CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
Gombon heard a noise. It sounded like a twig snapping underfoot. He had almost got to sleep. It was probably nothing. Just a small animal, most likely. Yet he had to check. It was his duty. He never got through a night without having to get up at least once to check. If the Rudderfolk had found them, all would be lost. He knew that. The chieft told him that every day. It had been beaten into him, until it was all he could think, every night, driving out all other thoughts, driving out all he was. All that mattered was protecting the tribe until his older brother Brambon could take his rightful place as king of the twelve kingdoms of men. Gombon left the tent.
Of course, the old guard Zekefeet was sleeping outside. By rights he should ahve been left behind to die long ago. But they were not monsters, the chief kept saying. That wasn't the real reason though. The chief would have happily left Zekefeet behind to die. It was Brambon who insisted that Zekefeet be allowed to continue with them on their journey. Brave, kind-hearted Brambon. Gombon felt a bitter twinge of anger as he thought about his brother. Competely the wrong thing to think, his brother was a great man. And Gombon? He was nothing. Just another member of the tribe on the journey to the caves of Fecklar. A journey which had last 178 days so far. A journey which Gombon believed was driving him mad.
He used to have a life, a simple but rewarding life. He had a girlfirend even and they were planning to marry. But then it had been decided that Brambon's time had come, he must become king. So the whole tribe had left the land and Gombon's girlfriend, who was not a member of the tribe, could not come with them. If only they had stayed another week or so, Gombon could have married her. She would have been a member of the tribe. But they had to hurry, before the rudderfolk found them. So they had begun this journey. And doznes of tribesmen had died along the way and all joy had left Gombon's heart. He was nothing but a shell. He tried not to think about it.
He thought instead, strangely, about Jobbot, the imp who was supposed to roam the forests, the immortal imp who could grant you a wish if you said his name. A childhood tale that Gombon had always loved. It almost made him smile, thinking about it. Almost.
He searched all around camp and found nothing. "Maybe it was just Jobbot," he said, quietely to himself and this time he did smile.
"Nope, wasn't me," came a voice. Gombon span around, ready to strike, anticipating an enemy.
All he saw before him was a small imp sitting on a log.
TO BE CONTINUED
Of course, the old guard Zekefeet was sleeping outside. By rights he should ahve been left behind to die long ago. But they were not monsters, the chief kept saying. That wasn't the real reason though. The chief would have happily left Zekefeet behind to die. It was Brambon who insisted that Zekefeet be allowed to continue with them on their journey. Brave, kind-hearted Brambon. Gombon felt a bitter twinge of anger as he thought about his brother. Competely the wrong thing to think, his brother was a great man. And Gombon? He was nothing. Just another member of the tribe on the journey to the caves of Fecklar. A journey which had last 178 days so far. A journey which Gombon believed was driving him mad.
He used to have a life, a simple but rewarding life. He had a girlfirend even and they were planning to marry. But then it had been decided that Brambon's time had come, he must become king. So the whole tribe had left the land and Gombon's girlfriend, who was not a member of the tribe, could not come with them. If only they had stayed another week or so, Gombon could have married her. She would have been a member of the tribe. But they had to hurry, before the rudderfolk found them. So they had begun this journey. And doznes of tribesmen had died along the way and all joy had left Gombon's heart. He was nothing but a shell. He tried not to think about it.
He thought instead, strangely, about Jobbot, the imp who was supposed to roam the forests, the immortal imp who could grant you a wish if you said his name. A childhood tale that Gombon had always loved. It almost made him smile, thinking about it. Almost.
He searched all around camp and found nothing. "Maybe it was just Jobbot," he said, quietely to himself and this time he did smile.
"Nope, wasn't me," came a voice. Gombon span around, ready to strike, anticipating an enemy.
All he saw before him was a small imp sitting on a log.
TO BE CONTINUED