The Origin of an Ally (Part I)

The moonlight was shining onto the jungle providing just enough light to see a few feet afar, but not enough to unveil all the secrets of the night. Brock was walking on a muddy, narrow path, surrounded by tall trees and the occasional bird shriek standing out from the constant insect buzz. The air was hot and humid.

Brock, a tall sturdy individual with broad shoulders and strong muscles, was out hunting. In his right hand he was proudly holding is bamboo pole, the traditional weapon of his tribe, the Berg. Those bamboo weapons were gifts from the Wizards; they came from the strongest bamboo you could find in the Bamboo Forests and were gilded by magic. A gift the Wizards had bestowed upon the Berg, for their relentless defense of the lands between Obsidian City and Fort Turtle.

Brock was hunting for goblins. Those hideous creatures had been raiding villages in the area for months and the Berg had sent out scouts like Brock to track them down.

“Goblins are easy to hunt” Brock was thinking, “stinky, loud and messy; they could not make it easier, could they?” Brock was an experienced hunter and scout, but still amongst the youngest in his tribe. He had a lot more to learn and he knew that, but goblins were easy pray. He was also still ‘unsullied’, a Berg scout without a companion.

For the lonely life of a scout, companions were more than as support for hunting or fighting. They were your closest friend and ally. “One day” Berg thought “one day…”

The humidity in the air suddenly intensified and thick water drops started to fall from the sky. In a matter of seconds a monsoon storm broke out and heavy water started pouring.

Such rain could be dangerous; it inhibits the senses and makes it harder to spot enemies.

Brock picked up an odd sound coming through the rain, “what is it…? A swish of arrows!” Out of nowhere two arrows hit Brock on his left arm and leg.

“How did I not notice…?” but before he could finish the thought five goblins jumped out of the trees and attacked him. “This is bad, really bad”

Brock parroted several attacks with his kite shield. He then hit back hard with his pole, smashing the head of one goblin to the ground. “Four of them is still too much”

The goblins kept attacking; the arrow wounds were slowing Brock down. Swing after swing he was fending the goblins off. But he was getting slower, more tired; leaving ample rooms for fatal attacks.

One of the goblins suddenly jumped to the right and threw a knife that hit Brock directly in his left side, piercing through his ribs. Immediately Brock was out of breath. Panting for oxygen, he fell on his knees, barely holding onto his bamboo pole and shield. Blood flooding out of his wounds.

The four remaining goblins started laughing and chanting on what now looked like an easy pray for them.

But the ground suddenly started shaking and loud stomping echoed from behind Brock. Something was running towards them. “Something big is…” but before Brock could finish the thought his eyes closed, his vision went dark. He let go of his pole and collapsed to the ground, conscienceless. Defenseless.

To be continued…

Entered by: 0x6c3c…a347 and preserved on chain (see transaction)