The Legends and Tales of The Orange Poet

The Orange Poet goes by many names: "The Travelling Poet", "The Orange Stranger" or just "Orange". However, not much knows him more than his long posture and his pumpkin cloths. Even his face cannot be remenbered, only to be a orange mist. He is a poet which creates legends and tales for the listeners to keep in their curious minds. He is indeed a mysterious man.

Adventurer and traveler, he is in many places at the same time, but no one knows his place of birth. In the clouds? in Haven? Imagination shall decide. The same happens with his race, a human, they cannot keep his identity for so long with their mouth that cannot stop, a elf, pointy ears, visible they are not, a dwarf, remenber the long posture. We wil never know for sure.

Nonetheless, you, people, young and old, wise and joyous. You could create his story. And, like i said, imagination shall decide.

The Legend of The Black Isles
When the pirate lord made his bed in the island of The Scurvy Shores, he heard ,with one ear, a light conversation from two natives. a mysterious artifact left by the former Barbossian fleet, a figure made in a darken metal probably worth millions, in the far border of the sea. Of course, there were merchants after all, always thinking about gold. However, The pirate lord imagined the object in his hands, caressing the object, imagining his first treasure, not as something to sell, but as something to be proud of, his eyes were turning black. He ran to the shore, is vessel, washed into the beach, was a stolen one, damaged by the escape. The burning wood was still cracking to the weigth of the steel cannons and the sails felt like paper, the ones that no one could read. Not even a second later, not prepared at all, the crew was already running and pulling ropes in the middle of the blue waves.

They arrived, at last, to their destination. It was night, The crew, nervous, holding the boat to not crumble underneath them, looked in the distance. A mere patch of sand, tinier than a plume, was surrounding them in a U shape. The pirate lord, controlling the wheel, ordered the bark to be dropped and the shovels to be ready. He went with two of his men and touched the land with is feet, strange, the sand was black. "Like a mere shadow of itself", said the pirate Lord. him and his men, shovel at hand, started to dig. Hours passed and nothing was found, the island was almost gone, the treasure was gone. The sun rose in the horizon, revealing the yellow sand that was left. Wait, yellow sand? "was it not black earlier", the crew noticed. The pirate lord, turned his head to his ship, it was now black, like a mere shadow. Clouds were forming on top of them, rain started to crash, dark rain. The islanders rushed to the vessel, which was in the middle of giant tentacles, waving around like if it was showing off his prey. The pirate lord gripped on a loose board on the front and, that was when he started to fly. The others on the ground were small in seconds and the air was getting thicker. He climbed up to the ship, he saw his crew, terror in their poor souls, screaming for mercy, looking down at the mouth of teeth and the eclipse in his black eyes.The lord, on the contrary, was furious. "This ugly ass monster will not be my end, come and get me you pathetic scum!" The giant squid did not move an inch, and then started to rotate his plate. Men and women were dropping, miserably, one by one, like grains of salt trickled onto a perfect dish. The pirate Lord, the last on the ship, held the cracked main mast with his life. He then had an idea, he reached his sword and sawed the mast, finishing the job. The pole fell, with the pirate lord on top, penetrating the monster's mouth. We heard the shriek from miles. The vessel was free from his grasp, to sink, finally, in the abyss. The blue of the sea turned black

What rose from the sea was something of a fairy tale. An immense ship appeared, with at least twenty-four shining canons, ready to tear apart the hardest wood, black rims going around the vessel and a mast so large that it pierced throught the dark clouds and saw the sunlight. "The Eclipse, this would be the name" the Pirate Lord said, wheel at hand, seeing his crew laughing and enjoying life, seeing with his black eyes, stolen to the Kraken. However, the tale is not over yet, because the artifact is still at large, travelling in the dreams of many.

The Nullarian Tale
The dunes were high and the sky was low. The yellow orb, standing as a god, reflected the sand below. Zekro walked on his footprints, flooding around his battered shoes, knowing that no one will save him at all. He climbed up mountains of sand to only fall right after. His destination was unclear, like his vision, taken by the touch of the mighty son. The council made a mistake, and he was the receiving end, the fight was not is own. "Nullaria" this land would be called, but the prosperous Nullaria the council dreamt was nowhere to be found. only a valley of yellow dust and of past civilisations, drowning in the sea of gold. and an oasis of hope appeared before him.

A single palm tree lived near a small pond. green and blue, colours that his eyes forgot. He ran to it, like a homeless men finding a penny, and started drinking the watery liquid his body desperately needed. "What a dream!" Zekro said out loud. But his mind was not much refreshed. He felt a touch of sand on his shoulder, the wind was making grain of sand fly, but he did not stop, too thirsty to stop. But he stopped to think, "what a good place to start it all"."indeed it is" said a mysterious voice. Zekro lifted his head, a man, sitting on the other end of the oasis, covered with brown and yellow cloth. "What a surprise guest we have here" he continued. Zekro, surprised, rose up and cleaned his eyes, in case it was the work of his imagination. "Mind asking your name?" Still there, Zekro thought. "I am a member of the council of Uldarash, who are you and what are you doing in a desolate place like this?". The man smirked "Oh, i am Hershel, and welcome to what is left of Azei, the kingdom of sand long gone". Zeko finally understood everything.

They started walking into the distance, climbed up a hill and Zekro saw it, The remnant of a village, almost entirely covered with golden sand. Pillars of a grand manor ended the one street, houses or shops, bordering the road, preyed to this palace, alas only a mere foundation of broken dreams. Zekro followed Hershel, traversing this serpent like passage, destroyed by age, houses passed them, they were barely standing, the colours of the markets vanished. Life was no more, death was omnipresent. "What happened to this place?" said Zekro. Hershell moved his finger to his mouth and shushed: "come, it is only the beginning". There was a port, with only one boat, stranded on the side, near giant farms, withered by time. Walls, the only protector, had holes like cheese, easy to attack. Trees were branches and bushes were tarnished. They arrived to the palace, bigger than the city, viewing the sun, roasted by it. Hershell welcomed Zekro inside, a wall of darkness, probably to hide into. Zekro entered first, confused of the beauty, "how" whispered he. Indeed, he never saw something like that before.

The hall was a green opera, plants were singing and the flowers were dancing with life. It was a grand hall, with the throne of the ancient king sitting in the centre of it all, beneath a hole through the ceiling. But the king was still there, without skin and only bone. “The king was there when I arrived,” said Herschel, “with his poor crown”. It was made of gold and jewels of blood, it looked so heavy. “With this much gold on his head, he would’ve needed a strong neck.” Noticed Zekro with a laugh. However, all the chests were empty, money was no more. Spent or stolen, a sad way to end, a suspicious way even. Zekro noticed something, markings were on the walls, carved there for generations, sentences sent for us by past victims. “A poisonous tooth shall protect the sand … bliss will reign over us … the greed of the king shall end us all.” Entire paragraphs were gone. “What does this mean?" “It is a prophecy, Azei did not listen,” Herschel responded. Zekro turned his head to the forgotten crown, his eyes bloomed over the object, as the sun reflected on it. “Beautiful,” he spoke his thought out loud. He slowly walked to it, manipulated by the red, gloomy eyes. Herschel noticed him, but it was too late. “NO! DO NOT TOUCH THE CROW…”. Zekro, finally happy, already wore it on his head. “No…”. The palace shook, pillars fell near him, not moving an inch. He closed his eyes and looked at the sky. There was no sun, only darkness. He let his vision clear, only to see. Another eye…

It was quick, the predator found his prey, finally to his mercy. He plunged through the hole, making a bigger one, but was only greeted by the grey floor. They avoided his attack. Herschel was there, not him, everyone but him. They ran to the entrance, to find out his tail was there too, blocking it. The monster encircled the condemned, hungry for greed. “We are stuck, death is our only escape!” the words of Herschel did not shake Zekro’s mind, he was iron willed, to accomplish what he was sent here to begin with. He removed his crown and climbed the green skin of the snake, he then ran to the lighthouse. The monster, surprised, flew to his meal, but these dammed houses and markets protected him. Herschel, not much time to think, mounted the snake’s tail and held on. Zekro zigzagged his way into the hazardous passages, to finally see the lighthouse, illuminating his path. Confused, the snake searched. Zekro finally reached it, but he felt the touch of his eye. He climbed quick, but not enough, the snake was at his heel, circling. Herschel then took his knife and plunged it into his rigid skin, he screamed of pain. It helped Zekro to finish his rise and was now holding the crown over the sea. The snake was enveloping the lighthouse and was ready to get his revenge. “HERSCHEL!” scream Zekro, as he saw his friend falling to his end. He needed to finish it, once and for all. Zekro and the serpent stared at each other, the glorious jewels were the same as his red eyes. “Would you mind handing me over the crown?” Said the snake, with a giant smile, showing his many poisonous teeth, “The crown is for a king, not a thief like you”. And then, Zekro responded, “the blue sea, where the yellow sand stops”. He let go. The crown was now gone, forever, where the snake could not reach. The monster had his final scream and transformed into green stone. It was finally over. Herschel was on the ground, he did not move. Zekro ran to him and held his dying corpse.

“Do not worry, you will meet me again, lost on the sandy dunes,” “What? I don’t understand.” Herschel moved his hand to Zekro’s head. “I am only the work of your imagination, I was here to guide you, but now you have learned enough.” A single tear was on Zekro’s cheek, flowing to then fall through Herschel’s ghostly body. "Without you, i will be dead, below the sand or inside the snake, thank you." He said. “Goodbye my friend, but this is not over, you have a kingdom to create, I believe in you, King Zekro the First.” Herschel then slowly vanished into nothing. Zekro was now looking at the sand beneath him, flooding around his battered shoes.

The Walkers of Friholm
In the newly founded port of Friholm, there lies a tale that would change the city forever. The Azurian fleet, who were chasing the first Frilenders, was defeated in an epic battle, inside a crimson storm. The survivors arrived to the land while the others sank into the violent waves. The Frilenders, ordered by Captain Flunk, started the construction of the famous port. when they were finally done, the merchants were plenty, the people were happy, and with the blessing of bliss, the city grew larger and wealthy. However, the dead Azurians were not done. The storm was a weird one, reviving those who drowned inside his grasp. The many corpses stood up and started walking, deep down on the abyss floor.

The moon shining is white light, The Azurian's walker, Friholm in sight, begun walking. Three merchant ships were docked in the port, three merchant ships, dormant they laid, two massive and one small, three merchant ship, that would have seen better days. One of the captains went to return to his home, but it was no more, only a wrecked vessel was left. He tried calling his crew, but there was only silence, another captain came and wore the same expression. The last captain was dead, a death that a sea lover would never wished, on a cursed port. They alerted the guards but they came too late. The Azurian's were there, in the city, their bloody hands, and with their eyes drowned in fear.

To be continued...