In the Courtyard of the Flame, Nerok and Ardok walked in calm worship. The two brothers bound by faith were not too dissimilar, both bald and both with ratty beards that seemed to dip down under their chins to the bottom of their stubby necks. Nerok wore simple leather straps, which had knotted bootlaces holding things together. Ardok was one of the High Priests, and so wore hard, durable straps of pure gold that were adorned with possibly-fake jewels. He wore only the finest leather sandals, whereas Nerok wore simple, compact canvas slippers. They shared drastically different ideals- Nerok was a man with a heart of death, a man willing to wage war should any time come. Ardok however was a man who believed in peace, and love, perhaps the only man of his kind left.
Today, instead of the usual rampant discussions on neurological philosophy and diabolical deities, they explored their self-spoken indomitable opinions on their leader, Fyrok, the highest of High Priests, and not one to abstain from the rivers of controversy. He was incompetent and rash in the eye of Ardok, for his war-mongering soul and whispers contrasted with the peaceful spirit that ran through Ardok. To Nerok, however, he was one of the almighty highest Gods, the Deum Immortalem for his hating life.
"I'm sorry, Nerok, but I disagree! Fyrok is simply not good enough to sustain our lifestyles, no matter how calm nor lucrative they be, for another year!"
Nerok, ever the slimy one, had a moment of both scoffing and choking.
"Ardok, please. You of all people should not talk of leadership! And besides, who do you possess that could possibly rival Fyrok?!"
Ardok was just about to pop in with a definitive return to jungle politics when a stranger made himself known, standing with something that resembled a blocky, purple dog.
"Oh, hello! Sorry, just sort of...well, arrived and thought I'd drop in." He wore a bowtie, straight as could be, and had the hair of an adolescent ruffian.
"Who are you, stranger?"
"They call me the Doctor."
"Doctor who?"
"Just the Doctor, and I hope to keep it that way."
Out of the blue, an orange orb span across the heavens like a glob of spit. This was sacred to the tribe, but it caught the Doctor off guard. He ran as close to the edge of the courtyard as possible, squinting as the orb vanished.
"Ok...now we're in trouble."
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Nerok dragged a protesting Doctor inside the Temple of Times, into the order of High Priests. There were four thrones. One sat at the top, whereas the rest tiered off into their own level. Only one was resided in, the second-to-top one, by a skinny man with bushy hair.
"What is this?!"
"This man appeared outside, and does not speak the truths of his origin!"
"Yes I did! I came here for no reason and for good reason I have to stay now if you'll excuse me, I have to bring my dog for a walk. Coming K9?"
He tried to move, but unable to leave he sighed.
"What is your name?"
"Boris Becker."
"Tell the truth, or you shall die."
"Alright, I'm the Doctor. Not a devil or a goblin or anything, just a man with the urge to help. That's all."
This man smiled, and stood up.
"I am Klirok."
"Yes, I seemed to notice all your names end in 'Ok'. Is that a thing or?"
"It is a sacred tradition to celebrate Jirok, lord of the skies!"
The Doctor smiled with recognition.
"Oh I see! Like calling your son Moses or your daughter Mary."
"I do not know what you reference, Doctor."
"Neither do I sometimes. Now, about the great ball of fire I just saw."
Klirok kissed his hands and pointed them to the skies.
"We know that to be the son of Jirok, Odisok. He shoots across the heavens to bring us good and pure thoughts and prayers."
"And does this planet have a name?"
"Knave-rock, as dictated in the now, unfortunately, lost scriptures. They were so holy, so full of knowledge."
"What happened to them?"
"One of our past leaders, Plinrok, destroyed them and declared us a new, everlasting wave of colourful praise and ideas. Ever since, we have strove ourselves to finding any fragments of them."
"Sounds rather dull and pointless but good on you for trying."
Another man, in golden wear, rushed in.
"Klirok, the return is commencing!"
They rushed outside as another ball of red shot across the sky, albeit at a much more vertical angle.
"What's happening?"
"Jirok returns to his father."
"But that's...that's not what I saw before. That's not the same ball of fire!"
"Yes, yes it is. Now come along, we must introduce you to Fyrok. You've met Ardok and Quillok."
The one called Quillok interrupted them.
"Sorry, no one's allowed to see Fyrok right now. He's feeling ill."
"Well, I'm a Doctor. Let me look at-"
"A what?"
"A doctor. I'm a doctor, I'm the Doctor."
"What is a doctor?"
"Someone who makes things better or worse for the good of all the universe."
"Surely then, you do not help?"
"Never said I did. Then again, never said I didn't either."
Quillok sighed.
"I'll ask Fyrok."
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Nerok was among his people, the simple people in the eyes of the priests, in the jungle camp they lived in.
"My friends, tonight shall be the night! I shall swap my own being for my brother! I shall steal his identity, as he and his friends have stolen our lives!"
They all raised their hands in the air and clapped, twice every two seconds. Nerok sneered, and raised his fist in the air both triumphantly and awkwardly.
"For my people! By my people! To my people! With my people! Now my people!"
They repeated his words, line by line, with irritating zeal.
"Tonight! We! Will! Be! Reborn!" he screeched, scaring away birds and other small animals. The people crowded around him and tossed him in the air with the happy but possibly miscalculated sense of victory.
Tonight was their time to become the masters.