The Midday Kingdom

A sun-kissed land of green rolling hills, fiercely running waters, and unwavering self-confidence. The center of the Kingdom is Midday lake and all of the small villages are around it. The people of Midday believe they are the strongest, bravest, and spiciest inhabitants of the kingdom, and they are not quiet about it. Their culture is a celebration of strength, resilience, and the tactical application of pain—be it from a sparring match or a particularly fiery pepper. They have also tamed the local monkey population, who now serve as furry, mango-fling-artillery.

Queen Anna, Who is on Fire (But in a Good Way):

A passionate and fiery queen who radiates a literal, and metaphorical, warmth. Her "healthy glow" can wilt nearby flowers and her laughter has been known to start small brushfires. She rules with a bold and ambitious spirit, constantly pushing her champions to prove their toughness and assert their dominance.

Tales of the Pepper Kingdom

The Tameness of the Mango Menace

The sun over the Midday Kingdom was not a gentle entity; it was a challenge. It was a conflagration of golden self-assurance that beat down on the green, rolling hills and the fiercely running waters of Midday Lake. The very air shimmered, not with mere heat, but with a vague sense of superiority.

In the center of this assertive landscape sat Queen Anna, Who is on Fire (But in a Good Way). At 18 summers, she was a furnace of royal will. Her long, bright yellow hair was the color of the sun she so resembled, and her sky-blue and gold dress seemed to sizzle at the edges. The daisies on the council table didn't just wilt in her presence; they turned to potpourri.

"They are," she announced, her voice a warm, crackling sound, "an embarrassment."

She was, of course, referring to the Mango Monkey Menace. For weeks, the local monkey population—heretofore an amusing bit of local color—had been waging a campaign of petty, fibrous terror.

"A conspiracy, Your Radiance!" declared the Habanero Captain of the Guard, his hand twitching on his sword hilt. He was a man who saw high treason in a misplaced shrubbery. "They are loitering! In the mango trees! With intent! They're pelting the patrols! It's... it's disrespectful!"

"What is the damage?" Anna's healthy glow intensified, and a nearby wax candle slumped sideways.

"The damage, Your Majesty," the Captain said, his voice dropping, "is... minor." He held up a helmet, which was spattered with green, stringy pulp. "It's... it's a bit of a sting. And the chatter... it sounds like mockery. And... and they're using un-ripened fruit! The insult, Your Radiance! The sheer, sour insult!"

"Hmph," came a sound from the corner. It was Olga the Brute, a woman of many, many muscles and approximately four words. She was polishing a warhammer. "We hit them."

"Hit... hit what, Olga?" asked the Queen.

Olga stopped polishing. "Hit... the monkeys. Hit... the trees. Hit... the mangoes." She shrugged, a tectonic event. "Simple."

"Oh, dear." Bob the Firebreather, a gentle soul with a tormented esophagus, fanned himself nervously. "Perhaps... perhaps they're just... unwell? A bit of indigestion, perhaps? I find my... (hiccup!)—"

A jet of orange flame erupted from Bob's mouth, incinerating a royal proclamation on the wall. "—oh, goodness me, I am so sorry, Your Radiance—I find my disposition improves after a nice seltzer. Perhaps we could... offer them one?"

"Seltzer!" the Captain sputtered. "This is war, man! They are not just pelting! They are... hoarding!"

The room fell silent. Even Olga paused.

"Hoarding what?" asked Queen Anna, her voice dangerously quiet.

"The... the peppers, Your Majesty," the Captain whispered. "They've stolen the entire Royal Habanero harvest. They're just... sitting on them. Up in the trees. It's... it's un-Midday. It's un-sporting!"

This was no longer an embarrassment. This was a challenge to the kingdom's very soul. A culture built on the tactical application of pain and unnecessary toughness could not abide a foe that hoarded pain, using it for... for nothing.

Queen Anna stood. The air in the room crackled. "Olga. Bob. Captain. You are with me. We are ending this."

They marched to the shores of Midday Lake. The trees were alive with the chatter and shrieks of the Mango Monkeys. As the royal party approached, the barrage began—a volley of hard, green, sour mangoes that stung the guards' armor.

The Captain drew his sword. "That's it! That's a loitering violation! And a... a fruit-flinging violation! Prepare to be taxed! Severely!"

Olga hefted her hammer. "I hit the big tree."

"Oh, dear, oh, dear," Bob muttered, clutching his throat.

"Stand down," Anna commanded. She strode forward, her yellow dress blazing in the sun, her 4-point star livery seeming to pulse with heat. The monkeys, seeing a lone target, concentrated their fire. Mangoes pelted her.

She did not flinch. She did not even blink. She simply walked to the base of the largest tree, where a veritable dragon's-hoard of brilliant, orange Royal Habaneros lay piled. The monkeys shrieked, their prized, stolen treasure now at her feet.

Queen Anna laughed. It was a dry, hot sound, like a brushfire catching.

"You think this," she said, holding up one of the sour, green mangoes, "is strength? This is a bit of a sting. This is an inconvenience."

She dropped the mango. Then, to the horror of the Captain and the confusion of the monkeys, she reached down and picked up the largest, most malevolent-looking Royal Habanero. It was a gleaming, orange thing of pure, concentrated, sunshine-and-fury agony.

"You," she declared to the monkey hoard, "lack commitment. You lack toughness."

And she bit into the Royal Habanero as if it were a ripe peach.

A profound, cosmic silence fell over Midday Lake. The monkeys froze. Bob the Firebreather audibly gasped. Olga the Brute... for the first time in her life... looked impressed.

Queen Anna chewed, swallowed, and smiled. A faint, literal wisp of smoke curled from her lips. She was glowing, not just with her usual warmth, but with the full, unadulterated, sunshine-and-fury potency of the Habanero. She looked... magnificent.

"That," she said, her voice a low, fiery purr, "is pain. And this..." she gestured to herself, a being of pure, radiant heat and absolute, unwavering self-confidence, "...is dominance. A display of unnecessary toughness... just because I can."

The monkeys, who had built their entire society on inflicting minor, annoying stings, were confronted with a being who consumed Armageddon for a light snack.

They were overawed.

One by one, the Mango Monkeys descended from the trees. They did not bow. They did not surrender. They just... looked at her. And in their beady little eyes, a new respect was born. They had found their new Queen.

"Good," said Olga, nodding. "Hitting... but inside."

"Order is restored!" the Captain announced, visibly relieved. "We shall, of course... have to tax them. A... a 'Flinging License'? Yes, that sounds orderly."

"Oh, goodness," said Bob, quickly offering the Queen a large waterskin. "Your Majesty... your... insides...?"

Queen Anna just smiled, her glow settling back to its usual flower-wilting luminescence. "They are... inspired, Bob. As am I."

And so, the Mango Monkey Menace was tamed. They became Queen Anna's official, furry, mango-fling-artillery, imbued with a new sense of purpose. They still threw mangoes, but now they threw ripe ones... and, after a few misfortunate, hiccup-filled training sessions with Bob, some of them were even flaming.

You have made it this far.

If you are interested in procuring our fine potions, please go see the Royal Apothecary known as Friar Frijole Charros. Or you can go visit another Kingdom.