An old friend gave me an interesting new topic to investigate.
She claimed that somewhere in the far East, lies a hidden, ancient land, where works of fine fabrics and porcelain are created with staggering beauty.
The opportunity to explore this land is simply too valuable to pass up.
Pandora Wilson: The opportunity to explore this land is simply too valuable to pass up.
In the dead of night, in the overgrown places far from the crowds. Faint rustling sounds spring from out-of-sight places, where rodents scurry and snakes chase close behind.
Every city has its outskirts.
And today, a curious visitor has arrived in one such place.
Drifting in the air, too slender to be a bird yet too broad to be a butterfly, trembling, wavering up and down.
Pandora Wilson: coughs
Pandora Wilson: The letter has gotten damp ... that's sure to affect the way it carries my voice.
Pandora Wilson: But I won't let it affect the interview ... And we don't have more paper to spare.
The snow-white letter bears a dried watermark. A mouth transferring her voice. To any observer, it would appear it was talking to itself.
Pandora Wilson: In any case, a trip like this is certain to be worthwhile. Things here are much different from the West. There are whole new art forms to be discovered and reported.
Pandora Wilson: The dimensions, the fragrance note, the exhibition site, and the medium are all a great unknown to us. It's … intriguing, to say the least.
But her thoughts are interrupted by movement in the distance.
Pandora Wilson: … Hm?
Pandora Wilson: The growing tremors soon eclipse all other considerations, as the grass and trees begin to shiver, causing a shower of leaves to fall.
Then comes a clattering sound, intense and rhythmic, followed by a mix of whinnies.
Pandora Wilson: What could that be, beasts or birds? No, it wouldn't be anything so dramatic—
A whirlwind extinguishes her speculation. Feathers flutter and an immense shadow looms.
The sudden downdraft blows the letter over. As it falls, a gentle man's voice pierces the night.
???: Apologies, I did not intend to knock you over.
The gale ceases. Soft feathers gently reach for the letter, propping it upright.
The creature has a human face, but in place of his "hands" are a pair of large feathered wings, and below them ... sharp talons. He is a "birdman."
Pandora Wilson: You're a … cri- … No, you can't be a critter. Are you an arcanist from the East?
Pandora Wilson: So, there are bird-like humanoids in the East …
Words fail her, but her hunches never did. She is entirely sure of what she has seen.
Pandora Wilson: A perfect chance for an interview ... I'll need a drop of "Miracle Conversation" Potion. It helps us understand each other.
The "birdman" tilts his head slightly.
Having the same thought as the letter, he lowers his head and pulls out a bone flute that has been hidden among the feathery tufts on the inside of his wings.
Getian: The tip of the bone flute traces a strange symbol into the air, and the familiar glow of an arcane skill appears with it.
???: You are an object with neither bones nor form …
The syllables the bird speaks are completely unfamiliar to her, yet she understands them clearly.
It is incredible, almost unimaginable.
???: Now we can communicate.
Pandora Wilson: This must be a new Arcane Skill from the East, one that allows us to understand each other's language.
Pandora Wilson: Great, then I don't need to use this potion anymore.
Putting away the gleaming vial, the letter circles the bird before stopping in front of him.
A business card matching the letter floats down from the air, landing on his thick feathers.
Pandora Wilson: Hello.
???: … Hello.
Pandora Wilson: I am Pandora Wilson, interviewer and editor-in-chief for UTTU Magazine.
Pandora Wilson: I have come from a faraway place in the West, to find new things to learn and to give a report on them.
Pandora Wilson: Let's start with the most fundamental question. Sir, what should I call you?
Getian: … I am Gětiān.
Pandora Wilson: That rings to me like a typical Eastern name.
Pandora Wilson: Yet sir, according to all available evidence I have seen, it seems far from typical for people here to have wings as you do.
Pandora Wilson: In the West, we also have winged humanoids. Only, they were exclusively female. The children of Typhon and Echidna, we called them Harpies.
Pandora Wilson: They were once masters of the wind, until they became messengers of bad news and synonymous with evil.
Getian: … I am no messenger.
Pandora Wilson: That much is obvious, sir.
The voice lets out a short laugh.
Pandora Wilson: You must, I gather, be a herder of these striped horses ... They're a breed I've never seen before—are you a local here?
Getian: These are not truly horses ... and, no.
Getian: … I am from the mountains.
Pandora Wilson: A tall mountain? Is it far from here?
Getian: It is.
Pandora Wilson: I see you're alone, except for those horses. I've heard some birds push their young out of the nest to hone their abilities; is this journey part of your "rite of passage?"
Getian: … No, my family are gone now, they did not push me out.
Striped Horse: neighs
The strange horses whinny, running out of patience at their long stop.
Getian: … I am, otherwise occupied.
Getian: I can see our meeting was not a mere coincidence. If you have any other questions, they must wait until next time.
Pandora Wilson: When and where will this "next time" be?
Pandora Wilson: We'll have to make arrangements, how else can we be sure to meet again?
Gětiān looks towards the restless herd.
Faint cries of birds called out in the distance. He sighs deeply, then spreads his wings and takes flight.
Pandora Wilson: This interview is not over yet, sir—
She is answered by a gust of wind.
The "birdman" arcanist flies off into the distance, with the striped herd following him.
Pandora Wilson: A strange disturbance and a solitary outsider ... It seems something is happening in this town. I arrived just in time.
Pandora Wilson: I have to go and see what sort of story is unfolding here.
The letter floats through the air, following the tracks left by the striped horses, as best it can.
Unfortunately, journalism is her strong suit, not tracking.
Pandora Wilson: They've vanished. Where could they have gone?
Pandora Wilson: Not even a trace of their hoof prints …
Pandora Wilson: I can sense the use of some Arcane Skill ... Yet the only means of such swift mass displacement I'm aware of are the floppy disks of the St. Pavlov Foundation. Could they have a matching form of technology here in the East?
"Chirp, chirp … Caw caw …"
Pandora Wilson: … That sounds like a very large bird? Perhaps, Mr. Gětiān has returned ...
Pandora Wilson: No, though they are somewhat similar. Mr. Gětiān has a longer neck, and he isn't so round …
Zhuye the Monster: Chirp! Caw caw caw!!!!
Pandora Wilson: —! Wait, don't—
The stench of alcohol washes over her. Obviously not all "birds" have the same sense of manners.
Outside a tavern, two slightly tipsy locals walk through the street.
Citizen I: Oh—what's that racket, did someone break something?
Citizen II: Sounds like it's coming from Jiǔ Niángzǐ's tavern …?
Citizen II: Ah, it's likely some Zhúyè troublemakers sneaking in for another drink.
Citizen II: Last time, they pushed a jar of goldfish into a liquor jar—what a shock that was for Jiǔ Niángzǐ when she found it in the morning!
Citizen I: We really should let her know.
Citizen I: These Zhúyè are troublesome little things. She'll have to make the fence even higher next time.
Citizen I: They can't be allowed to ruin all that good liquor!
They look at one another, nodding their heads in unison, and begin calling out loudly and knocking on the door.
Citizen II: Jiǔ Niángzǐ! Jiǔ Niángzǐ!
Citizen I: The Zhúyè are wreaking havoc in your tavern again!