You have come across the page of a historical book called the "Chronicles of Bygone Days". Listen carefully to what I am going to tell you, warrior.
Ever since the Zorbs arrived in the colonies from unknown lands, Magmars have shown a keen interest in them. The beasts possessed unbelievable strength, great stamina and speed and were very intelligent. Why waste such a beast, if it could be harnessed for the good of all magmarkind?! Tempted by such a thought, the inhabitants of Khair made several attempts to tame and domesticate the beasts, but failed every time. Neither lash, nor trap, neither tasty morsels, nor taking their young worked ? it was impossible to snare them. Consequently, Magmars gave up on such hopes and left the beasts in peace for several long decades?Until, one day, a profound monk, dressed in an unusual, blinding-white heavy armour, appeared at the gates of Dartrong. Standing there, he sullenly examined the crowd that had gathered and then demanded to be taken to the Elder. Soon after, messengers were dispatched across the whole of Khair, offering the most able and experienced hunters a chance to take part in a new effort to tame the Zorbs. The stranger proposed a strange deal to the Magmars: he would help them tame the strongest and most experienced beasts in front of the entire herd, in order to demonstrate Magmar superiority. He explained that any herd rejects a leader when it witnesses it lose its power or suffer defeat in battle, and then selects a new one, more often than not the one who won the battle.
In exchange for his help, the monk demanded the souls of the continent's 12 best fighters. Some took his words for a joke, some offered to string him from the nearest gallows, but someone else stepped forward, offering his soul as payment. And that night, 12 of the strongest and most courageous Magmars disappeared. According to the Elder, they did so of their own free volition, in the name of their people, considering it no less honourable a death than a heroic death in battle. From that moment on, the deal was sealed.
The best hunters were collected from across the continent and skilled blacksmiths were ordered to prepare new weapons and armour. Everything was got ready for the forthcoming campaign. Magmars, remembering the multitude of past failure, did not pin much hope on the stranger and arriving at the hunt location, they set tens of traps to convince themselves of success. The monk merely smiled and said nothing. Everyone hid and began to wait. Soon, a huge herd appeared from the forest. The leader was obvious instantly, striding ahead of the herd. As he walked, powerful muscles rolled under his tough hide, his feet fell heavily, kicking up clouds of dust and his eyes shone as if on fire, lighting up the field. Suddenly sensing the presence of strangers, he let out a booming, lingering noise and whole herd stopped instantly. Over the course of the next five minutes, the Magmars observed in amazement how the Zorbs avoided all the traps lain for them, following in each other's footsteps, plodding along, one after another.
For some reason, as the herd passed by, not one hunter hit on the idea of tracking it inconspicuously. In the uneasy silence, dried branches snapped so loudly under the Zorb leader's feet that it made those behind twitch. A noose suddenly tightened round his hind foot and, as he pulled on it, he activated the simple mechanism. A wide net fell on his massive back, falling over his flanks, and became entangled under his belly, round his neck and feet, preventing him from moving any further. The huge hulk began to toss about, destroying stout branches and kicking up huge clouds of dust. Furiously shaking his head and letting out a horrific noise, the leader tried everything to free himself. In seconds, the net was torn to shred. The enraged beast threw himself at his captors, trying to crush them. Time and again it went on the attack, oblivious to the swords and axes cutting at him.
The whole herd stood around, watching indifferently whilst forming an impenetrable circle around the battle. If the leader was lost, they would simply find a newer, stronger one, worthy of leading them. The smell of blood hung in the stuffy air, yet the Zorb continued the battle, using all his strength, in which he had a definite advantage.
The Magmars realised they did not have the strength to conquer him and hope for a miracle to save them from the infuriated beast. The battle was slowly but surely approaching its inevitable conclusion- failure, when the stranger suddenly appeared on the battlefield, predicting victory. His armour was shining especially brightly and, in his palms, the air condensed, becoming pale blue. Looking the beast in the eyes, he approached it in earnest, not dropping his gaze as he asked the Magmars to step back.
The Zorb leader stood to attention, as if chained to the earth, and made no effort to resist the stranger's actions. The stranger raised his hands to the heavens. Rustling, like old sheets of paper, the wind rushed across the earth, causing the blades of grass to stand up and create a ring surrounding the two adversaries who stared each other in the eye. The leader began to gather his strength and speed, kicking up dust, whilst small fires began to shimmer in the palms of the white-armoured stranger, strongly contrasting with the pale blue luminescence of air.
Within a minute, the Magmars were witnessing an extraordinary scene, as a cacophony of sounds and colour mixed chaotically, bright scarlet clouds rolling like waves across the darkened sky as the Zorb leader and the stranger were engulfed by a colossal funnel, buzzing like a swarm of bees. The sounds were then suddenly cut short, as if severed by an unseen blade and a sepulchral silence descended. In the eerie silence could be heard the measured whisper of the elder, warmly and sincerely speaking to the Zorb in an incomprehensible language. Falling silent, he threw an amulet to the ground, which scorched a ring of grass around it, and stepped back from the Zorb. The Zorb took an uncertain, heavy step towards the stranger. The stranger stepped back again, and once more the Zorb followed. The amulet, which looked a large gold coin, pulsed with a soft light, and the closer the Zorb got to the stranger, the stronger the amulet pulsed. And, in this way, the stranger continued to pick up and throw the amulet down, summoning the Zorb each time, compelling him to follow.
The remaining beasts noiselessly stepped aside, breaking the ring and releasing the encircled Magmars.
And, so, victory was achieved at the cost of twelve great souls, a victory the path to which had spread across decades. All that lay ahead was for the great hunters to lead the huge herd to Dartrong, to combine the beasts' power and loyalty to the Magmars' strength and intellect, turning the Zorbs into their protectors and friends.
His task accomplished, the mysterious stranger disappeared into the night, having turned the next page in the book of great Magmar conquests.
giza [8]
Narcissus [5]
orrin [12]
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