Foresank
Prologue
The fog began across the ocean, ever nearing the island.
The islanders were just eating their evening meal, peacefully, in family, in harmony.
They had just caught fish off the shores of the beach, and then had cooked them at their camp nearby, over a nice, warm family, with the whole tribe family.
Suddenly, the bullhorn was sounded, and all of their heads sprang up and turned to the ocean shore.
The alarm had been sound.
Their evening meal was hastened, and then everything was packed away. People were scrambling all over the camp, screaming in their native tongue incoherent commands at each other. And all the women and children hid in their own tents, crying in fear, ever waiting.
One pregnant woman stumbled, her young male child trying to help her up. A tribesman, her husband, ran to her and helped her to their tent. When they got there, he muttered orders to her. She was weeping silently, but nodded at every command. They all embraced, and then the man left them and ran into the distance. The woman and male child could not see him after ten feet.
The fog had come.
There was silence among the camp. The stray sound of weeping was heard, then shushed by a loving female. Everyone just waited.
Waited.
And waited.
And waited again.
Suddenly there came the howl of men. Strings were heard strung from bows, arrows heard whizzing through the air, and axes clashing against axes. The random spark of a torch on fire was seen in the distance, moving violently from side to side. The searing of burnt flesh was heard, and the cries of a tribesman soon followed.
All hell broke loose.
Then, the remaining tribesmen ran back to their families. They positioned themselves in front of their tent entrances, aiming and firing their arrows in the fog. Screams were heard, but dark shapes of men came running towards the camp. The tribesmen wasted the last of their arrows on many of the shapes, and then un-slung their axes and hammers, ready to defend their families. One tribesman ran towards the side and cut a rope. A net laid out on the floor, connected to a tree in the distance, grabbed some of the dark shapes and flew them from the air and pounded their lifeless corpses back and forth across either side of the tree. Some of the dark shapes grew angry and ran towards the camp, only to fall into hidden spike ditches. Some fell into regular ditches, but were stoned from above from the tribesmen. Other traps were tripped, such as logs crashing together into dark shapes or arrow shooting rigged trees or hidden ditches filled with wolves, tigers, lions, or bears. Either way, in a matter of minutes, there were no more dark shapes.
Except one.
He was brought to the village leader, the survived husband of the pregnant woman and male child. The leader of the tribe passed judgment, and then clubbed him to death in front of his son. His son would never forget that day and constantly lived in fear. But he wouldn't need to fear for too long.
The cogs and gears in the clock of fate and time had begun to turn.