Back to the sack...

‘Ow...Ouch...Ah...Ouch!’ cried Ponkle through gritted teeth.

Boffwunglers were not designed to climb walls and Ponkle disliked the job intensely being petrified of heights.

‘Oeearggh,’ he groaned as he hauled himself onto a rather unstable window-ledge and paused for breath before feeling for the latch.

The window screeched as it was opened just enough for a creature the size of a Boffwungler to squeeze through. As Ponkle entered the room he took a good look around. His eyes darted to and fro across the unfamiliar space and finally came to rest on something in the centre of the room. The creature looked so peaceful and so....comfortable. It had been hours since Ponkle had last slept. He had nearly finished his rounds, after this he could creep home and catch up on some well earned rest.

He stopped as he heard a rumbling sound. It seemed to be coming from the next room. Yes, now he remembered. Sigworth had done this patch last night. He must have been at it again. He had mentioned something about testing it. He’d get found out one of these days and when he did, Ponkle hoped that he would be some miles away. Sigworth may be his cave mate but that wasn’t any reason to get caught up in all of this any more than he was already. Being known as a complete coward often came in quite handy. Folk knew what to expect of you in times of trouble. Very little.

He lifted the sack off his aching shoulder.

‘Sshhh!’ he instructed. Ponkle and the sack did not get along.

He tiptoed (which isn’t all that easy when you’ve got big flat feet) over to the bed. Oh, it did look cosy. Yawn.

‘I wonder what these creatures make their hammocks out of?’ he wondered and to discover exactly that, he lay down his heavy head at the foot of the bed.

Umpwiffle

The dawn mist had formed a blanket over the crisp ground. The sun had only just started to rise yet already the sky was a delightful mixture of pink and amber. The only blot on the seemingly untouched landscape was the returning troop of tired and extremely famished Trunglers. Each were dragging themselves from leg, to leg, to leg, to leg, to leg, back from Dantor towards Zlexis, Tolita’s grand home, carved out from the first Mountain in the imposing Klebhorne Range. Each was carrying a wooden box clumsily on its back. Apart from Umpwiffle that is.

Umpwiffle had been given the special honour of carrying the Judgess herself - the unfortunate thing being that Tolita was at least ten times heavier than any box could ever hope to be.

She glanced icily at her army. It was a pathetic sight but it was one she was getting used to. They may be imbeciles but at least they were reliable, she thought to herself as she dug her heels into the surprised Umpwiffle to remind him that stopping for a rest was not an option. She would not tolerate a Trunglers laziness and she did not wish to miss breakfast.

Moloks

The Moloks were fast asleep in their village of Dantor, a unique habitat built far underground. Moloks have existed for centuries. They possess great knowledge and their skills of wizardry stretch beyond understanding. For many, many years, these peaceful creatures have remained anonymous, continuing their work and passing on the secrets of old to their children, their children’s children, their children’s children’s children… well I think you get the point.

Not a soul ever knew such beings even existed, save in the old folk-lore and legends and no-one had the slightest knowledge of the importance of their work. This is the way it had always been, the way it should be.

Each morning the Moloks would rise early from their living quarters and descend even further underground to the third level to begin the day’s activities in their vast number of workshops. Together they would joyfully wind their ways through the underground passages which had been built a long, long time past and whose design surpassed any of its kind.

Life for the Moloks had run smoothly and happily for as long as their memories could recall. Then one day, a slight disruption occurred in their daily routine which now threatened their very existence.

Meanwhile...

Meanwhile, in a distant place, a small object could be seen moving in an awkward fashion across an area of land filled with hidden terrors. I cannot at this time tell you very much about this object, apart from that on closer inspection it appeared to be conducting its own merry dance. It was also purple.

The Trunglers

‘Ssshhh!’ instructed Tolita in such a manner that her men shook in their boots. This was a highly complicated mission and Tolita wished that she did not have to rely on a bunch of fools to get the job done.

The army, made up of a bundle of cowardly creatures known as Trunglers, crouched impatiently and waited for their next command. These pitiful beings were not here of their own accord, actually they had a very limited career choice, either they served Tolita or they were dead. An easy enough choice for most of them.

Tolita was otherwise known as the ‘Judgess’ of Valdox. Biffleworth, her late husband, had been the Kingdom’s Judge for many, many years and his fairness was renowned throughout the land. Tolita took over his position, after his untimely and somewhat suspicious death.

Anyway, here the Trunglers were, trying their hardest (which, incidentally, is not all that hard) to keep their minds centred. The main reason why they could not do this was because they were creatures with a love for beautiful things. In fact, right now their three eyes were busy studying the interior of the somewhat cramped, damp passageway in which they were huddled. They had, of course, ventured this way many times before, yet the architecture never ceased to amaze their puzzled minds.

Either side of the passageway had been decorated with a curious silver and violet substance, the likes of which the Trunglers (and, indeed, all the inhabitants of the land, well, nearly all) had never seen. The substance’s flow was only ever interrupted when it hit small crevices in the rock, behind which could be seen constant eruptions of mystical sound and vibrant colour.

What bemused the Trunglers most of all (and Tolita herself although she would never admit it) was that the designs painted on the stone always managed to look different. Each time the small party travelled along this same tunnel it was like entering it for the first time. A peculiar thing.

Now, it must be said here that the Moloks are an exceptionally creative race and their ability to design such tunnels remains a mystery, especially considering their size. A Molok never grows taller than a blade of Deep Forest grass (but I would not advise travelling to such parts to find out if I am telling the truth).

‘Advance!’ hissed Tolita, sensing now was the time to strike.

The Trunglers, already numb, aching and suffering from severe pins and needles, gradually realised which body parts were their own and which belonged to fellow creatures and began shuffling down the tunnel on all fives.