Once upon a time, under the shadow of a serene, calm chasm, lived a family of five cheerful, adorable trogdolytes. There was Papa Trogdolyte, the gruff yet gentle father who also served as the chasm village deacon, Mama Trogdolyte, a mother who could do anything and everything and would do it with a smile, Jimmy Trogdolyte, a nary 7 year old with a go-getter attitude, Susie, a genius at everything she did (clearly taking after her mother) and Baby Troggie, who only just learn't how to walk a few days ago. They lived a happy life of farming cave moss on the chasm edge, discussing daily chasm life with the neighboring Antmans, and generally having a good time. This was a family that only knew peace and happiness in an uneventful life.
One day, Papa awoke in his cave wheat bed to find that Jimmy was standing next to him. Jimmy, as usual, had woken up in the middle of the day to use the little chasmperson's room and was now unable to sleep.
"Papa! There's no dwarves under my bed!" he sobbed out.
"There there Jimmy. There aren't any dwarves under your bed." Papa replied.
"but Papa! I can hear them digging and clawing and gnashing and picking away! Come and chase them away!" Jimmy cried out.
Shaking his head, yet smiling to himself, Papa climed out of his comfy bed, careful not to wake his darling wife, and lead Jimmy Trogdolyte back to his room. There, he bent over and looked under the small yet sturdy bed and peered into the brightness, all the while with Jimmy hugging his pillow standing behind him.
"See, there's nothing in there. It's all in your imagination. Now go back to sleep. You've got a big game tomorrow!"
"But Papa! Listen!"
"Look, young man, I've had e-" but suddenly, Papa's ears picked up a distant but distinct picking sound. "Odd." He thought to himself, "I bet it's those nasty kobolds again. I'm going to have to have to speak to their liason tomorrow. Again."
But at that moment, the picking sound died off and there was only the bright, midday sun and silence again.
"There. See. It's gone. Now be a big boy and go back to sleep. We're not going to wake you up if you miss the game tomorrow~" he chriped to his son. But curiously, the boy had already crawled back under the sheets and was snoring away. Papa grinned and ruffled the sleeping boy's hair before going back to bed. He had a big sermon tomorrow and wanted to be well rested.
------
"That was a good service!"
"You're the best, deacon Trogdolyte!"
Those were the cheers that Papa recieved, as usual, from his following. He made it a point that his sermons were not only succinct but motivating yet cheerful at the same time. The chasmdwellers loved it. (though he did notice a slow decline in attendees lately.)
"I'm home!" He called out as he opened the front door but what awaited him was not what he expected.
The walls were coated red. "Strange... did Mama repaint the house?" He reached for the paint but lo and behold...
"This is... this... oh no... no no no..."
Blood. There was a hand. A severed hand lying on the table. It was a hand he knew well. A hand he held as he grasped it at the alter 15 years ago. A hand that reached for him 7 years ago when the bearer bored him his firstborn. Papa, slowly, with a trembling finger... touched it. To see if it was real. There was conversation in the living room and the squishing of something that did not sound like it should be squished.
"Aye. that's the last we'll see of these danky demons. That'll teach them ter keep interruptin' our hunters. Heh heh, let's gae back an' have a pint and share this one wit' the lads."
DWARVES!!!!!!! Papa was furious! Those monsters spawned from the abyss must have broken in in the night! Their uncouth speech, slovenly manners and barbaric livestyles all betrayed their demonic heritage. His mind was blank, his eyes: bloodshot. All in Papa's mind now was... revenge.
He burst in the door, screaming and howling with all his might. His only weapon was the granite briefcase in his hand, but he used it to batter the dwarves with a blow unlike any other. One dwarf went flying into the wall, a sickening crunch following suit. The other dwarf tried to dodge, but the suitcase smacked into his ribs and tore the fool in half through sheer, brute force.
But Papa stopped abruptly. His dear, dear Baby Troggie was on the table. The dwarves were only about to finish him off.
"I must save us both!" Papa's brain did a u-turn. He jumped and reached for the infant but for naught. For a dog the size of a horse, scarred and bony, with teeth festering with a hundred thousand diseases seized the poor child and crushed its face without any mercy. Eyes glowing red and face staring at poor, poor Papa; the beast seemed to mock the deacon.
Papa was stunned. Shocked. He was broken. Hapless, he simply fell on his knees. Upon his face was engraved the very picture of disbelief. One of the foul dwarves, the one who was knocked into the wall, came by in slow-motion. Papa watched but did not realise out of the corner of his eye, the burly, stout creature drawing a massive blade from a sheath upon the leg. There was mumbling.
"Bloody monster"
And the blade fell. Papa's headless body fell like a broken doll onto the copper table, crimson blood spilling and mixing with that of his child. Thus, the line of the Trodolytes was ended.
tl:dr -> a bunch of Trogdolytes were annoying the hell out of me by living happy, carefree lives in their chasm. So I killed them.
[ December 31, 2007: Message edited by: umiman ]
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Topic: The happy trogdolyte family (Read 1299 times)