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In the land of the Ogres, in a village made of mud, there lived a father ogre and a mother ogre and a little boy ogre called Grogre.

Grogre’s father was very, very big and dark red with thick green claws, long sharp, green teeth and three green horns. He was incredibly strong, with a very loud roaring voice. But, like most Red Ogres, he was not very clever.

Grogre’s mother was bright red with shiny green lips and a long red and green horn. She was not as big as the father ogre, but she was wiser. You can tell red mother ogres are wise because they have three green eyes - fathers have only one or two.

Like all little ogres, Grogre was pink and he had no horns. Yet, although he was small, he was a lot more clever than his father. He could read and write, add up and take away.

Now to turn red, all little ogres have to kill a monster. Grogre’s father especially liked killing dragons and he thought it was time that Grogre killed one too. But Grogre did not like killing things.

Worse still, although his father did not know it, Grogre had made friends with a wise old yellow dragon called Zagon. Grogre liked nothing better than sitting in Zagon’s warm lair listening to tales of monsters, far-off lands and the wonderful Golden Ogres who were gentle, brave and clever.

When Grogre’s father found out about Zagon, he was furious. “Dragons are for killing, not talking to!” he roared. “If you want to be a big strong ogre like me, you must slay that dragon!” Smoke began to pour out from his nostrils and his horns shot bolts of lightning. Grogre inched backwards out of the house and, as his father lumbered after him, he ran off down the road as fast as he could.

Grogre did not stop running until he reached Zagon’s lair and then, shedding bright green tears, he told the dragon what had happened. “You must fly away, Zagon,” he said sadly.

The dragon looked thoughtfully over the rim of his spectacles. “You could become a Golden Ogre, you know. Golden Ogres never kill anything unless they really have to.”

“How can I become a Golden Ogre? I’d have to do some wonderful deed. And I’m only little.”

Zagon shuffled off down the passage, beckoning Grogre to follow. “Far away, in the shadow of a lonely mountain, there is a land where everyone is afraid.”

“What are they afraid of” asked Grogre.

“There are afraid of a huge, slimy monster that lives in the mountain. Every night it oozes out of its cave and crawls into the villages devouring ogres and dragons alike, leaving a foul trail of green slime.” Grogre shuddered.

At the end of the passage was a room full of old maps and weird instruments. “But why hasn’t some brave ogre killed the monster?” asked Grogre.

“It’s far too terrible and strong. It can only be killed when it’s asleep in its cave. But the monster can change shape, and its cave can only be reached by a passage, far too narrow for an ogre.”

“But I might be small enough to crawl through the passage!” exclaimed Grogre. The dragon nodded. “And I could kill it with my father’s sword!”

“Hmm, yes, but to kill it you must plunge a sword into its very heart. And to reach that you must crawl along a narrow passage and then cross a slippery rock arch right over the sleeping monster.”

“I’ll do it!” cried Grogre, and he ran off to get his father’s sword. When he got home he peered anxiously round the door. His father was snoring loudly in a chair and his mother was nowhere to be seen. So, tiptoeing to the big glass case on the wall, he quietly lifted out the sword, put on the belt and crept back out again.

Soon Grogre was sitting astride Zagon’s broad back, flying higher and higher over the mountains towards the setting sun. Their perilous adventure had begun.


Kevin Cariás



https://soundcloud.com/jenn-mitchell-984638890/grogre-the-ogre-part-1
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