Cradle to the Grave

Stick was inside his shed, tinkering with the different ingredients Cloud collected over the years when he suddenly heard a knock coming from the door. He stopped what he was doing and walked over to see who it was. A group of goblins was standing in front of the shed. They were Cloud's former followers, but they follow him. "Sir Stick, Meek found this Cala's home." An old bearded goblin handed him a burnt helmet. "Cloud's helmet."

"Thank you," Stick said in amazement. He never saw Cloud's helmet before. He thought the first time he would see it would be when Could was wearing it. Cloud can't wear it now. And the helmet was barely recognizable.

"Sir Stick, wear it. It good fit."

"Um. Maybe next time, I still have some important stuff to do. You may leave" Stick placed the helmet on the counter. He turned around and saw the goblins waiting outside in the cold. "What's wrong? Is there anything else you need from me?"

The old goblins stepped forward, "Sir Stick, troll grave smell bad. Tribe complains."

"How bad, exactly?"

The goblins lead Stick to the burial mount where the troll's corpse was buried. A foul stench permeated from the dirt, through the snow, making its way to the air. The goblins could smell the body from twenty meters away. "What the hell?" Stick yelled, "Why does it smell so awful? Did you guys bury it six feet under?"

"Yes, Sir Stick." The old goblin said.

"What six feet?" A short, bald goblin asked. The older goblin smacked the bald one's head because of the question.

"What do you mean, what? Do you guys not know how deep it that is?" Stick placed his hand on his forehead. "This is going to be a long day. Ok, everyone, I need all of you to follow my instructions" Stick clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "I need half of you to dig out the corpse while another half digs out a new grave. For the ones digging the new grave, I will show you how deep six feet is, ok?"

"Yes, Sir Stick." They said.

"Good, now get to work!"

Ten goblins were digging out the troll's body while Stick showed the other half how far deep six feet go. He used a long that had a banner on one end to demonstrate the measurement to them. "During our studies, Sun would teach us mathematics."

A goblin raised her hand, "What made a ma ticks?"

"It's numbers and such. Sun found a ruler when we were looking for books, and with that ruler, we began to measure everything around us. Well, not everything, but a lot of things. Look, all you need to know is that nearly all the poles in the tribe that holds banners or torches are eight feet. And do you see that banner on hanging on top?" The group nodded. "That banner is about two feet in length. By subtracting eight and two, we get six feet." Stick took out a knife and marked the spot where the banner ends. "From this mark going all the way down to the earth is six feet. But you might ask, 'are we going to take this pole with us to measure the hole?' And I'll answer back with a no."

"A no?" The same goblin asked.

"That's right. All we need is someone to stand next to the pole for measurements. Since you asked, you'll be our living ruler. Come on up here." The goblin got up and stood next to the pole. Stick adjusted her posture, straightened her legs, and rest her head against the pole to attain the most accurate measurement. "Alright, girl, what's your name?"

"Me, I Mist, Sir Stick." She whispered

Stick took off the banner, then climbed down and measured the space between her head and the marking he made. "Well, Mist, it looks like you are four feet tall. We are going to use this banner to measure the hole. Once we passed two feet, we will be relying on Mist's height to measure our progress. We will not stop digging until Mist's braided hair touch the banner. Do you guys understand?"

"Yes, Sir Stick!" The goblins yelled in unison.

"Then let's get digging!"

Stick, and his followers started digging twelve meters away from the former burial mount. It took them two hours to reach the two feet mark, and another hour to reach the goal of six feet. The goblins tasked on unearthing the troll's corpse joined them after finishing their duty, making the task easier.

While they were digging, curios spectators watched Stick dig with his followers. Some of them made fun of Stick, calling him weak for working with his fellow goblins, while the ones that worshipped Sun saw this as a sign of loyalty and humility.

They saw Stick as a weakling like the others, but his commitment to work and lack of arrogance made him a reliable leader just like Cloud. But Stick has one striking quality that separates him from his predecessor; he was no coward. The goblins that saw Stick fight alongside Sun against the troll respected him greatly. It also helps that Olhos's former followers witness Stick fight against the former Chief. Where most would cower in fear, Stick ran straight to danger without hesitation.

Stick was weak, but the goblins that respected him believed that he is stronger than any of the gossipers talking behind his back. Eventually, the crowd of spectators left because of the smell getting stronger by the minute.

After reaching six feet, Stick and his followers climbed from their new hole and walked back to the troll. What Stick saw shocked him. "What the hell happened to the body?"

"What Sir Stick mean?" The old goblin asked.

"What do I mean?" Stick pointed at the troll's corpse. "Look at this, um. What's your name? I don't think I heard it?"

"Me Cast, Sir Stick."

"Look at this, Cast." Stick climbed up the chest of the troll and began to stomp at it, creating a hard thumping sound. "It stone! How did it turn into stone?"

"Sir Stick, maybe sun reason body stoned?"

Stick stared at Cast, puzzled at the sentence he just heard. "But it's dead. How did it turn into stone? No, you know what, it doesn't matter. It was hard enough to move this body when it was just flesh and bones, but now it's just a giant rock."

Stick sat down on the troll's chest and rested his chin on his right knuckle while trying to think of a solution. While he was thinking, Sun and Smoke called out to him as they pass by on their way to the demolished warehouse. "Yo, what's that smell? Was that you Smoke?" Sun asked.

"Screw you. I don't smell that bad." Smoke responded. "Maybe it's your long dread that you haven't washed for weeks."

"I'll wash it when I have the time."

"Hey, guys!" Stick noticed their follower's hammers. "Say, are you using those?" He pointed at the goblins holding the hammers.

"What?" Sun turned around and looked at the object Stick was pointing at. "You mean those hammers. What are you going to use it for?"

Stick pointed down on his feet.

"Did that just turn into stone?"

"Yup."

The brothers had their followers chisel apart the body. Arms and legs were broken in half, and the torso was split into four pieces. It took an hour to break the stone corpse into manageable pieces without leaving large crumbs on the ground. The goblins wrapped the remains in a loincloth and dragged them toward the new hole except for the head.

The troll's head was hideous. The nose pointed upward toward its forehead; its tusk penetrated out the lower lip. It had no hair to hide its giant rat-like ears. Smoke rolled the head to its destination. They buried the body in less than an hour. Sun and Smoke left afterward to start their own work.

The smell remained on the surface for two days until a heavy snowfall finally buried the stench.