DORULL SAGA - SWAMP OF DEATH
----------------------------------------------------
It was already morning, when
goblins reached the edge of the swamp. On a flat, and rocky terrain, horses and
carts could now move faster. Surely enough, they soon reached the entrance to
the small, and narrow pass, protected by smooth, sharp-edged rocks. Numerous,
curious eyes, watched them from the scattered holes, cracks and openings, as
they entered this gorge. And they kept watching, until they reached the plateau
in front of the large entrance of the cave.
Hundreds of goblins crawled from
their lairs, at the unusual sight of the caravan. High, piercing sound of
longhorn suddenly came from the cave, announcing the arrival of the king. Out
of the entrance, walked a large, fat goblin, covered in dirty, torn, red cape,
which dragged a couple of yards behind him. Bent, twisted and scratched crown,
ineptly altered and reworked a numerous of times, sat awkwardly on the
top of his head. No matter how he tried, the king couldn’t fix the crown. He
tried to look dignified, but only managed to draw a lot of disguised smiles
from the surrounding folks. Still, they all moved, making a way for the king in
respect.
Moorg looked with snide at the
king, as he slowly sauntered back towards the caravan. He suddenly jumped onto
the roof of the nearest cart, raising his arms high in the air, letting a
rather loud, piercing shriek. Once the roar from numerous throats subsided, in
the approval of his actions, goblin knew it was the perfect timing to issue the
challenge. Without taking his eyes from the king, enjoying all of this
attention, he began.
“Moorg brings many treasures to our
tribe. Spirits are on Moorg’s side. They gave us the two prisoners, on our way
back.” he waved his arm at the end of the caravan “They will be sacrificed on
the first night of the full moon.”
Even louder screams of approval
erupted around the valley. Everyone, except the king, who watched incessantly
at Moorg, with genuine intrigue.
“Spirits are saying that Moorg is
fit to replace Zuut.” challenger continued.
Fat goblin king let out a silent
growl, throwing the cape off him, as he drew a large, rusty, but sharp-edged
meat cleaver from his back. Moorg knew his challenge was accepted. His
showboating was over. This was it. He could not back out of this now. And he
certainly wouldn’t, even if it killed him. Goblins started to back off, making
a sizable space for the inevitable duel. In a deadly silence, everyone looked
eager in anticipation of the fight. Tension reached the breaking point, as two
rivals looked at each other without even blinking.
Moorg jumped from the cart, letting
a rather loud battle cry. Swirling his mace, he charged at the still motionless
king. Zuut was the leader of the tribe for over a couple of decades. He was a
very experienced warrior, who sent many challengers to death. It wasn’t at all
that surprising, watching him calmly waiting for the attack of his fast
approaching opponent.
Now, they were just a few steps
away from each other, but Zuut still stood his ground. Loud sigh came from the
crowd, in a moment when Moorg brandished his mace. With a wide smile on his
face, he aimed for the top of the king’s head. But Zuut was prepared, moving
fast aside at everyone’s surprise, tripping Moorg’s leg, who carried with
inertia, fell flat on the hard, stone ground. Stentorian laughter resounded
through the entire canyon, making the embarrassed challenger jump almost immediately
to his feet. His squinted, bloodied eyes showed all of the hatred he felt, as
he gnashed his teeth in ever growing anger.
Howling like a rabid animal, Moorg
rushed headless into yet another attack, waving the mace all over the place.
The goblin king was still calm and collected, deflected everything with ease
and with a lot of finesse, driving Moorg insane. Noticing that, Zuut took over
the initiative. In one skilfull move, he deflected the mace twisting his wrist,
cutting deep unto undefended challenger’s chest. Sharp pain surged through the
entire Moorg’s body, momentarily rooting him to the spot.
“Now you die, foolish boy.” Zuut
growled, preparing for a final charge “Many winters will pass, before anyone
can hope to take my place.”
“You are the fool old man, if you
think this scratch can stop me.” Moorg shrugged, “It’s time to end this, you’ve
lived long enough.”
Words stopped the goblin king in
his tracks. There was something odd in this whole ordeal. Moorg looked
different, audacious even. Not the quiet, laidback boy he remembered. But Zuut
could not figure out, just what exactly bothered him. He knew every goblin in
his tribe, especially soldiers. And Moorg was always one of the obedient ones.
From the first day, when Toorg, his father, tribal shaman enlisted him in the
active service. And why would Toorg, his loyal friend, allow his son to
challenge the crown? Thinking of it, Zuut realized he hadn't seen the shaman
for at least a couple of days now. He turned around, trying to find him.
“You’ve lost something, old man?”
Moorg taunted the king, as if he knew what Zuut was thinking about.
“Where is your father, boy?” Zuut
asked “Where is Toorg?”
Instead of answering, the goblin
put the palm of his hand to his wounded chest. Just a moment later, the deep
gash was gone. Loud sighs escape from some of the bystanders, and to Moorg’s
liking. He knew he still had to leave a striking impression on the tribe, if he
wanted to gain the much needed support. Even in death Zuut would still have
many loyal followers, determined to make the ruling of the new king very
difficult.
“I see…” Zuut deflated a bit.
He was aware of Moorg’s father
mystical, and magical energy. His challenger didn’t receive such a gift at
birth, nor did he knew the secrets of the powers. But still, he managed to
perform something only tribal shaman could pull of. Something very drastic had
happened, and he suspected that the sudden disappearance of Toorg, had
everything to do with it.
In only two jumps, Zuut was mere
feet or two away from the Moorg. Couple of fast, strong swings, made the young
challenger back away. But just for a moment, because his counter was as violent
as the king's. Both fighters were skillful with weapons, drawing the best out
of each other. Attacks exchanged in fast combos. A true spectacle for everyone
watching. Zuut lunged again with full force of his heavy body, but seemingly
lost his footing, which threw him out of balance. Moorg was ready to pounce on,
punishing the king for his mistake, swinging violently from aside.
Mace struck Zuut’s right arm. Loud
crack of broken bone was drowned by the chieftain's painful scream. Rusty
hatchet fell out of his incapacitated hand, which was hanging awkwardly
deformed, in an unnatural position. In despair, Zuut threw a dagger, with his
other hand, but missed by several yards. Moorg was already upon him, gloating.
Hard kick to the face, bring the king to his back. A stream of blood spurted
out of his broken nose, preventing him from breathing, as it filled his throat.
He coughed and spat, trying to get up, but Moorg would have none of it,
stepping on his chest.
“Finish it.” the goblin king
wheezed, as blood started filling his lungs.
Heavy mace plunged hard into Zuut’s
head, caving in his face. Old king waved his arm, like he used to for thousands
of times, inviting his servant to present the food or drink. It was the last
twitch of his body. A reflex reaction which saw his life fading away. Zuut was
dead. Taking a few steps away from him, Moorg lifted his arms high up into the
air. Loud cry from the crowd, hailed the new king.
“Secure the carts and the
prisoners, we are celebrating tonight!” Moorg gave his first order as a king.
A small, and shaky hand offered him
the crown, which he wholeheartedly accepted. It felt and looked as awkward as
it was on the old king. But still, it filled him with pride, once he put it
onto his head. Moorg flaunted, taking an easy, slow stride towards the
entrance, into a huge, central cave. Loudly cheered once again, he disappeared
in the darkness of the big tunnel.
No comments:
Post a Comment