If not me, who?
I have been the captive of a particularly nasty and cruel tribe of ogres for the better part of a year now. I think it's been a year anyway. Time after all is becoming quite difficult for me to track. Every day is mostly the same--wake, eat the slop they toss at me, stare out of my cage dumbly, witness the revolting behavior of my captors, sleep. Repeat on the morrow.
To combat the insanity that I feel setting in on me, I keep busy by studying and mentally cataloging the ways of the ogres.
One time, I asked them for parchment and a plume. After some deliberation and head scratching, the ogres brought me a barely living goblin captive and a foot-long tattoo needle. Fail.
I suppose I could have simply stabbed myself in the eye with said needle at that moment, but I perservered. Naturally, I refused to tattoo my "writings" onto the poor goblin's body. So I decided to catalogue my findings in my head instead, while awaiting salvation.
Speaking of goblins, these pitiful creatures feature prominently in many of the athletic endeavors, my captors are fond of "playing."
Do not judge me, I have nothing better to do...and am going slowly but irrevocably mad.
Additional Ideas (2)
Save the Bait.
A form of fishing I suppose, but the purpose here is not to catch any fish. In fact, as an interesting foot-note, Ogres I've learned, refuse to eat *anything* found in water. Something to do with their convoluted traditions and myths.
Their version of fishing goes something like this:
A living goblin (this theme will repeat itself I'm afraid) is tied securely to a very long rope, one end of which is attached to a sturdy pole, which an ogre grasps tightly with meaty paws. The "bait" or "lure" if you will, (said goblin--quite alive) is then tossed or heaved into the muddy lake, beside the Ogre village. Usually four to five participants (and four to five goblins) compete at once.
The ogres toss their goblins and then wait. Soon comes a horrid creature, responding to the splashing, drowning goblin's struggles in the water.
These fish resemble huge gars, but seem even meaner. Their snouts and maws are narrow and long, akin to a crocodile's, and filled with razor-sharp needle teeth. While they cannot swallow the goblins whole, these fish can mutilate them in short order. *Snap*--there goes a goblin leg. *Snap*--there goes an arm, and so forth.
The competition begins once the gars start snapping at the goblins. At this point the ogres begin pulling on their poles, flinging the goblins out of the water and redepositing them back into the drink moments later, some distance away.
There are rules to this sport, I have come to learn (oh gods please let me die in my sleep tonight!).
An ogre is not allowed to yank his goblin out of the water for more than a few seconds at a time, and must toss the wretch back into the lake almost immediately. (Yes, for those wondering, the ogres have a "referee" watching these gruesome proceedings.)
This morbid nonsense goes on until almost nothing is left of the goblins attached to the ropes. After a certain time limit is up, (I am doing the best that I can to explain this sport, from my poor vantage point) the ogres pull whatever is left of their goblins out of the lake.
By now you have probably guessed how the "winner" is determined. Whichever ogre has the most goblin "meat" left dangling on his rope, wins!
You know, I used to despise the loathsome members of the goblinoid races, much like you folks out there, I am sure. But after witnessing this Ogre "sport" (and other even more gruesome ones), I feel nothing but pity for the miserable little creatures.
The next sport I will document (to myself), involves a huge ogre skull stuffed with--gods know what--and yes, you guessed it--more live goblins.
Oh wait! Here comes my slop!
Today is a special day. The ogres are getting ready for something called--bare with me here--"Ch'razzak."
This sport involves two teams of ogres competing. Six ogres per side. The setting is a large cleared field or meadow. From my limited view it seems the playing field is quite large. As the ogre teams get ready by hurling vile insults at each other across the field of play, other ogres prepare the game "implements."
Sixteen massive ogre skulls (if you are wondering, ogres are fond of saving the skulls of their dead, boiling them for many hours, and---oh never mind, I ramble!) are stuffed with pitch and dirt, and I don't want to guess what else. All except one skull which is stuffed with a small, live goblin, in such a way, that the cramped, "folded" wretch cannot move an inch, and can merely stare out of the skull's eye sockets...and whimper helplessly.
The game begins when the sixteen skulls are all rolled out to the center of the field. An officiating ogre speaks some gibberish, blows some sort of aurochs horn, and the two teams of ogres bum-rush toward the center of the field, looking to grab the right skull.
I am not going to lie to you. This sport is entertaining to watch, though that is probably because I am now bordering on insanity, and am numb to the horrors I witness. Also because the ogres tend to suffer gruesome injuries themselves during the matches. This makes me happy.
The goal of the sport is to advance the skull with the goblin to the opposite end of the field, while the ogres from the opposing team do everything in their power--kick, punch, gouge, smash, jab, tackle, you name it, they do it--the skull "carrier" and retrieve it for their own side, at which point the same thing happens in reverse. One team carrying the skull, and the other team looking to maul them.
There are intricacies involved (I cannot believe I am using that word to describe these savages!) During the bloody melee, the ogres lose track of which skull houses the goblin naturally, and therefore frantically attempt to get *every* skull to their opponents end.
Additionally, spectators hurl insults and gobs of spit upon the participants, and are allowed to toss more skulls (stuffed with dead goblins, oh the trickery!) into the fray from the side-lines, completely confusing the players involved. Chaos reigns for approximately an hour. Bloody, lovely, chaos! (I am losing my mind!)
Finally, some ogre or other (there are usually ogre casualties involved), stumbles with the right skull toward the correct field-end. At this point, the goblin inside the skull actually feels some hope. A bit shook up, but still alive! This hope lasts a mere moment, as the "winning" ogre proceeds to impale the skull, goblin still inside, onto a sharpened stake in the ground, signifying the end of the match.
Much merriment and celebration ensues among the ogres, while the goblin bleeds out, ignored and forgotten.
Thank the gods that I cannot fit inside a boiled ogre skull!