The land of Sanitatum is said to be filled with magic, but it is also plagued by a contagious curse that threatens humanity's survival. It is the purpose of the heir to the throne, Simba Adofo, to inherit his father's crown and find a way to vanquis...
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Simba looked down at the little pegs in the ground, slanted every which way, eroded almost to rounded tips. He could hardly even tell they were supposed to resemble birds, but the wings were still somewhat identifiable. Someone was definitely living here, which put a smile on his face.
He waved his hand past the invisible line drawn by the pegs, only to be greeted by... nothing. He kicked the peg before him lightly with his boot. It toppled over easily.
"Just rotting wood, huh?" Simba pointed as he knelt down to investigate. Some magical barrier this was.
Seeing a benign wall of leaves and tree trunks wasn't exactly the daring rescue he imagined. Simba was briefed on the intelligence given by his father's men who patrolled the region. He was told that the Witch kept the Princess in the forest with a magical hex on the pegs, keeping her inside the barrier they made around the forest. Yet, these pegs were nothing but old wood stomped into the ground.
He wondered how they got this information, but the pegs did exist after all. Maybe the magic just wore off. He had no reason to question the Inner Circle who were risking their lives for his mission.
Despite the forest's boring veneer, there was a quaintness that felt almost magical. He couldn't imagine a person being trapped here- it was as if imagining a bird were trapped in a nest made of luxurious silks. But birds with clipped wings wouldn't be able to leave the nest regardless of the nest's condition.
"The Princess must be further in," Nathair said as he readied his steed to go forward.
"The poor girl must have been trapped here for years," pointed another knight.
"We walk from here," Simba declared, getting down from his metaled beast. "Just because this barrier isn't magical any longer, we need to be prepared to counter magic further in."
The three men shed their steeds to explore the mass of trees by foot. Simba's heart skipped a beat when he saw a cross marking a grave, a yellow weed writhing at its base. The cross was of rotted wood; not recent, but still foreboding. If the Princess was dead, then what of his crown?
With a new sense of urgency, Simba unsheathe his sword. But as he broke into the clearing before him, he couldn't imagine he would need to use it.
Simba loosened his tense stance and looked up at the sparkling flecks of pollen that danced in the air above him. A decrepit yet sturdy tower of stone stood before them. Clothes gently wafted on a clothesline, and vivid flowers danced all around their feet. To the right, leaning against the tower wall was a wagon, too broken to stand by itself. The small fireplace nearby filled the air with a faint smell of burnt firewood, recently burned.
The Princess didn't seem very trapped, but more likely decided to live here on her own. There seemed to be nothing holding her here, nor did anything indicate she couldn't leave at any point. He wondered when the "rescue" portion of his assignment would commence.
