The last time the Great Wyrm attacked, the Kingdom of Nalun’g was rent asunder. Now, after almost a century of repair and reconstruction, the land sickens, holy symbols warp and tarnish, and the young and artists are plagued be nightmares that, horribly enough, may be prophecies.
The signs are there. The Beast is Coming…
(#00767 - B036)
Of course Nalun'g searched for a hero. Knights, barbarians, thieves and assassins all tried their hands at eliminating the Wyrm.
They were never seen again.
Simisola, a child of Nalun'g, had always been a strange girl. She rarely spoke and hardly interacted with anyone. She never looked a person in the eye and largely communicated by pointing at what she wanted. She spent a majority of her life in the library, though nobody knew if she was actually reading or just paging absently through the chained books in their special cellar.
They called her Simple Simi whenever she was out, either in the town or roaming the hillsides and coming home with bundles upon bundles of weeds or vile byproducts of corruption, rattling in tin boxes. The children made fun of her peculiar walk and occasionally threw things at her.
But Simisola never said a word. She just went about her business as if she didn’t care.
On the day that the beast overflew the village, vomiting corruption on all that it saw, Simisola set out with heavy knapsack and bedroll and bags. Dressed gaily in reds and yellows in a pattern that bedazzled the eye.
She followed the Great Wyrm to its lair, and all were certain that Simple Simi would die there.
But the corruption faded. It withered and died, instead of spreading. The Great Wyrm was not seen for a week. For a month. For two months…
Rumour spread, as it was wont to do. The dragon had been defeated by Simple Simi’s great innocence. Some even began worshiping her as a saint. Children denied that they had ever been mean to her and talked endlessly about they had been kind to her in numerous small ways.
And then Simisola returned to Nalun'g.
On the back of the Great Wyrm.
The beast was no longer corrupted. But she was not yet whole. There were still the marks of a great sickness on her body, but also many signs of improvement.
Those who had sanctified Simple Simi turned against Simisola in a matter of seconds. They were prepared to burn her at the stake for her sorcery and black magic. They readied sticks and stones to throw at her, but none hit their mark. The dragon protected her.
“PEACE,” Roared the dragon. She had pouches and packs strapped to her back. Many were from previous heroes who had gone to fight her and died. One talon ripped open half a dozen, and gold and jewels spilled to the cobblestones of Nalun'g.
Some fell on the wealth as if they had never meant either dragon or girl harm. The rest dropped their improvised weapons.
“My name is Cevahir. For decades, I was plagued with a disease known as The Blight. It corrupted my thoughts. Turned me into less than an animal. Made me corrupt other areas. But this… brave maiden… thought to seek out all possible cures for The Blight and see to my medicine and care. She has saved me. And she has saved you. And she has told me all of what you have done to her.
"Therefore she is now my ward, and under my care. Any who harm her will have an argument with me.” A gout of flame showed all watchers how that argument would go. Quickly, decisively, and without a chance for rebuttal.
“She can’t have told you,” said one of the recent hypocrites. “She can’t talk.”
“You don’t listen,” said Simisola, her voice flat and bare of emotion. “You never did.”
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