go along with it.
To Richard's credit the plan had gone off without a hitch. The night watch of Rosaria were surprisingly few, the kidnapping party encountering no more than four guards between the kingdom's walls and the castle. Once inside the castle, the blow-darts coated with Richard's own non-lethal concoction of Devil's Thorn and various opiates worked their magic quickly on the unsuspecting watchmen. The same darts silenced the brief protestations of Imara herself:
'Pas ça, s'il vous plaît! Vous faites une terrible erreur! Nous sommes les gens rayonnan...'
Victor caught her as she fell, the warmth of her body an appreciated contrast to his cold hands. Les gens rayonnantes de bonheur – the Rosarian tongue for the Shiny Happy People. A professional linguist may have found the literal translation interesting but there were very few outsiders left who could speak even a basic level of Rosarian. Victor certainly wasn't one of them and thought no more on the subject. Perhaps if he had known more, he would have understood the magnitude of their plan's foolishness.
In his own, humble opinion, Victor had done nothing wrong during his brief time in the Kingdom. Journeying more than one and a half thousand miles, it had taken him the best part of a month to reach Rosaria from his homeland of Stavrich. The journey itself wasn't helped by the unpredictable attitude and regular disobedience of Gunther, his horse that he had reared personally, if unsuccessfully. Unfortunately for Victor (or perhaps not), Gunther had collapsed without warning with a little over one hundred miles to go. There was no question when Victor later placed his fingers underneath the left side of Gunther's jaw – no pulse, the horse was dead. The final stages of Victor's journey were faced alone.
Upon arrival in Rosaria, Victor rested his weary legs at the first tavern he could find. But no sooner had he asked for a cup of water to hydrate his dried throat than the barman began begging him to leave the town, in heavily accented language Victor could only partly understand.
'...you cannot be 'ere, you are not one of us! We are les gens ray...'
'I know who you are!' Victor had eventually interrupted. 'That is why I have come. My land of Stavrich is an unhappy, war torn place. There is no life for me there. I seek refuge in your peaceful kingdom.'
'Non! You cannot be 'ere! We will not be safe!' The man was inconsolable. Victor came to find that all the Rosarians would react to his presence in this way. It was not long before word of his arrival had spread from the streets to the castle and within three days Victor had found himself in possession of a letter informing him of his official exile by royal decree. Shocked and confused, he had been escorted outside the kingdom walls and left to wander the land alone.
He had not been wandering for long when he met Richard and his small group of outcasts. Immediately sympathetic to his situation, they had accepted Victor without much question. In conversation with Eric, a fellow traveller and outcast from the northern town of Takheim, Victor had learned that the outcasts' previous attempts to reconcile with the Kingdom peacefully had fallen on deaf ears. They had been forced to plan something big. Something that would give the Rosarians no choice but to respond to their pleas.
'It is not too late to turn back, Richard. No good will come of this!' In the morning following the night of the kidnapping, Victor was feeling more nervous than ever.
'I think we both know it's far too late Vic.' Richard replied, patiently carrying the unconscious princess over his shoulder. 'I can see why you might be worried though, she's been out for much longer than she should have been. She's a hell of a lot colder than she was last night too. Hope she's not dead - they'd never let us back in!'.
He howled with laughter, slapping Victor on the back as they journeyed towards camp. 'Just chill the fuck out Vicky-boy! I coated the darts myself and tested them on Bill, they won't kill anyone. Stop worrying!'
But by the time night had fallen Victor was still worried; something was wrong. In the twenty hours since their successful escape from the kingdom there had been no sign of retaliation or even acknowledgement from the Rosarians. Even if, by some fluke, nobody had checked on the princess for the entire duration, surely the ransom notes they had placed in both the castle and town would not have gone unnoticed. Yet apparently they had.
Victor awoke from a restless sleep early the next day. Venturing out to the nearby wood he spent a couple of hours gathering wood for camp before returning. The wood itself stood on a tall knoll and the journey gave him a good view of the road leading to the kingdom walls. Still there was no sign of a messenger from the castle. After dropping off the wood in the centre of their camp, Victor decided to check on the princess and made his way towards the tent inside which she was being held captive.
To Victor's alarm, the princess was still unconscious when he entered the tent. The air seemed to have warmed to an unnatural level in the tent and Victor was sweating as he attempted to wake her.
'Imara, your highness!' 'Imara!' 'Princess!' After a few minutes of calling her name to no avail, an unexpected voice took Victor by surprise.
'Victor, what the fuck are you doing?' Richard stood in the doorway, clearly agitated at being woken before he usually rose.
'Something is wrong with her Richard, she will not wake!' The air in the tent was now stifling and Victor was in no mood for Richard's usual banter. In fact, he was beginning to realise that he didn't like Richard much at all.
'I'll fucking do it...' Richard trudged moodily over to where the princess lay and slapped her hard across the face. 'Fuck me, she's got a temperature on her,' he slapped her two more times using each hit to emphasise his words. 'Wake up you dozy bitch!'. At the last impact her eyes opened. Confusion swept over her face before she recalled what had happened. She immediately began to gibber again.
''Qu'avez vous fait?! Nous sommes les gens...' To Victor's disgust, Richard punched her in the jaw with his right fist. She was silenced immediately.
'We fucking know!' Richard bellowed at her. 'Just keep quiet, your friends will be along soon to strike a deal and we'll all live happily ever after'.
The princess wept, quietly at first, but soon her sobs became louder and louder. Her body started to convulse wildly. Richard moved forward to silence her once more but his eyes widened as he felt a searing heat throb from her body in waves.
'Did you feel that?' Richard asked quietly.
'Yes, Richard. We need to get away from here!' The air around the princess began to crackle wildly as the temperature soared ever higher. Sparks snapped into existence by her skin.
'What the fuck is wrong with her?!' cried Richard as he backed towards the door of the tent.
'Vous n'avez pas ecouté! Nous sommes les gens rayonnantes... les gens rayonnantes!'
Pure fire leapt from various parts of her body as she screamed her message again and again. Victor and Richard had barely made it from the tent when it burst ablaze. A piercing scream erupted from Imara's mouth as a growing sphere of flame encircled her.
'RAYONNANTES!!'
There was no escape. As fast as the outcasts ran, they found that they could not escape the encroaching wall of flames. Not for the first time in her life, Princess Imara of the Shiny Happy People of Rosaria, watched a poor group of men burn to a cinder through hysterical tears.
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