PROLOGUE:

The day The Free Spirits arrived, began like any other for the Little 'Uns of the Lost Tribe: Swift kicks and harsh words from the Big 'Uns brought the ragged youngsters quickly to terrified consciousness and as the camp scuttled into action, the terror of the Little 'Uns was slowly reduced to their customary wakeful state of numbness and dread. A commotion beside one of the spiked pits signalled the discovery of a nocturnal beast impaled on one of the lethal barbs at the base of the trench. The large amphibian stuttered out its last spasms of life as it was wrenched from the pit by two of the Big 'Uns, and a ragged cheer went up at the prospect of a change to the menu. The large battered cauldron containing leftover rat stew had a scummy grey sheen atop it that was beginning to look decidedly unappetising.

And so, the Tribe set about their tasks for the day. The rust needed to be swabbed from the man-traps at the edge of the bog and the darts for the blow-pipes re-fletched. One of the Big 'Uns used the Tribes single prized blade - a thin, cruel machete - to sharpen the points of the new hardwood spears, while another assembled a crew of Little 'Uns for foraging duties. The large amphibious beast - a guineafrog - was gutted and skinned and methodically butchered by a small tussle of Little 'Uns who were then kicked into line by a Big 'Un and tasked with the digging of a new latrine pit.

The thin slivers of light, filtering down through the dank canopy, waxed slowly across the clearing at the centre of the camp and as the gloom of the afternoon set in, talk amongst the Tribe turned to its new favourite subject: The rumours of the new threat. Rumours of The Free Spirits.

Increasingly irritated by the incessant chatter, one of the Big 'Uns stamped to the centre of the camp and clambered atop a large pile of old car tires.

"Thats ENOUGH!" he cried - the gruffness of his shout cracked to a shrill cry, as his eternally breaking voice sent dark, heavy-winged birds croaking and flapping from their perches.

"Free Spirits! Free Spirits! - That's all you lot gab on about, and I'm fed up've it d'you hear?"

The Little 'Uns lowered their heads in shamed deference and the other Big 'Uns gathered closer - eager to see where this was going.

"If I hear one more word about these ...Spirits, I'm going to brain the squirt who said it...

....wiv the Hogknocker!"

At that, sighs and gasps of hushed distress rippled out from the gathered Little 'Uns and all eyes turned to the weapons rack by the fire pit, where; suspended from its leather thong, hung a wooden club the length of a Big 'Uns leg: It's fat head, clad in blackened iron and studded with cruel looking nails: A silent testimony to the crushing of skulls.

"It's time we remembered who we are!" declared the Big 'Un

"We're the Lost Tribe! and nothing can get past us!"

At that, murmurs of approval fluttered about the camp and even a halfhearted cheer was raised, although the Little 'Un who'd uttered it was soundly clouted about the head by a sneering Big 'Un; to the uncomfortable giggling of those about him.

While the speech appeared to have had the desired effect, there were those amongst the tribe who recognised the hollowness of the threats, and whose minds clung firmly to their purpose… for how could the Lost Tribe stop a threat that was already amongst them?

The last grey hint of evening fled into the murk through the trees, until the only light remaining emanated from the glowing embers of the fire pit. The Tribe slowly sloped off to the hidey-holes, nests, and gap-toothed shacks they slept in, and soon the only sounds were the occasional, distant and abrupt cries of unfortunate prey, as they were plucked from their places in the food chain.



IT IS NOW NIGHT ONE

ALL ROLES HAVE BEEN PMed

Night One will end in 48 hours. I shall endeavour to post an update as soon after the deadline as possible , but it will probably be on Sunday (GMT).
Any questions - feel free to post in the thread or PM me.