Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hornan Droverson lay still in the cold, completely overwhelmed by his surroundings. This was not all, for he was being watched. Watched by the creature Venkemith Sharpe, the vile being wretched down to every last toe. Shorter than even the average Wabblot, he wore a black cloak, his sharpened, rotten teeth glaring at the world around him. He lived only to sustain the desires of his own misery, and just the utter image of his existence would make any normal being cringe in fear. Sharpe is what he would be called by most, but then again, not many would have time to utter his name before they would be violently throttled.

Sharpe watched as Hornan awoke in a daze and rose to his feet, clearly shaken up. Hornan grabbed his staff from the ground beside him and began to slowly make his way through the murky, misty atmosphere. Every step Hornan decided to take, Sharpe would take another as well, his black cloak shadowing him in the darkness. Sharpe gave his repulsive grin as he gripped his enormous, fiery mace and prepared to murder yet another. Hornan stopped walking as he heard the metal dragging through the mud, and Sharpe ceased movement as well. Hornan used his staff to create a large ball of fire for light, and he instantly saw the monstrous brute glaring up at him, Sharpe’s glowering eyes atrociously flickering on and off with brilliant flames.  

Hornan stared him down quickly. “Uh...that’s cute.” he mentioned, in a frightened tone of voice, then took off running, generating as much protection as he could behind him. Flames and lightning thundered and blazed around him, and he kept his pace up for several minutes before stopping to consider what to do next. He figured he’d bought himself some time to formulate a plan, so he set his mind to work.

Seconds later, Sharpe stepped out of the gigantic wave of fire and dust, smiling menacingly as if this was just an exciting game. Hornan sprinted away again, and he had just barely begun to escape again when he felt himself slip and crash into a swamp of slimy, green slop. He felt himself sinking, slowly descending to the depths below. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness, so he began to swim forward in the direction he had been going. Then he felt a huge, strong hand grasp him from above.

He was pulled from the water, and plopped down in the mud. His eyesight remained murky and restrained, still adjusting from the foggy swamp water. When his eyes cleared out, he saw the biggest Wabblot he had ever seen. Or maybe it wasn’t a Wabblot. It certainly looked like one, apart from the fact that it was almost 10 feet tall, and the average Wabblot is 3-5 feet tall. It had friendly eyes, and a huge red beard distracting his large eyes and nose.

“Why hello there, little feller. What’s a creature like you doing in these parts. This is a dangerous place, this is. You wouldn’t want to find yourself facing any of the creatures around here, let me tell you. The name’s Baksog Gunarr; though I like to go by Gun, or Big Guns. How bout’ you mate?”

“Oh! I’m Hornan Droverson, son of Diller Droverson, descendant of--”

“Ah don’t care who ya was born to, or where ya come from. Yer Hornan...and really, you can be that without stressing over provin’ yerself or acting like you have to be the same as yer dad or whatever. If yer brave enough to be out here alone, leave it at that.” Gun muttered something about the way children are raised these days, then let out a loud, bellowing sigh. “So Hornan, where are yer parents then, eh? What’re you doin’ out here on your own in a place like this?”

“My parents are dead. I’m not allowed to return to my home.” Hornan replied, trying to act like the subject didn’t bother him.

Gun raised his eyebrows, frowned, then said “Listen, mate, you don’t have to act like ya don’t mind yer parents are dead. I can tell they actually meant somethin’ to ya; be subjective to yer own opinion, kid.”

At this, Hornan let out a moan, and began to cry. He had no idea what he was doing with himself, nor what he was supposed to do with his life.

Gun nodded knowingly. “Alright kid, we’d better get outta here, huh? You oughta come with me. I got a nice place; well, at least in my opinion, it may look trashy, but it’s home, and that's what matters to me, personally.”

“Hey, what are you supposed to be, anyway?” Hornan asked, looking up and rubbing his eyes.

Gun beckoned for Hornan to follow him. As they were walking, he replied with a chuckle. “I’m what you would call a Baksog Gunarr.” He laughed. “Mate, I’m my own species. Some creatures don’t like me for that, but I don’t let that bother me.”

“Oh...alright.” Hornan replied thoughtfully. “I guess that makes sense.”

Gun grinned and kept on, finally exiting the dreaded swamp land. They were now in what seemed like a desert wasteland, and they trudged on for what seemed like hours before finally reaching a small hut.

“This is it! Ain’t it a beauty??” Gun said, beaming.

Hornan just stood still, gawking. It was a very hideous house...if you could even call it that. “Um...it’s nice, Gun. It’s really nice.”

“Glad you love it!! Well, come on in, take a look around.”

Hornan followed Gun inside the hut and took a seat. It was only one little room with a table, a couple chairs, and a window.

“So…” Gun began, sitting down. “Let’s talk, shall we?”

“Ok.”

“So, I never heard of a Wabblot before...mind explaining what you little creatures are?”  

“Well, you can see what I look like...uh, every Wabblot is born with a different mark on their forehead, and it can be anything, really, but all different. Have a look at mine.” Hornan pulled up his hair so Gun could get a good look at the mark. Again, it was just a couple brown dots leading to random bigger things. “Nobody where I come from can tell what it is.”

Gun opened his eyes wide and squinted at the mark, then he pressed his lips together and mouthed, “Wha...no.” He looked appalled. “Couldn’t be.” he whispered again, to himself.

“Um, say it again?” Hornan asked, wondering what was going on.

“Oh, nothing, kid. Give me a minute outside, I need to check something.” Gun said absentmindedly.

“But do you know what my mark is?” Hornan inquired, annoyed.

Gun ignored him and left the hut. He walked for miles until he finally reached the abandoned town, Ghoulhill. It was dark and misty in the silent town, but Gun was used to frightening things and kept on until he found the building he was looking for. He opened the door, but it was so fragile it ripped right off upon being touched. This building he was in was a library, or once was. Books lined the dusty shelves, but they weren’t Gun’s target. He punched a hole in a particular wall, and climbed into a room beyond it. A tiny, glass table was in the middle, with only 3 legs. Upon this table lay one book, aged and torn.

Gun grabbed the book and dusted it quickly, flipping to the first page to find the words he had been looking for.

The destined one

will be born

bearing the map

All of the world knew of the story, aside from Mogbottom, and knew of the great treasures to be found if only they knew the way. Gun gasped giddily, but right then Venkemith Sharpe stepped in through the punctured wall, entering through the mist. “Why, hello there.” Sharpe began. “I wrote that, you see. What are you doing with my book?”

Reviews

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I can say good continute at your story. Now I wonder what will be next. I can feel sense of friendhship and bravery. You got good story and form. That s great. I doont have any sugesstion for change . Cause I LOVE IT HOW IS IT.

[Stars and Whales]

I appreciate that. I've been working on this one for a while, and I'm trying to see what some readers think of it before really digging deep into it.