Wefock-(not weefock) we fock

Rokiboyikavive-rock i boy i ka veev

Zokmo-zok moe

Libyado-lib ya doe

Kibamrob-kib am rob

Bocad-boe cad

Gokasyb-Cafisbused-goh (not “go”) ka sibe caf is bused

The Letter

Lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, swift as anything. Thunder proclaimed its presence to the small mountain town of Zokmo while the lightning struck anything it wished. Rain fell hard, as if trying to break through the thatched roofs of cottage-like houses, instantly extinguishing any fires the lightning may have started. Inside one of these houses was Libyado, a thin, strong, fifteen year old boy with prominent cheekbones and a slightly dark countenance that gave him a slightly menacing look at all times, especially now. He was reading a letter he had received not three minutes ago from the king, who ruled in Rokiboyikavive. It read thusly:

“Greetings to Libyado of Zokmo.

As you may or may not have heard, many skirmishes have been fought against a common enemy of all the races; the Wefocks. They have been raiding towns and cities along the coast for the past month, and while our ranks are thinning, our need for able warriors is increasing. Therefore, upon the receival of this letter you are to begin your journey to Rokiboyikavive within one week; you will therefore be expected to arrive within a month. Upon arrival, you will be trained in swordsmanship, but axe and lance training will be available if you so wish. You also may be trained in archery, with the exception of a first-timer. These additional areas of training will help you to survive as well as advance in rank. Your term in service is one year, unless otherwise decreed.”

Below the writing was the king’s seal stamped in wax; a shield with a lion emblem on it with a sword in the background.

Libyado set the letter down on the table and climbed into the bed in the corner of the room. He lived alone in this house, which was comprised of two rooms: an entryway and the bedroom/kitchen/dining room. In the latter, his bed stood in the far right corner. On the other side of the room was a cooking range, which was placed next to a small counter made of wood with drawers and cabinets, which contained silverware and cooking items such as pots and pans. On the right side of the range were tall standing cabinets, which contained salted meats, vegetables, fruits, and whatever spices and seasonings he could afford. In the middle of the room was a table with four chairs, although only one was usually used at a time. On the table were his quiver and his letter from the king. To the right of the table was a fireplace, and to the left was the door that entered into the next room, which was rather empty and contained an oval blue, red, and green rug, with a small table with two chairs underneath a window. Back in his room, Libyado snuffed the candle on his nightstand and let sleep overtake him while the storm continued its tirade outside.

He awoke the next morning before dawn, planning his course of action for the next week while preparing to hunt in the forest near the edge of the plateau on which Zokmo was settled. Sliding his unstrung seven-foot longbow from under his bed, he snatched his quiver from the table while simultaneously thrusting his steel dagger into a sheath built into his belt. Libyado strapped his quiver to his back and headed outside. He paused for a moment to view one of the two moons orbiting Gybun. The one visible now was a dark red; the other was an equally deep blue.

“’Ey, Libyado!”

His thoughts were interrupted by his obnoxious and rather overweight neighbor, Sarly. This thirteen-year-old was much luckier than Libyado in that he still had his parents, his mother Wydro and his father Pakidror. As Sarly jogged up, Libyado’s features darkened beyond normal; Sarly was just about unbearable and considered himself Libyado’s best friend, which did not sit well with him.

“How ya doin’ this mornin’,” he asked.

“Fine. Just fine.”

“Goin’ huntin’ again I see. Can I tag along?”

“Why not?” came the sarcastic reply. “You always do anyway” he mumbled.

Sarly obviously didn’t hear. “Perhaps cause bears find you particularly tasty.” He grinned. “Whatever happened last time, anyway?”

“Next time you barge into-err, that is, come to my house, look at the plaque over the fireplace. That’s what happened.”

Sarly’s grin spread.

“Well, what are we waitin’ for? Let’s get ourselves some deer!”

With that, the two of them set off for the forest, which was frequently interrupted with cliffs, caves, rivers, lakes, and ponds. They followed the road past the cemetery, over the river whose spring was right in town, and down the slope to the woods. At the edge of them, Libyado and Sarly stopped and strung their bows; Sarly had brought along his three-foot short bow. Crouching slightly, they entered the dark, ominous forest, virtually uncharted save for the path that lead to the foothills. It wasn’t long at all before the duo reached one of the many cliffs. Libyado pulled some rope from the pack he had grabbed at the door and secured it to a rock. He noticed that this particular cliff had at least fifteen overhangs within fifty feet in either direction, and that some of them were cracked and would give way at what seemed the slightest amount of weight. Sarly, captivated by the view of the sprawling forest twenty-five feet below them, stepped without noticing on to one of such overhangs.

“Sarly!”

Libyado yelled the warning, but Sarly did not hear or fall. He did, however freeze and looked at the ground he was standing on. After a few seconds, his common grin spread across his mouth. Libyado sighed in relief, but all too soon; Sarly disappeared a second later with a yell.