Some time ago, I decided to try writing a book. Like many other things in life, I didn’t finish the job. However, it is still interesting to hear an outside opinion. It doesn’t have a title, but it has 3 and a half chapters. I haven’t really edited anything (punctuation and spelling), and I probably won’t anymore. I’ll post one chapter for now and see how it goes. You can judge strictly. So.

Chapter 1

In the Ruzdal kingdom, in the Rezin principality – a famous farmland, there lived a merchant named Mikhail Stepanovich Repin. In ancient times, even before the Great War of the Nine Kingdoms, Michael’s great-grandfather began growing turnips for the princely court, and in this field he succeeded and even opened a trade route to Centria and Kruoss. Soon from Prince Rezin he received a surname suitable for his craft – Repin. The Repins passed on their knowledge from father to son and gained fame in farming circles in six of the nine kingdoms. But then the war came. I’ll tell you about her sometime later, because the story is not about her. All you need to know is that any war brings only misfortunes and losses to the common people. And this one was no exception, and maybe, on the contrary, brought ten times more suffering. The Repen family lost the knowledge accumulated over centuries, trade routes and even access to the Princely table.

Mikhail’s father, Stepan Repin, from the first to the last days of his life cherished the dream of returning the lost glory to their home. He also invested this dream in his son.

Mikhail has been growing and selling turnips for 30 years and 3 years, however, these are unremarkable turnips – the same as those of other farmers. Not big, sometimes, if you’re lucky, medium-sized and not rotten.

Still alive in Mikhail’s heart were his father’s stories about turnips of unprecedented size and sweet as honey, which his family once supplied to 6 of the 9 kingdoms. He didn’t forget them that day either. That day, or rather evening, Mikhail was waiting for his friend, also a merchant, in the Rezinsky Onion tavern. The fact is that a friend, whose name, unfortunately, is irretrievably lost, was a frequent traveler in Caridan – the mountain kingdom that divided Centria and the Rudan Empire. And I heard many rumors there about vegetables of unprecedented size and taste. Mikhail was very interested in these rumors, and he begged his friend to find out the details and, if possible, the secret of this farming mystery. He would have been glad to go to Caridan himself and scour the ridges, mountains and forests in search of answers, however, he was too poor and would not have been able to cope with such a trip. So he waited at the agreed place at the agreed time.

Mikhail was already finishing his mead when his friend sat down next to him and with a mischievous look threw a small package on the table. Mikhail forgot about all the rules of decency and began to unfold the thick Caridan paper.

– Here you go – a friend said – neither hello nor goodbye.

– Hello, hello, dear friend – answered Mikhail.

– These are seeds. Turnip seeds.

– I can see it without you. Did you find out the secret or not??!

– How not to find out… Found out. I keep my word. Your money was only enough for these three seeds.

– You spent all my money and brought me 3 regular turnip seeds?! You didn’t lose your brains along the way?!

– Don’t blush like that, Misha, I’m telling you, I keep my word. Let me say it.

– I’ve been looking for a long time. Then he asked who he should take a sip with, fortunately even in such a stone country, drunkards took their place. One old Caridan brute, neither a monk nor a tramp, told me that on Falcon Hill, that near the Pack Woods there lives an old lady. From time to time, locals stop by. They are terribly afraid of her, but if they are in the cold, they go to her. So here it is. She speaks these grains and twirls them in the ass. Well, when you plant such a grain, a miracle of unprecedented proportions will grow.

– You can get closer to the point? Your stories will not elevate my family!

– Okay, okay. Briefly speaking. I went to see her. She is a woman, of course, she can also be a woman. But if no one had told me that she was she, then I would have decided that this was it. He says to me: “You are a dear man, why do you need a turnip?”?" – I answer her, they say – “My friend the farmer asked" – she told me – “What does he need?- I told her sharply – “I don’t know this and I don’t want to know”. She mumbled something under her breath and took the money. She gave me something to drink, fed, and even offered me a bath, but I just thought, what if she wants any other payment from me, so she refused. In the evening, she gave me this package and said, “You are a dear man, tell your farmer that if he decides to collect a crop out of need, then the seeds will be for his benefit.”. And if thoughts are dark, then coolness is his reward.”.

Mikhail did not take seriously either his friend’s story or the fact that a certain grandmother bestows seeds with magic. There were even rumors that after that meeting the friends were no longer friends, and Mikhail withdrew his anger altogether.

Repin decided to plant the seeds anyway, what’s the joke?. He pawned all the money he had put aside for the winter into this adventure. You look, maybe not fairy tales. But he decided to plant one per season. The first grain is in use.

He didn’t wait long for the harvest. The seed sprouted and turned into a turnip. Yes, not simple. According to the assurances of the peasants who observed everything with their own eyes, the turnip was as tall as Michael’s house and sweet as honey in season. Of course, this did not go unnoticed by the Prince, and he decided to again admit the Repen family to the princely table. Things are looking up.

Repin lived happily for 2 summers. I got some money, I improved my house. The wife is happy, the daughter has a blush. Since the Great War of the Nine Kingdoms, the Repen family could not recover, and finally the first steps. It’s true that out of the entire harvest, only one seed produced a fabulous turnip, while the rest of the turnips were unremarkable.

Mikhail decided that if he didn’t figure out how to multiply the last grain, then he would inevitably return to decline. From his father he once heard one interesting way of how to propagate a seed variety. And when it was time to sow, Michael with the magic grain sowed a handful of simple seeds in one package. And began to wait for the fruits of his labor. Just like before the village, we didn’t have to wait long. The turnip has risen. But unlike the last two times, not just one, but a whole ridge. Mikhail’s joy knew no bounds. "We’ll live!"- thought Repin.

The time of maturation was coming to an end. Mikhail noticed that the turnips had grown even more this time than in previous summers. And he decided to wait a little while cleaning up: “Look, I’ll completely restore the glory of the past and again 6 of the 9 kingdoms will remember the Turnips, and just look at all 9!" – with this thought he waited. Day, week, month. The turnip was already as wide and tall as 3 Mishka’s houses, and the rest were, although a little smaller, but still considered very large. With one of these he could feed the entire principality until the next season. Mikhail was already calculating his profits and planning expenses. Local residents were amazed. The Turnip garden became a local landmark, and passing merchants spread the news about the Giant Turnip.

The time was approaching the autumn cold. It was no longer possible to wait. The turnip will disappear. Mikhail began to think about how he could collect this turnip and put it into use. I started with the smaller ones, then the medium ones, then the large ones. It took about a month to collect, and a fortune for farm laborers to move this crop to the storage location.

Things have come to a head. giant turnip. By that time, according to various assurances, it had reached truly titanic proportions. Some even used to say that if you climbed to the top of this turnip, you could see the Centrian Towers. However, recent studies have shown that this is just an exaggeration. The fact is that while the rest of the turnips were being collected, a month passed, and the giant turnip continued to grow. It won’t fit into the storage room anymore, and dragging one is not an easy task. Repin made a decision – to divide the turnips into 9 equal parts and send them to all 9 kingdoms.

Cutting day has come. Axes and saws were ready and distributed to the workers. The process has started. The workers spent the entire first day cutting their way, however, they only walked a small part. According to rumors, already on the first day one of the workers smelled an unusual smell, but this story remains only a rumor. On the second day, the workers walked a little less than on the first, as excessively caustic fumes began to interfere with their work. Well, on the third day the “Repin trial” happened.

It is not known for certain what was the matter. But a source once close to the Repenny family and, according to his own statements, an eyewitness of those horrific events named Ivan, states the following: “I was passing through Rezinsky. Headed to the Riverlands of Rechi on business that doesn’t concern you. On the third day it was almost impossible to breathe. A sweet stench reigned in the area. Several dozen workers came down with headaches and all of them were raving about hearing sounds on the other side that they could not clearly describe. “Rustling, grinding, whispering,” they repeated. Of course, no one listened to them. In particular, Mikhail. He didn’t listen to anyone or anything at all. It feels like even though he was there, he was in a completely different place. Probably, his dreams took him to the table of King Merik of Centria, where he in every possible way pleased the invited gentlemen with his turnips. In general, everything didn’t turn out very well. Somewhere in the area of ​​the third floor of building buildings, there was a crash and a rumble – a turnip cracked. The fact was that during the first sunrises of the harvest it was not uncommon to encounter a rodent. The mice chew through the vegetable and live inside for a while and feast on it. Since this vegetable was not quite ordinary, and I think that magic took place here, the mouse underwent some changes. Namely, it acquired gigantic proportions and completely went crazy from the rot and rotten stench in which it lived for about 3 months. I want you to understand that a colossal amount of caustic dust and a creature that resembled an ordinary mouse, which had perhaps escaped from Cold, burst into the air from the place of the rift. Poisonous yellow eyes, crooked greenish teeth, matted fur. About the size of an average elephant. Have you seen the elephants?? Speaking of eyes. They reflected not only the fear of the peasants, a moment before turning into a pile of bloody scraps, but also the fear of the creature itself, mixed with madness. I remember the sounds clearly. It’s hard to confuse them with something else. This is the sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh. And of course there are screams. Here’s the Repin Court".

It is known that the cloud of rot settled within about a week. The corpse of a giant mutilated mouse was found approximately in the area of ​​the Rezinsky Onion tavern; it is not known for certain what kind of warrior, or rather a group of soldiers, managed to defeat such a creature. About a thousand people died that day, among whom were the Repen family and the Family of Prince Rezin. However, the princely family survived since the eldest son of the Rezens, Oleg, was on a campaign at that time. The remains of the turnip are still in place today and are even partially fossilized. Upon returning to his native land, Oleg, either out of grief or in a fit of madness, founded a cult around the Giant Turnip, and became the First Master of the Turnip and is still revered as a deity in the Rezin Principality. The fruit itself now serves as a fortress-temple. This is the story of Mikhail Repin and the Giant Turnip.

Archivist of the Centrian Library Cat the Scientist, “Epic Tales of the Nine Kingdoms”.

“The Royal Road leads to Centria” – this is what is commonly believed and said in all nine kingdoms. However, this does not mean at all that it is no longer possible to get anywhere along it. On the contrary, this tract is the safest and fastest route for a traveler. The road, paved with white stone, could accommodate three carts in width and two horsemen on the sides. Signs, made of the same material as the road, but in a monolith, helpfully informed travelers at forks. All the signs, of which there were nine, were absolutely identical – majestic monuments, proudly towering at a height of forty cubits and shaped like the faces of the ancient kings of the nine kingdoms. As a rule, at the foot of each sign there was a small farm with four or five houses, and the inhabitants of the farm certainly worked in a tavern – also an integral part of any sign. When we talk about forks, we do not mean intersections of roads of equal importance, but rather adjoining ones, like tributaries of a river. The tract itself was absolutely straight and not bendable. What can we say, the ancient builders, with their tools, cut the Centrian capital in half as if with a blade and continued to lead their blade to the north. Time and cold did not spare the whiteness of the stone, but the monumentality of the road still amazed the imagination of new travelers.

Travelers on the roads are not such a rarity. After all, that’s what roads are for. However, at night, carts and riders preferred to set up camps near taverns not far from the signs or even fork out for a room in an inn. There were also those who preferred to drown their fatigue from a long journey with alcohol, and then there was grass for a bed and bushes for a roof over their heads. Ivan preferred the latter type of halt, however, this time he could not afford it because the full moon would come the next night. The event is actually quite permanent, but not for individual creatures. It just so happened in the old days that during the full moon all kinds of curses were especially strong and the magical presence increased in the kingdoms. There were several hours left to the Murom tavern, and Ivan knew that he would make it in time, he just liked to complete all his affairs before applying. Ivan preferred to remain silent about his curse and in every possible way avoided conversations on this topic. You could even say that it drove him crazy, which, by the way, is quite ironic.

A black huntsman’s cloak with a hood and equally dark leather armor are Ivan’s usual traveling uniform. The cloak, by the way, is unique – there were thirty of them in total. Ivan deservedly got it. Such raincoats were sewn specifically for the reconnaissance detachment of the three hundred, in which Ivan was once a member, but more on that later. In addition to the folded and in some ways even beautiful face, covered with scars, the cloak also hid a bundle that was hanging from the left side of the horse. Inside was the tip of the tail of a huge mouse wrapped in a circle, which became an unexpected problem for the residents of the Rezina Principality a few days ago. This is not the first time for Ivan to fight with various kinds of creatures of magic, but without so many casualties. In addition, the matter was connected with the great-grandson of one of his comrades in the three hundred, and therefore it was personal. Well, in the end, not for free.

Ivan is a man of thin build, but he cannot be called frail. His frame, slightly stooped from numerous hours on the road, swayed smoothly astride a large war horse. From a distance, one could mistake the hooded man for a child – the horse looked so brave. In Vanya’s eyes one could read senile fatigue, burdened by experience.

– Come on, Burka, stop! – https://uunsecasino.co.uk/games/ the rider suddenly commanded and the horse froze in the middle of the empty night road.

Burka bowed his head to the ground and began to look for edible grass. Unfortunately for him, self-seeding vegetation did not dare encroach on the monumental tract. Ivan, silent and motionless, like a statue, sat in the saddle. His gaze at that moment expressed absolutely nothing. Silence enveloped the highway. Only occasionally did a snorting horse slightly disturb this peace of the night. Even crickets and frequent forest inhabitants were not heard in the area.

After about half an hour, the veil of silence was interrupted by a sound vaguely reminiscent of drops of water, which on a cloudy morning after an overnight rain continue to fall in a monotonous rhythm into a container for watering the beds. Ivan began to regain awareness of what was happening, but he was still far from getting out of this state. "Sound!" – I thought in my stupefied mind – "This sound reminds of something… To whom? Maybe… me?" – the flame of thought continued to flare up – "Exactly! There is me. Who am I? And… Iv… Ivan! Yes, exactly!“- at this moment Vanya’s consciousness seemed to split:

– And what makes you Ivan?

– Sound? I can hear him!

– Many creatures have hearing..

– But this sound… it means something to me?

– I don’t know. What could it mean??

The sound was getting closer and getting louder.

– Drops, morning, beds… Home?

The sound became more distinct and no longer resembled drops, but the clatter of hooves. At that moment, a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions and memories rushed through Ivan’s mind. The stupor disappeared as suddenly as it had come when a voice came from behind:

– Are you alright, sir?? – it was another rider. He looked like an experienced traveler. A racehorse, the absence of heavy equipment and a conspicuous green bag with the symbols of the Rudanese court on his shoulder identified the stout middle-aged man as a messenger.

– Yes, everything is fine, good man. I’m just letting the horse rest. – Ivan answered without a shadow of confusion.

Burushka, as if with some malice, neighed.

– Well, it’s no big deal. – continued the messenger – And by chance you are not heading to the Rechinsky lands?

– Not really, I’m only as far as the Murom tavern. – Vanya answered friendly.

– So we’re almost on our way! – the Rudan resident noted with some enthusiasm.

– Yes, in general I don’t mind. Let’s move?

The riders continued their journey. Ivan was not left with a certain wariness. “What a strange one,” summed up Vanya. Indeed, it is rare that a traveler will be so friendly to a stranger. The silence didn’t last long. The messenger casually said:

– What a brave horse you have. It’s just right to carry heroes on yourself. – addressing not so much Ivan as Burushka, said the Rudan resident.

– Brrr… – Burka said, as if grinning.

– What is there cannot be taken away. – Vanya answered calmly.

– I’ve only seen this once. – continued the talkative messenger – At the Centrian court. It seems like the horse belongs to the governor there. Alexey Popovich, maybe you heard?

Hearing the long-familiar name, Ivan experienced a disgusting feeling of hatred, but did not show it.

– Who hasn’t heard about the great hero of the distant kingdom? – rhetorically asking – The only survivor to this day, the winner of the Great Cold Army. – Having finished, Vanya exhaled heavily.

– Right. – the messenger summed up.

Rudanets sensed Ivan’s dislike for the topic and fell silent for a while. The path continued to the sound of hooves.

In the distance, from behind the treetops, a sign and the lights of the travelers’ camp appeared. The fires were already burning out when Ivan and the Rudan messenger approached the exit from the highway. The sign said that this exit leads to the Riverlands. The silence of the early morning was interrupted by distant conversations and snoring. There weren’t many people. Mostly traders obsessed with their gold. There was no light on the farm – they were sleeping, and those who were not sleeping worked in the tavern.

– Well, good fellow, thank you for the company. You’re lucky! I still have a day’s journey ahead of me. If only my seat didn’t let me down. Farewell! – the messenger said with some awkwardness and went further along the road in the direction of the River Lands.

– Bon voyage! – Ivan threw after him.

It was already dawn when Vanya jumped off his horse and, taking the reins, led him to the stable.

– Well, Burushka, are you home?. I hope you won’t forget about me this week,” Ivan said turning to the horse and patted his long silky mane.

-Burrr… – the horse muttered calmly.

The local stables had four paddocks, two of which were occupied. Ivan opened the gate of the free pen. Burushka walked inside without any extra coaxing and turned around to face the entrance. Ivan removed everything unnecessary from the horse and piled it into a chest that stood there. I took with me only a bundle with a trophy, a traveling bag and locked the chest with a key. Having finally stroked Burushka on the back, Ivan closed the gate and wandered into the Tavern.

The Murom tavern was no different in appearance from other roadside drinking and entertainment establishments located near the signs of the Royal Highway. This is understandable, because in the old days the Centrian border guards were located in these buildings. So there was nothing surprising in the monotony of the designs. A three-story building made of the same white stone interspersed with gray granite and small windows. Where in ancient times the sentinels were located, now there was apparently a hastily knocked together gable roof made of ship’s wood. This is probably the only detail of the appearance that distinguished this tavern from others. Of all the border taverns, it was Muromsky that was dearer to Ivan’s heart. In a way, this was the place he called home. Above the entrance, which was a double oak door with elegant carving, a sign with the inscription “Murom Tavern” hung slightly swaying in the wind.

Having made a characteristic creaking sound, the doors swung open, not without the help of Ivan. It was dark inside. The small windows didn’t let in much light, and the candles and fireplace were already burning out. To call the interior decoration elegant was to insult the very essence of grace. Wooden, dirty tables with benches attached to them on both sides. The counter, behind which the innkeeper stands guard, resembled a hefty log, hewn on both sides – one to the floor, the other to the top. Behind the counter were several old mead barrels and a rough hole in the wall that the local workers used as a window into the kitchen. The only thing that stood out from all this bedlam was the fireplace, which was part of the original border checkpoint.

The drunkards were absent from the tavern. Early morning makes itself felt – it’s too late to binge drink, but it’s still too early to have a hangover. Not much remains from yesterday’s visitors. A dozen mugs chaotically scattered here and there, several large plates with leftovers and the smell… Oh, that smell. A cacophony of flavors of smoked meat, hops and nausea intertwined in a wild dance on the withered wood of tables. “It smells like home,” thought Ivan. In the hall, a girl worked tirelessly. Young, tightly built with light brown hair gathered in a braid and, alas, deprived of feminine beauty. If it were not for the clothes of a servant and a rag in her hands, but, say, heavy chain mail and a two-handed ax, then she would look like a great warrior worthy of the Centrian court.

– “Hello, Polyushka,” said Ivan.

– “Who’s in an urge this early?” the girl muttered without obvious aggression, “there wasn’t enough yet…,” she was taken aback, “Uncle Ivan.”! – bewilderment gave way to joy. The girl, despite her build, gracefully and skipped across the hall to Ivan and hugged him.

Although Ivan looked young, he was over one hundred and fifty-three a month ago. So he knew Polya from infancy and was familiar with her grandmother Alyonushka, and even had a particularly tense relationship with her mother Polenitsa. It was even rumored that it was Ivan who laid the vengeful warrior to rest; he didn’t care about these tales. And yet, every time he looked at Porlyushka, he could not help but find an external resemblance to her mother.

– It will be for you, Polka. Better tell grandpa where? – Ivan said with a kind smile.

– Surely he’ll be asleep. He just stood at the counter, looked at the “problematic” people with hostility and considered the shift worked. And clean up this whole pigsty for me. – Porlyushka jabbered – What do you have there?? – pointing to the package behind her, she asked.

– Yes, that’s true… I joked about rodents in Rezenskoye – Ivan answered, slightly hesitant.

– And why? Did you bring mice here?? Quite sick?!

– Yes, there are no mice there… Just a tail… Even the tip of the tail.

The Polish woman, showing distrust with all her appearance, chuckled.

– Take this dirty trick away from here, who am I telling?? – Porlyusica mumbled, folding her hands on her belt to appear more impressive.

– Okay, okay. I’ll go to my place, I’m tired.

– Come on, come on. I’ll come by for your rags later.

– Come on, now they are only for rags.

– Yes, even on rags. – after a short pause, Polya continued – I’m glad you’re back, uncle!

– Thank you, Polyushka. – Ivan said with a slight smile under a sad look and wandered to the stairs not far from the counter, and Polka, seeing him off with a sly look, began to clean the room.

Climbing the stairs, near the third floor, Ivan heard an almost familiar powerful snoring. “For a hero – heroic snoring,” he thought to himself. Vanka’s room was in the attic, where the guard used to be located. Entering inside, he froze rooted to the door.

Sometimes something attacks a tired person – some nasty thought or apathy towards everything that exists suddenly manifests itself. But it happened again. As before on the highway. Stupor. Blank look. Silence.

He stood like a pillar at the door for about twenty minutes without blinking once. His eyes burned and they watered, but he got used to it. Not a single thought crossed my mind. The deathly silence was again broken by some barely audible knocking and rumbling.

– Some people think so.

– No… not just a fool… Ivan.

Then, just as suddenly as it happened, it happened. "Again. It’s getting closer…” thought Vanya. The high spirits of returning home faded with thoughts of tonight and the week ahead. They kept knocking on the door:

– Uncle! How are you there??! – Polyushka’s voice, muffled by the door, finally reached Ivan.

– It’s okay, Polya! I’m not ready yet! Come back in half an hour! – Vanya said loudly.

An unintelligible muttering began behind the door. Most likely, Porlyushka angrily lamented on the topic: “We found a damn maid!" – one of her favorite lines.

Ivan untied and unfastened his huntsman’s cloak and carefully hung it on a hook not far from the bed. Then he began to remove the leather armor piece by piece. Taking off his uniform was always harder for him than putting it on. During your travels, your armor seems to grow together with you. Become your skin. Out with the dirty stinking shirt too – “I still have time to get done” – Vanka continued to escalate. Trousers for a shirt. It’s time for bandages. The medicinal slurry made from herbs, hastily sealed up back in Rezenskoye, did what it could. In general, this time there was little bloodshed… in relation to Ivan. Hastily twisting up a dirty rag, he threw it at the threshold – “The Polka will be happy… It won’t hurt to wash yourself.”." – Vanya thought – “Although, what difference does it make" – summed up. He walked towards the bathhouse, which was located in the next room and was part of his home. There was no hot water, and I didn’t want to wait for it to heat up. Having quickly rinsed himself and washed the wounds left by the disgusting giant rodent, Ivan went to put on simple clothes. Leather boots, wide trousers, shirt and vest – Ivan’s civilian style for fifty years. He especially fell in love with a quilted leather vest, which he once exchanged with a Shamakhan merchant for the heads of three revived drowned men. It’s funny – because it’s quite difficult to drown in the desert lands of the Shamakhan Sultanate. Ivan regretted many of his purchases, but not the vest.

The decoration in Ivan’s room was made in the same style as the drinking room on the ground floor. However, we must give Polka her due, everything was tidied up. Near the small window there was a single bed, at the head of which there was a chest. Opposite the bed there was an ordinary wooden table and chair. There Ivan from time to time sewed clothes, repaired armor and wrote a letter once every hundred years. On the wall hung a shield with a three-headed serpent, and under it there was an empty stand for swords. “Apparently Ivanovich took it away” – a thought slipped through my mind.

– Might take a nap? At least a couple of hours? – Vanya said as if persuading himself. His gaze became even more saddened, because he knew the answer.

Ivan took the package with the rat’s tail and hung his traveling bag on his shoulder. Patting himself lightly to remove the dust from his clothes and smoothing his blond hair, he opened the door and left his chambers. He still had a couple more things to do before he went into a week-long madness in the local basement. Vanka’s first task was to return the magic mirror made of pure gold to the customer. It was for this reason that he left the Murom tavern. Whatever you say, the traders always have work for the dashing daredevil. Moreover, an expert in the field of pre-war mythology.

Ivan went down the stairs. There was no Porlyusica in the hall, as well as morning scraps and a slight mess. This had little effect on the appearance of the drinking establishment, but it was still better than it was. “The Central gentlemen wouldn’t come here anyway, but they wouldn’t snort as they passed by,” Vanya thought to himself, after which he went to the sign and the local traders.