Deep within the heart of Thundarr Forest, where the towering trees whispered ancient secrets and the moon cast silver light through the branches, the Pigmen of the Oinkak Tribe gathered in mourning. Their chief, Grunmok the Wise, had passed away after decades of leading his kind with strength and cunning.
The Pigmen were a peculiar race, humanoid in structure but with the stout bodies and snouted faces of swine. Their traditions were as old as the trees, and among them, the highest honor was the Banquet of Sorrow—where the flesh of the departed would be consumed by the tribe, so his essence would remain within them forever.
As tradition dictated, the Pigmen sent emissaries to the Cave of Falcon, requesting the presence of Falcon and Shecon, the legendary protectors of the forest.
The Summons
Faro Faros, known as Falcon, and his companion Shecon, stood before the Pigmen’s messenger, a solemn figure draped in ceremonial black fur.
“Falcon, Shecon,” the messenger snorted, bowing low. “Our chief, Grunmok, has fallen. As protectors of the forest, you are bound by honor to attend his Banquet of Sorrow. You will eat of his flesh, as we all must.”
Shecon crossed her arms, her piercing green eyes studying the Pigman carefully. “You wish us to partake in… cannibalism?”
The Pigman let out a deep oink. “Not cannibalism. Sacred unity. The chief’s body will be cut and roasted in the holy bonfire. His wisdom, his power, his soul—will live on in all who consume him.”
Falcon, ever the warrior, felt a strange respect for their custom. He had encountered many tribes in Thundarr Forest, each with their own way of honoring the dead. But this… this was unlike anything he had seen before.
“We will come,” he said at last.
The Funeral Feast
The Pigmen village was alive with firelight and sorrowful chants. The entire tribe, from the youngest piglet to the oldest boar, gathered around the funeral pyre, where Chief Grunmok’s body had been butchered and spitted over the great flames. The aroma of roasting flesh filled the air—sweet, fatty, and rich.
All around the bonfire, the Pigmen chanted in rhythmic unison:
“Oink! Pink! Oink! Pink!”
Their snouted faces gleamed with sweat and tears as they mourned their leader’s passing.
Falcon and Shecon stood at the center of the ceremony, watching as the Pigmen prepared the Banquet of Sorrow. The chief’s meat was sliced and placed upon silver trays, carried to a great wooden table arranged in a perfect circle—a symbol of eternity.
The Ultimate Test
The eldest Pigman, High Priest Snorglum, raised his arms. “The Banquet of Sorrow begins! We welcome our protectors, Falcon and Shecon! Let them eat, as we eat!”
The Pigmen tore into the roasted flesh, their tusks and teeth gnashing as they consumed their fallen leader. Their eyes turned glossy, as though they were absorbing Grunmok’s spirit into themselves.
Falcon and Shecon hesitated.
Shecon leaned close to Falcon and whispered, “I fight monsters, but this… this is beyond madness.”
Falcon took a deep breath. He could feel the eyes of the entire tribe upon them. To refuse would be an insult—one that could turn the Pigmen against them.
Slowly, he reached for a piece of the roasted flesh. The meat was glistening, charred on the outside but tender beneath.
Shecon clenched her fists but followed his lead.
Together, they took a bite.
The taste was… indescribable. Smoky, rich, and strangely sweet. The juices dripped down their chins. The Pigmen erupted in cheers and sorrowful wails.
Falcon swallowed. Shecon did the same.
And with that, they became part of the Banquet of Sorrow, forever tied to the Pigmen of the Oinkak Tribe.
A New Chief Rises
When the feast ended, High Priest Snorglum stepped forward. “Grunmok’s spirit now flows through us all. But we must choose a new chief.”
A large, scarred Pigman stepped forth—Braggoth the Boartusk. “I will lead!” he declared, pounding his chest.
The Pigmen grunted their approval, and the ceremony came to an end.
Falcon and Shecon left the village changed. They had seen customs that defied their understanding. But in the end, they had honored the dead in the way of the Pigmen.
As they disappeared into the shadows of Thundarr Forest, the distant chant of the Pigmen echoed behind them:
“Oink! Pink! Oink! Pink!”
