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Chronicles of TheFili: Chapter 1 – The Shuffling of the Cards[]

Now for something different. I have decided to chronicle all possible Kongai Fan Fiction that still remains (given that the official Kongai Forum also had fanfic that was now sadly purged) on this website so that none may further succumb to destruction. The reason I decided to name these blogs "the Apocrypha Games" is that firstly, Kongai is a game (duh!), secondly, "apocrypha" refers to the fact that these stories are at best dubious to Sirlin's official "canon" of Kongai (even tough there isn't that much in the first place) and finally, "apocrypha" also means that these stories are not canon to my attempt at fan fiction (Project Kongai). I have neither used any ideas from these stories (hopefully mere coincidences if any similarities ever show up), since my story has 1. The concepts have been planned out meticulously long ago before I found these. 2. Features original characters from my other concepts Mavericks. And 3. Most of these stories would have some direct conflict with any lore I would have proposed (e.g. here, Popo's male, whereas a female/non-binary in Project Kongai, what Sirlin originally intended).

Note that the fanfic here has been unaltered, bad grammar and all.

Anyway, here's the second book of the Apocrypha Games, originally written by Kongregate's TheFili (Jun 27, 2008), sourced here.

Scroll 2[]

Popo took his time and aimed carefully. When he let fly, the stone behaved perfectly and hit the pig right in the ham. The animal squeaked in terror and started running around in its enclosure, much to Popo’s delight.

Rocking with silent laughter, he loaded another stone into his slingshot. The cows, a little farther away were his new targets.

Suddenly, a wasp appeared in front of his face, buzzing aggressively. Startled, Popo released his hold and the missile shot away, missing the cows by several feet and hitting a hideous wooden mask instead.

Popo grew pale and quickly emerged from the bush where he had hidden. As he approached the hut with the ceremonial masks on pales beside it, he realised that he was in trouble. His errant stone had taken a large chunk out of Juju’s precious artefact. He wanted to run, but knew that it was hopeless; he had heard all the stories about Antumbega’s shaman.

The children told each other that he had a third eye at the back of his head. That he grew plants in his garden that would kill you when looked at them. And that his muwongu, the village men’s traditional headgear, was not taken from a roc bird he had killed; instead, they whispered, it was a real part of him, and Juju transformed into a griffin at night.

No, you didn’t want to cross Juju. The urge to run and hide became stronger, but when Popo turned around, he saw the man towering over him. The frightful gaze travelled between the boy and the mask, then back to Popo – who then had the bad idea to quickly hide the slingshot behind his back.

“Do you want to tell me anything?”

Adults asked this question an awful lot, Popo thought, and most of the time, it concerned things they could plainly see.

“I… I’m sorry,” he tried. “I think… I broke your mask.”

At least Juju didn’t hang him from a cloud and leave him there all day long, as he was told to have done with Popo’s friend Nakula once. Instead, he answered in a clam, yet very deliberate voice: “I can see that. Tell me, little addengu, do you have any idea how old this mask is?”

Popo almost answered, mostly because he didn’t enjoy being called a pighead. Granted, he wore one, but you couldn’t be picky about your first muwongu.

Still, he wisely remained silent and let Juju continue: “This mask belonged to all the village’s shamans, your grandfather as well, I might mention, and it is over 100 years old.”

“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t keep it outside, exposed to rain, wind or, say, stones..” Two slim shapes came around one of the huts, moving as alike as it is possible when one shape has twice as many legs as the other.

On seeing Zina and her pet, Popo felt hope that he might get out of this unharmed. In the mind of the children, she was at least as powerful as Juju, but far nicer. As one of the rare Beast Mistresses, she had had a bond with all kinds of animals since she was born. When she was barely ten, she had found her pet or naokolalem, the splinter of her mind. It was only ever called “the tiger” or “the pet”, as it was the sacred custom among Beast Mistresses. The animal had a name, but only Zina knew it, and no force in the world could have extracted it from her.

Everybody knew this, for that was her way. The children cautiously whispered when they spoke about Juju’s sinister powers. Zina on the other hand never told her secrets, but she loved to tell the children about them. And when she had them all excited, she lay back and enjoyed the attention, while her pet was stretched by the fireside, being stroked and having its fur ruffled by the young villagers.

“None of your business, Zina,” Juju snarled and turned on Popo again.

“No, but there’s business for you.” And all the time she was smiling that slightly belligerent smile of hers that, as everyone knew, drove Juju up the wall. “Tafari is back. I just thought you wanted to know – you two can hardly bear to be separated for long, can you?”

This was the one thing that could could save Popo. The shaman gave him another furious look and then stormed off to find his scout.

“Thanks,” Popo murmured when he and Zina were alone.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook yet. Juju will certainly tell your grandfather. And neither of them is very pleasant when you mess with their shamaning stuff.” This prospect made Popo swallow hard as Zina escorted him back to his hut. Her tiger strode behind them, looking equally ready to be patted on the head or slice you open with a single movement.

Ubuntu sat in front of the hut, watching the clouds pass above him. He might have looked perfectly harmless, had it not been for his muwongu, the head of a valley demon he had defeated in a two hour battle almost twenty years ago. No matter how peaceful the old man might seem, the trophy always reminded the people who saw him that here was a man who had bested the deadliest predator the villagers knew and had lived to wear its head.

“What’s he done now?” he asked, without actually looking at either of the two.

“Nothing much, just annoyed a mean old bird. Might do that myself, should the evening get boring.”

Ubuntu closed his eyes and shook his head, clearly conveying both his amusement and his weariness of youth and all its follies. “in you go, Popo. We’ll talk about this later.” The youth went in and for the next two hours kept to his bedroom, thinking it wiser not to attract any attention for a while. And otherwise, he never would have heard the things he was about to.

Shortly after dark, footsteps approached their house. When he peered through his window, he saw Juju and Tafari make their way towards him. They knocked at the door, and his grandfather let them in.

They wasted no time on preliminaries. “Well, how bad is it?” Ubuntu asked.

“Bad.” That was Tafari’s hoarse voice, barely audible as the men each took a chair and sat down around the dining table. Popo was well aware that he was eavesdropping on the three most powerful men of Antumbega. His grandfather, once shaman and now the respected Elder, was nominally the village’s first man. But he had transferred a lot of his power to Juju, which meant that the shaman got to make all the choices Ubuntu didn’t object to. Tafari, finally, was the best scout and trapper they had.

“I have visited all of this season’s grazing grounds. Of course, it has been a tough year, but without the earthquake, we just might have made it. As it is, most of the land is buried under landslides. Two of the rivers are poisoned or inaccessible.”

Silence, then Ubuntu’s voice again. “Can the fields sustain us? Or hunting?”

Juju answered after a brief pause. “You know as well as I do that the fields have always been our most unreliable food source. When have we ever made enough to build up stocks?”

“Hunting’s no good either. The trappers are very worried; they’ve been attacked more often than usual lately. It’s like all predators suddenly chose us as their new prey.”

Again, there was silence. At length, Ubuntu spoke again. “I know what you’re going to say, we’ve been over this often enough. But where? There is no better spot around here.”

As soon as these words were spoken, Popo felt like great things were set in motion right next to him. The impression grew when he heard the voice in which Juju said: “Tafari has found something else.”

“Yes. The Spirits’ Wall. There is a pass.”

It seemed like all life, all movement around Popo ceased for a few seconds while the meaning of the words sank in.

“A pass?”

“Yes, Elder. Created by a massive rockfall; I’ve never seen anything of that kind. Apparently, several of the most dangerous spots are now passable, if you are very careful. I have only gone a short way, but it seems that the earthquake has laid open a system of caves.” There was rustling, and then, for the next hour or so, the men could be heard studying a map of the Spirits’ Wall, and Tafari explained how the catastrophe had changed the landscape.

Finally, Ubuntu said: “What is on the other side?”

It sounded like Tafari started to speak, but Juju was faster. “We don’t know yet. That is why we came to you, Elder. I want to send Tafari through the mountains, to see what he can discover. It may be our only hope to find a place where we can survive.”

A chair was pushed back and steps wandered around the room. Popo knew that his grandfather was thinking hard. Why does he need to think?, the boy wondered. Here was the gate to unknown countries, a new world. He trembled with excitement at the thought of it. Surely his grandfather would see reason.

“All right,” Ubuntu’s voice finally reached his ears. “Go, Tafari, see what you can find. But I want you to take Zina with you. This is far too important a task for you to face alone. Can you be ready by tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, Elder. I still have my things packed, and a few hours of rest should be enough.”

“Good. Then I will go and speak to Zina. I want you to be gone as early as you can. The fewer people know about this, the better.”

After murmurs of agreement, the three men parted. Popo silently stole into bed, and when Ubuntu entered his room, the boy seemed fast asleep. But in his mind, thoughts were racing. His grandfather didn’t want anybody to go with the two warriors. Not one of the villagers, and certainly not him.. But as soon as he heard the Elder leave their hut, he was out of bed, and began to pack his bag.

About noon the next day, Juju saw Ubuntu go from villager to villager. And when he heard the question the old men asked, he knew there would be trouble.

“I can’t find Popo anywhere. Have you seen him?”