Chilly
09-07-2009, 08:39 PM
Here's another story, I hope you don't mind the length.
Please Comment, say whatever you want about it.
The Last Days of a Troll
Many Tall, black, trees swayed back and forth as the strong, easterly wind swept through the valley. They danced like an upside down bag, shedding loose twigs and pinecones by the dozens. You could hear the rustling of the branches side by side and the wind whistling in unison with thousands of raindrops crashing down on the forest. Somewhere nearby, a cricket added in its annoying chant. All together it made an eerie symphony of unearthly sounds that, on its own, could be enough to scare a young boy out of his wits. Then came the piercing cold- the kind that could freeze toes off of a living man- and the shadows of darkness loomed from all sides.
This was why Wak, a full grown, 7-foot tall troll was fearful and seeking shelter. He had seen past troubles and this gloomy night made them scars in his brain. It heightened his memories and dotted his entire thinking process.
He had lived in a human-controlled slave camp until yesterday. Before then, he spent everyday taking orders obediently and working hard not to get punished. His life was meaningless; his only hope was that his 2-year-old son didn’t endure the same thing.
Living at the camp was terrible; the trolls had no rights and were beaten for any reason.
The camp guards always abused and took advantage of the trolls; it was a common game. Yesterday night, Wal walked home to see a frightening sight. One of the sickest guards, Lamorak, was with Wak’s wife and son. It had happened before and Wak’s wife repeatedly said it was best not to fight back but Wak would not listen. So that night he took a wooden club and bashed him on the head then did so again and again. His wife stood in mixed thoughts of fear, horror and secret pleasure as Lamorak’s blood snaked towards her.
Her face had become paler than cotton. “You’ll get caught for this, you’ll be execut’d, ” she said with a tear in her eye. “Please, don’t get kill’d.”
“It’s alright, i’ll ‘ide for days then it’ll be fine.”
“No, ‘ide for months. When you come out of ‘idin’ we’ll be ‘ere waitin’. I promise.”
“Alrigh’,” he hugged her. She began to cry and he left unobserved.
So here he stood in stormy weather and seeking any kind of shelter. He looked around the dark scenery hoping for day to begin once again. The boisterous noise of thunder began to screech through the sky above him. I thought there’s nevah lightnin’ around here, he mumbled. Tripping over a tree root, he fell forwards and caught his balance on a downward slope. One step at a time he descended; not slipping as the rain turned dirt into mud. He moved downwards into the abyss below. When the hill had finally ended he looked ahead and saw nothing, no surprise there, he whispered with mellow. He moved forward, once again, and bumped into a rocky surface. It was made of granite and stretched upwards, to the right and to the left continuously. Through the darkness and the pine trees it was impossible to say when the barrier ended; feeling around with his hands did not change that. Wak guessed that it was some sort of cliff-side, one whose peak was much higher than the canopy of pine above him. He moved leftwards alongside the rock wall with hands groping it to assure him, to make sure it was safe. He walked like that for half an hour.
Finally, his now blistered hand felt nothing where there should have been rock. Instead of the wall continuing, there was a small opening; feeling around, his hands proved it. It was a foot smaller than Wak but wide enough for even him to move through. He entered it and immediately found that it descended into an even darker abyss. He began moving down the rock staircase but as he did a chilling smell of death became stronger. The steps, uneven and steep as they were, felt more than eerie in the pitch darkness. It’s as if a thousand beasts walked them downwards but none had ever come back up.
I don’t need tah explore this frightenin’ cave, he thought. As long as I’m protect’d from the cold rain I’m fine. So he stopped at the fifth step and lay down to sleep. He woke up when it was still dark and rainy; then he couldn’t fall back to sleep. The staircase was too uncomfortable to sleep well and it stung his back to lie there. The pain became so great that he gave up sleeping in frustration. I can’t sleep like this, he thought unhappily. So, after stretching, he walked down the rest of the steps. Looking straight ahead, he carefully moved from block of stone to block of stone knowing they would be there. He shook nervously. His right foot moved downwards for a twentieth time and felt air instead of a next step. Feeling a pang of fear, he screamed for help; his foot slipped into darkness and his whole body followed. 20 feet bellow, he landed, with his right foot first, in a pile of debris. On impact the leg cracked and he squealed with pain.
Tumbling forwards over the rubble, he adjusted himself to feel the damage done. His leg was in extreme pain, he couldn’t move his toes but it wasn’t bleeding and the other leg was fine. He scanned his surroundings; here it was even darker then ever before. All around was the same tint of pitch black; it was all surrounding, ever present and untouchable in any way. Accompanying the darkness was the foulest stench; an odor of terrible evil; a mixture of death, agony and horror.
Having nothing better to do, Wak dragged himself around; inspecting what was in the deathtrap with him. He soon found dry and fresh bones of every kind; there were hip bones, collarbones, funny bones and thousands of unknown animal bones that where once rats, foxes and bears. He also found a soggy leather boot, scraps of clothing, rocks, knives, arrows, mangled armour pieces, shattered glass, a few coins, and a charred book. He picked up the boot then dozens of beetles escaped and ran down his arm. He jumped and slapped himself silly to make sure they where all dead. Hysterically, Wak moved backwards in search for a way out. Feeling more beetles come at him he screamed for help.
No one replied. So he screamed again and that eerie silence still hung in the air. It secretly laughed at him.
He tried yelling more but that mixed with his dry, dehydrated throat made him lose his voice.
After a few hours of agony he saw a dim light come from the entrance staircase. Unlike a torch, it had a bright greenish hue that didn’t flicker or die. It moved forward calmly, growing bigger by the second. The entire room was soon illuminated by the blanket of brightness. Wak could see his surroundings clearer than ever. He saw that the hole he was in was a square like a big empty well that moved straight downwards for the length of a house. The sides of the gorge, where all chiseled into a smooth sheet of rock. Across from the bottom of the staircase, beyond the chasm, was a platform that lead deeper into the cave. Whatever was up there was the last thing Wak wanted to think about.
Not knowing whether he should attract the newcomers attention or not, he hesitated and listened. He could hear a pair of footseps and attempted to yell but failed. The feet had the ambitious determination that came from humans; and did not sound like the clanging and jangling of metal boots used by the slavers.
Wak saw a man appear at the stairs. The man was a magician; a learned person who was chosen as an assistant and trainee to wizards. Magicians where the ones that where skilled enough to go and complete dangerous tasks for the old and lazy wizards. If they wanted to finally be named a wizard they would have to be perfect followers and would only do what their masters instructed them. Often that meant that that they would not waste time on the life of a troll unless the wizard could see a benefit in doing so.
With a staff in hand, the magician looked down into the chasm and saw the troll. Again, Wak tried to talk but only made a moaning sound. The magician stared at him in thought then slowly pointed his staff at him. He made a small chant and Wak suddenly jerked into the air and floated upwards until he was level to him.
“What are you doing down there, troll?” He said menacingly as if Wak was wasting his time. He was middle-aged, clean-shaven, had neatly combed, copper-coloured hair and wore a green robe that covered his entire body. His face seemed cold and earnest but around friends he was most likely a very warm person.
Behind Wak a noise began to stir.
“I fell,” Wak spoke hesitantly. “Please-”
“Shut up,” The magician commanded. He listened intently to the growing noise coming from deeper in the cave. The sound was a mix of loud snorts, puffs and a chain of scaly paws stomping on the ground; things that would come from a dragon. Every time the feet smashed the ground the cave shook in rhythm with their monotonous beat. “We have to go. Now!” The magician panicked and reached into his robe. He pulled out a scroll and scanned the list of enchantments. Finding the one he needed, he looked up and brought Wak to the edge of the staircase.
The dragon’s marching was, now, so loud and terrifying that it sent shivers down Wak’s body. The beetles below screeched with terror and hid amongst the debris.
The magician began yelling a chant and just as the dragon saw them ahead and made a deafening, futile, last cry, the two of them disappeared.
All around them became blinding white as a swirl of wind picked them up. Seconds later, whiteness dispersed, removing them from the dragon’s anger but still leaving them in darkness. Wak felt nausea hit him hard as he fell to the ground. Looking back up, he saw that they had reappeared in a dungeon.
It was as cold and damp like the cave but not as dark due to several small windows by the ceiling. The particular cell they where in was rectangular but short like the spine of a medical encyclopedia. It ran for about 15 feet and was 5 feet wide. The walls where built with rock bricks. The only thing in the cell was a small hole for waste, two sleeping mats, two mugs for nourishment and another troll.
“Who are ye?” The troll asked with shock and confusion.
“You have a new inmate,” the magician said. Then to Wak: “I’ll come back and get you out, I promise. But now I’m busy.” He pulled out the same scroll, read the enchantment and disappeared.
“Wait...” Wak mumbled. He sat down carefully, not putting pressure on his broken leg.
“They never come back.” The other troll said. “They said they would get me out of ‘ere but they never did. I’ve been stuck ‘ere for the last 9 years.”
Wak looked at him. He was shorter and less scrawny than Wak, had a slightly greener skin colour and was very hairy. He was dirty, wore only pants and smelt like he had never showered in his life. It was impossible to tell what age he was. He wasn’t from the same tribe as Wak but that made no difference; they were both in the same situation so they were friends, he thought.
“Who said that? The same guy?” Wak asked.
“No, the guards.”
“Well maybe this guy will come back, no?”
“It’s unlikely,” the troll showed no interest in the conversation.
“Why’s that?”
“Why would they no’ come back?” the troll sighed. “Because if they did it would be t’ kill ye. They only ever come back in the first few days and it’s only ever t’ kill ye.”
“But ‘e promised.”
“He promised!” the troll laughed. “Ooh because that means ‘e ‘as ‘t come and save ye, don’t it!” He continued laughing for a bit then thought about it. “I’m sorry but he knows magic, if ‘e cared for ye he would ‘ave healed your damned leg.”
“Listen, I don’t believe ye but I’m gonna go to sleep. I haven’t slept in a day.” Wak dragged himself to the straw mat and fell asleep immediately.
When he woke up it was broad daylight. He looked around and saw the other troll sitting under the window biting his nails.
The two of them had a series of short, awkward conversations that lasted through the rest of the day. Through them, Wak found out that the trolls name was Kruuge and that he had saved both their rations that day for Wak. Kruuge was half orc, half troll and could not remember why he was in prison He said he was positive that one day, when he got drunk they arrested him for no reason and he woke up here. He had seen many trolls, orcs and goblins pass through these walls and said that none had ever left as free people. Most where sent upstairs and killed in some way; often with an arrow to the throat. They where taken away spontaneously and usually without any orders for that to happen. Some might go because no one else had for a while, or because they acted suspiciously and others would be killed just for fun. Those who didn’t die came back scarred and others, like Kruuge, simply were never taken at all. Those who weren’t taken died in the dungeon through a lack of food, water and hope.
Wak also learnt, through Kruuge, that the magician was most likely a student of Munderigus the alchemist. Munderigus was a wizard and the count of the region. Kruuge did not know much more than that. However, this much can be accounted: Munderigus had taken power around 6 years ago when the count disapeared for a day then reappeared announcing that he had been him all along. Suddenly, the count gave Munderigus complete power over the county then was never seen again. People said that it was a conspiracy, that Munderigus had killed the count, drank a potion to appear as the count then lied. To back themselves up, these people found ingredients for bizarre potions in Munderigus’ lab; ingredients that would likely be used in a physical-feaure altering tonic. They also said that before the count and Munderigus could be seen together but after the count’s disappearance neither was ever seen in the same room.
When he had complete control, Munderigus killed these people and desroyed their evidence. Then he began creating strange taxes to quickly collect alchemical ingredients. The taxes were laughed at, but through a mean, strict guard force, were followed. They had helped Munderigus make huge advancements in the chemical world. The tax on sunflower seeds, for example, had accumulated thousands of seeds that he personally studied. As a result a complete understanding developed of how seeds grew, what where in seeds, the fact that they were edible, a wider knowledge of plant life and that seeds were good ingredients in a dozen potions. Through other taxes, Munderigus had also learnt about new elements and chemicals that normally wouldn’t have been discovered for years. Things like saltpeter, potash, hydrochloric acid, antimony and bismuth. He also invented new potions for disease immunity, increased strength and cold resistance. Alongside that were the thousands of parchments and documents in his study. They summarized his tests and findings on each of his ingredients. Also, they included guides to further dwell into alchemy and how best to acquire certain ingredients. Although his advancements in chemistry may have been great, the people hated him.
They disliked the fact that he had killed the previous count and stole his position. He had also killed anyone who publicly stated what had happened on the account that they “lied”. Then, he was not punished and ruled the region as a dictator; ignoring even the biggest complaints. He created a strict guard force that killed anyone who openly denounced him. Over the 6 years, they found reasons to kill more than 70 people.
The people had gone to the king about him but the king ignored them as well, which infuriated them further. They wanted change so over the last months, meetings slowly began in basements and taverns. Now, half the county was beginning to fight back. Soon rumours were created and circulated; tales about how Munderigus was insane and used human bones to try and make gold.
“It’s probably true,” Kruuge mentioned with a sigh. “‘E used trolls and goblins so why not his own kind, too.”
“’e uses trolls in potions?” Wak asked.
“Hmm. So I’ve ‘eard, our fat makes good personality potions. Lucky for me I got not’ing on me bones so that’s why I’m still ‘ere.” He laughed heartily, ignoring Wak’s despair.
“I don’t believe ye.”
“Fine, suit yerself, but when he comes for ye, ye should be prepar’d. ”
“Well, I won’t be ‘cause ye said it yerself,” Wak responded, “It ain’t gonna ‘appen.”
“Naw, I said the guards won’t take ye. If the other lad does come back, it’s a different story.”
Eventually, the magician did come back. He appeared from thin air, with his staff and scroll in hand, in the middle of the room. Wak’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the man. The magician wore the same garments and stepped towards Wak while their eyes met.
“Come with me. Now” he said, cold-heartedly.
Kruuge looked from one to the other. “Shouldn’t you fix ‘is leg first?”
The magician looked at Wak then sighed. He aimed his staff and shot a spell at the swollen area. Suddenly, Wak’s pain was gone and he felt his toes alive again.
“Thank ye,” Wak smiled.
The Magician silently grabbed Wak by the arm and lifted him upwards. He read the scroll once again. By magic, they felt themselves disappear, become surrounded by whiteness then reappear somewhere else.
This time they were in a circular room with three equal doors leading in and out and a balcony on one side. The doors where made of a fine, varnished wood and were spread out on three sides of the room; leaving the other side completely used by the lonesome balcony. This balcony, which was made of a stone floor and iron railings, was sizable enough to fit 6 men side-by-side and 2 lined up. So, in all, it was a place where 12 men could adequately socialize. Looking beyond the balcony, one could see an entire town. There was the one-foot thick palisade wall that stretched, for eight kilometers, around everything, in a decagon shape. There was the marketplace, which had just begun closing shop for the night. From the tower, Vendors were visibly packing away their wagons and merchandise. Some were still attempting to sell products at the last minute, at half the price if they needed to, so that food would not be thrown away. Others chatted amongst themselves. A few men were scrounging around to purchase a late dinner. They did this for a reason: It was when the merchant lost hope in a sell that his products were cheapest. So, they would wait and wait then be rewarded by a fish at 1 tenth of the normal price. Beggars, prostitutes and thugs all began wandering the streets at this time too. They amassed near the tavern, where lights and noises clearly outdid the rest of the town in intensity.
The circular room, in comparison, had nothing in it but a big pot sitting alone in the middle. Its interior was bubbling and oozing out over the metal. Lightly smelling of burnt asparagus, the liquid had an odd mucus colour and was viscous like maple syrup.
“Wait here.” The magician commanded. He moved towards the door furthest to the left without a glance backwards. As he exited, Wak was left in confusion for a brief moment until that door reopened.
Instead of the magician coming in once again, it was an old man with a wizard’s hat and a full-length beard. Perhaps in his seventies, he showed many wrinkles and age spots on his face. He was completely bald, so it was a good thing he wore such massive headgear, save his beard, which grew like a vine, in all directions. He wore a navy blue robe and used an old ebony staff as a walking stick. He moved about with the ambiance of a man near death but his eyes showed otherwise. He still managed to retain the mental vigor from his youth and hated the fact that that feeling could not be transferred into his physical state. However, he did not show it and was polite as ever, even at the sight of Wak, at whom he cringed with fear.
“Hello, I am Munderigus.” He introduced himself with a plain, pleasant face and kept eye contact.
“The Alchemist?” Wak prodded earnestly.
“Yes, the alchemist.” Munderigus nodded with annoyance. “Could you drink this potion?” he asked with a strange calmness while pointing towards the basin. Quickly realizing Wak’s confusion, he added the word “please.”
Wak worried about the punishment he would get if he didn’t do as the alchemist commanded, so he shuffled towards the strange mixture. Looking around hesitantly, he saw a bronze dipper and picked it up.
“That is called a ladle,” stated Munderigus.
All of a sudden, he saw a man leap into the balcony. The man rolled on the floor then re-caught his balance. He yelled and unsheathed his sword; and ran, with astonishing velocity, directly towards them.
Munderigus, astonished as he was, did not know what to do. He took a few steps backwards but to no avail; the man came up to him, with a quick stroke of his blade cut off the old man’s head.
“He’s dead!” the man celebrated; he raised his sword upwards with triumph.
Wak was bewildered. He took a good look at the man and saw nothing in particular, except that the man appeared to be a knight. What he wore did not say that; for his chain mail was nothing special; but his shield did. It was a perfectly forged buckler painted green and white in diagonal stripes; the kinds of protection only knights were allowed to wear.
Suddenly, the sounds of angry guards banged against the doors. Their shouts of frustration and threats of death grew louder as they hacked through the wooden doors with axes.
Only now did the Knight seem to notice Wak. “Listen,” he demanded, “I saved your life because that potion was poison. Now, if you help me escape I will reward you. When this is done meet me around the side of Eight Plates Tavern.”
The middle door broke open and 2 guards ran in. Both of them charged towards the knight. At this moment, the door furthest to the right also broke open and 4 more guards swarmed the room. The knight stabbed one guard in the chest and Wak pushed the other one backwards, making him fall 5 feet away. As soon as Wak began fighting, the knight backed away towards the balcony. The 4 guards ran towards Wak and he fought back. The knight, seeing that his distraction had worked, laughed and jumped off the balcony.
Wak, who was now faced with 5 guards, (for the one he pushed away had come back) was alone and angry. He knew that he could not survive a battle like this; so, instead of fighting he tried to escape.
“I ‘ad nothing to do with this!” he screamed.
However, they pushed forward and one hit him on his right kneecap; while another hit him on his back. The pain soon spread all over his body and he couldn’t move. Another one hit him on his hip and blood sprayed out like the Nile. This horrific turn of events was terrifying and Wak continued to plead. He thought about his wife and son. He was now on the floor, twitching in agony. They would not even know how or why he died. Receiving another blow, he felt his arm get sawed off. He, in fact, did not even know why he died. Blood splattered his face and the noises of past horrors rung through his brain. Supposedly, he died just because he was a troll. One of the guards, the one he had pushed away, hovered over his neck with an axe raised high. That was no reason to die though. He lowered the axe swiftly and in a moment all of Wak’s pain was gone forever.
Please Comment, say whatever you want about it.
The Last Days of a Troll
Many Tall, black, trees swayed back and forth as the strong, easterly wind swept through the valley. They danced like an upside down bag, shedding loose twigs and pinecones by the dozens. You could hear the rustling of the branches side by side and the wind whistling in unison with thousands of raindrops crashing down on the forest. Somewhere nearby, a cricket added in its annoying chant. All together it made an eerie symphony of unearthly sounds that, on its own, could be enough to scare a young boy out of his wits. Then came the piercing cold- the kind that could freeze toes off of a living man- and the shadows of darkness loomed from all sides.
This was why Wak, a full grown, 7-foot tall troll was fearful and seeking shelter. He had seen past troubles and this gloomy night made them scars in his brain. It heightened his memories and dotted his entire thinking process.
He had lived in a human-controlled slave camp until yesterday. Before then, he spent everyday taking orders obediently and working hard not to get punished. His life was meaningless; his only hope was that his 2-year-old son didn’t endure the same thing.
Living at the camp was terrible; the trolls had no rights and were beaten for any reason.
The camp guards always abused and took advantage of the trolls; it was a common game. Yesterday night, Wal walked home to see a frightening sight. One of the sickest guards, Lamorak, was with Wak’s wife and son. It had happened before and Wak’s wife repeatedly said it was best not to fight back but Wak would not listen. So that night he took a wooden club and bashed him on the head then did so again and again. His wife stood in mixed thoughts of fear, horror and secret pleasure as Lamorak’s blood snaked towards her.
Her face had become paler than cotton. “You’ll get caught for this, you’ll be execut’d, ” she said with a tear in her eye. “Please, don’t get kill’d.”
“It’s alright, i’ll ‘ide for days then it’ll be fine.”
“No, ‘ide for months. When you come out of ‘idin’ we’ll be ‘ere waitin’. I promise.”
“Alrigh’,” he hugged her. She began to cry and he left unobserved.
So here he stood in stormy weather and seeking any kind of shelter. He looked around the dark scenery hoping for day to begin once again. The boisterous noise of thunder began to screech through the sky above him. I thought there’s nevah lightnin’ around here, he mumbled. Tripping over a tree root, he fell forwards and caught his balance on a downward slope. One step at a time he descended; not slipping as the rain turned dirt into mud. He moved downwards into the abyss below. When the hill had finally ended he looked ahead and saw nothing, no surprise there, he whispered with mellow. He moved forward, once again, and bumped into a rocky surface. It was made of granite and stretched upwards, to the right and to the left continuously. Through the darkness and the pine trees it was impossible to say when the barrier ended; feeling around with his hands did not change that. Wak guessed that it was some sort of cliff-side, one whose peak was much higher than the canopy of pine above him. He moved leftwards alongside the rock wall with hands groping it to assure him, to make sure it was safe. He walked like that for half an hour.
Finally, his now blistered hand felt nothing where there should have been rock. Instead of the wall continuing, there was a small opening; feeling around, his hands proved it. It was a foot smaller than Wak but wide enough for even him to move through. He entered it and immediately found that it descended into an even darker abyss. He began moving down the rock staircase but as he did a chilling smell of death became stronger. The steps, uneven and steep as they were, felt more than eerie in the pitch darkness. It’s as if a thousand beasts walked them downwards but none had ever come back up.
I don’t need tah explore this frightenin’ cave, he thought. As long as I’m protect’d from the cold rain I’m fine. So he stopped at the fifth step and lay down to sleep. He woke up when it was still dark and rainy; then he couldn’t fall back to sleep. The staircase was too uncomfortable to sleep well and it stung his back to lie there. The pain became so great that he gave up sleeping in frustration. I can’t sleep like this, he thought unhappily. So, after stretching, he walked down the rest of the steps. Looking straight ahead, he carefully moved from block of stone to block of stone knowing they would be there. He shook nervously. His right foot moved downwards for a twentieth time and felt air instead of a next step. Feeling a pang of fear, he screamed for help; his foot slipped into darkness and his whole body followed. 20 feet bellow, he landed, with his right foot first, in a pile of debris. On impact the leg cracked and he squealed with pain.
Tumbling forwards over the rubble, he adjusted himself to feel the damage done. His leg was in extreme pain, he couldn’t move his toes but it wasn’t bleeding and the other leg was fine. He scanned his surroundings; here it was even darker then ever before. All around was the same tint of pitch black; it was all surrounding, ever present and untouchable in any way. Accompanying the darkness was the foulest stench; an odor of terrible evil; a mixture of death, agony and horror.
Having nothing better to do, Wak dragged himself around; inspecting what was in the deathtrap with him. He soon found dry and fresh bones of every kind; there were hip bones, collarbones, funny bones and thousands of unknown animal bones that where once rats, foxes and bears. He also found a soggy leather boot, scraps of clothing, rocks, knives, arrows, mangled armour pieces, shattered glass, a few coins, and a charred book. He picked up the boot then dozens of beetles escaped and ran down his arm. He jumped and slapped himself silly to make sure they where all dead. Hysterically, Wak moved backwards in search for a way out. Feeling more beetles come at him he screamed for help.
No one replied. So he screamed again and that eerie silence still hung in the air. It secretly laughed at him.
He tried yelling more but that mixed with his dry, dehydrated throat made him lose his voice.
After a few hours of agony he saw a dim light come from the entrance staircase. Unlike a torch, it had a bright greenish hue that didn’t flicker or die. It moved forward calmly, growing bigger by the second. The entire room was soon illuminated by the blanket of brightness. Wak could see his surroundings clearer than ever. He saw that the hole he was in was a square like a big empty well that moved straight downwards for the length of a house. The sides of the gorge, where all chiseled into a smooth sheet of rock. Across from the bottom of the staircase, beyond the chasm, was a platform that lead deeper into the cave. Whatever was up there was the last thing Wak wanted to think about.
Not knowing whether he should attract the newcomers attention or not, he hesitated and listened. He could hear a pair of footseps and attempted to yell but failed. The feet had the ambitious determination that came from humans; and did not sound like the clanging and jangling of metal boots used by the slavers.
Wak saw a man appear at the stairs. The man was a magician; a learned person who was chosen as an assistant and trainee to wizards. Magicians where the ones that where skilled enough to go and complete dangerous tasks for the old and lazy wizards. If they wanted to finally be named a wizard they would have to be perfect followers and would only do what their masters instructed them. Often that meant that that they would not waste time on the life of a troll unless the wizard could see a benefit in doing so.
With a staff in hand, the magician looked down into the chasm and saw the troll. Again, Wak tried to talk but only made a moaning sound. The magician stared at him in thought then slowly pointed his staff at him. He made a small chant and Wak suddenly jerked into the air and floated upwards until he was level to him.
“What are you doing down there, troll?” He said menacingly as if Wak was wasting his time. He was middle-aged, clean-shaven, had neatly combed, copper-coloured hair and wore a green robe that covered his entire body. His face seemed cold and earnest but around friends he was most likely a very warm person.
Behind Wak a noise began to stir.
“I fell,” Wak spoke hesitantly. “Please-”
“Shut up,” The magician commanded. He listened intently to the growing noise coming from deeper in the cave. The sound was a mix of loud snorts, puffs and a chain of scaly paws stomping on the ground; things that would come from a dragon. Every time the feet smashed the ground the cave shook in rhythm with their monotonous beat. “We have to go. Now!” The magician panicked and reached into his robe. He pulled out a scroll and scanned the list of enchantments. Finding the one he needed, he looked up and brought Wak to the edge of the staircase.
The dragon’s marching was, now, so loud and terrifying that it sent shivers down Wak’s body. The beetles below screeched with terror and hid amongst the debris.
The magician began yelling a chant and just as the dragon saw them ahead and made a deafening, futile, last cry, the two of them disappeared.
All around them became blinding white as a swirl of wind picked them up. Seconds later, whiteness dispersed, removing them from the dragon’s anger but still leaving them in darkness. Wak felt nausea hit him hard as he fell to the ground. Looking back up, he saw that they had reappeared in a dungeon.
It was as cold and damp like the cave but not as dark due to several small windows by the ceiling. The particular cell they where in was rectangular but short like the spine of a medical encyclopedia. It ran for about 15 feet and was 5 feet wide. The walls where built with rock bricks. The only thing in the cell was a small hole for waste, two sleeping mats, two mugs for nourishment and another troll.
“Who are ye?” The troll asked with shock and confusion.
“You have a new inmate,” the magician said. Then to Wak: “I’ll come back and get you out, I promise. But now I’m busy.” He pulled out the same scroll, read the enchantment and disappeared.
“Wait...” Wak mumbled. He sat down carefully, not putting pressure on his broken leg.
“They never come back.” The other troll said. “They said they would get me out of ‘ere but they never did. I’ve been stuck ‘ere for the last 9 years.”
Wak looked at him. He was shorter and less scrawny than Wak, had a slightly greener skin colour and was very hairy. He was dirty, wore only pants and smelt like he had never showered in his life. It was impossible to tell what age he was. He wasn’t from the same tribe as Wak but that made no difference; they were both in the same situation so they were friends, he thought.
“Who said that? The same guy?” Wak asked.
“No, the guards.”
“Well maybe this guy will come back, no?”
“It’s unlikely,” the troll showed no interest in the conversation.
“Why’s that?”
“Why would they no’ come back?” the troll sighed. “Because if they did it would be t’ kill ye. They only ever come back in the first few days and it’s only ever t’ kill ye.”
“But ‘e promised.”
“He promised!” the troll laughed. “Ooh because that means ‘e ‘as ‘t come and save ye, don’t it!” He continued laughing for a bit then thought about it. “I’m sorry but he knows magic, if ‘e cared for ye he would ‘ave healed your damned leg.”
“Listen, I don’t believe ye but I’m gonna go to sleep. I haven’t slept in a day.” Wak dragged himself to the straw mat and fell asleep immediately.
When he woke up it was broad daylight. He looked around and saw the other troll sitting under the window biting his nails.
The two of them had a series of short, awkward conversations that lasted through the rest of the day. Through them, Wak found out that the trolls name was Kruuge and that he had saved both their rations that day for Wak. Kruuge was half orc, half troll and could not remember why he was in prison He said he was positive that one day, when he got drunk they arrested him for no reason and he woke up here. He had seen many trolls, orcs and goblins pass through these walls and said that none had ever left as free people. Most where sent upstairs and killed in some way; often with an arrow to the throat. They where taken away spontaneously and usually without any orders for that to happen. Some might go because no one else had for a while, or because they acted suspiciously and others would be killed just for fun. Those who didn’t die came back scarred and others, like Kruuge, simply were never taken at all. Those who weren’t taken died in the dungeon through a lack of food, water and hope.
Wak also learnt, through Kruuge, that the magician was most likely a student of Munderigus the alchemist. Munderigus was a wizard and the count of the region. Kruuge did not know much more than that. However, this much can be accounted: Munderigus had taken power around 6 years ago when the count disapeared for a day then reappeared announcing that he had been him all along. Suddenly, the count gave Munderigus complete power over the county then was never seen again. People said that it was a conspiracy, that Munderigus had killed the count, drank a potion to appear as the count then lied. To back themselves up, these people found ingredients for bizarre potions in Munderigus’ lab; ingredients that would likely be used in a physical-feaure altering tonic. They also said that before the count and Munderigus could be seen together but after the count’s disappearance neither was ever seen in the same room.
When he had complete control, Munderigus killed these people and desroyed their evidence. Then he began creating strange taxes to quickly collect alchemical ingredients. The taxes were laughed at, but through a mean, strict guard force, were followed. They had helped Munderigus make huge advancements in the chemical world. The tax on sunflower seeds, for example, had accumulated thousands of seeds that he personally studied. As a result a complete understanding developed of how seeds grew, what where in seeds, the fact that they were edible, a wider knowledge of plant life and that seeds were good ingredients in a dozen potions. Through other taxes, Munderigus had also learnt about new elements and chemicals that normally wouldn’t have been discovered for years. Things like saltpeter, potash, hydrochloric acid, antimony and bismuth. He also invented new potions for disease immunity, increased strength and cold resistance. Alongside that were the thousands of parchments and documents in his study. They summarized his tests and findings on each of his ingredients. Also, they included guides to further dwell into alchemy and how best to acquire certain ingredients. Although his advancements in chemistry may have been great, the people hated him.
They disliked the fact that he had killed the previous count and stole his position. He had also killed anyone who publicly stated what had happened on the account that they “lied”. Then, he was not punished and ruled the region as a dictator; ignoring even the biggest complaints. He created a strict guard force that killed anyone who openly denounced him. Over the 6 years, they found reasons to kill more than 70 people.
The people had gone to the king about him but the king ignored them as well, which infuriated them further. They wanted change so over the last months, meetings slowly began in basements and taverns. Now, half the county was beginning to fight back. Soon rumours were created and circulated; tales about how Munderigus was insane and used human bones to try and make gold.
“It’s probably true,” Kruuge mentioned with a sigh. “‘E used trolls and goblins so why not his own kind, too.”
“’e uses trolls in potions?” Wak asked.
“Hmm. So I’ve ‘eard, our fat makes good personality potions. Lucky for me I got not’ing on me bones so that’s why I’m still ‘ere.” He laughed heartily, ignoring Wak’s despair.
“I don’t believe ye.”
“Fine, suit yerself, but when he comes for ye, ye should be prepar’d. ”
“Well, I won’t be ‘cause ye said it yerself,” Wak responded, “It ain’t gonna ‘appen.”
“Naw, I said the guards won’t take ye. If the other lad does come back, it’s a different story.”
Eventually, the magician did come back. He appeared from thin air, with his staff and scroll in hand, in the middle of the room. Wak’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the man. The magician wore the same garments and stepped towards Wak while their eyes met.
“Come with me. Now” he said, cold-heartedly.
Kruuge looked from one to the other. “Shouldn’t you fix ‘is leg first?”
The magician looked at Wak then sighed. He aimed his staff and shot a spell at the swollen area. Suddenly, Wak’s pain was gone and he felt his toes alive again.
“Thank ye,” Wak smiled.
The Magician silently grabbed Wak by the arm and lifted him upwards. He read the scroll once again. By magic, they felt themselves disappear, become surrounded by whiteness then reappear somewhere else.
This time they were in a circular room with three equal doors leading in and out and a balcony on one side. The doors where made of a fine, varnished wood and were spread out on three sides of the room; leaving the other side completely used by the lonesome balcony. This balcony, which was made of a stone floor and iron railings, was sizable enough to fit 6 men side-by-side and 2 lined up. So, in all, it was a place where 12 men could adequately socialize. Looking beyond the balcony, one could see an entire town. There was the one-foot thick palisade wall that stretched, for eight kilometers, around everything, in a decagon shape. There was the marketplace, which had just begun closing shop for the night. From the tower, Vendors were visibly packing away their wagons and merchandise. Some were still attempting to sell products at the last minute, at half the price if they needed to, so that food would not be thrown away. Others chatted amongst themselves. A few men were scrounging around to purchase a late dinner. They did this for a reason: It was when the merchant lost hope in a sell that his products were cheapest. So, they would wait and wait then be rewarded by a fish at 1 tenth of the normal price. Beggars, prostitutes and thugs all began wandering the streets at this time too. They amassed near the tavern, where lights and noises clearly outdid the rest of the town in intensity.
The circular room, in comparison, had nothing in it but a big pot sitting alone in the middle. Its interior was bubbling and oozing out over the metal. Lightly smelling of burnt asparagus, the liquid had an odd mucus colour and was viscous like maple syrup.
“Wait here.” The magician commanded. He moved towards the door furthest to the left without a glance backwards. As he exited, Wak was left in confusion for a brief moment until that door reopened.
Instead of the magician coming in once again, it was an old man with a wizard’s hat and a full-length beard. Perhaps in his seventies, he showed many wrinkles and age spots on his face. He was completely bald, so it was a good thing he wore such massive headgear, save his beard, which grew like a vine, in all directions. He wore a navy blue robe and used an old ebony staff as a walking stick. He moved about with the ambiance of a man near death but his eyes showed otherwise. He still managed to retain the mental vigor from his youth and hated the fact that that feeling could not be transferred into his physical state. However, he did not show it and was polite as ever, even at the sight of Wak, at whom he cringed with fear.
“Hello, I am Munderigus.” He introduced himself with a plain, pleasant face and kept eye contact.
“The Alchemist?” Wak prodded earnestly.
“Yes, the alchemist.” Munderigus nodded with annoyance. “Could you drink this potion?” he asked with a strange calmness while pointing towards the basin. Quickly realizing Wak’s confusion, he added the word “please.”
Wak worried about the punishment he would get if he didn’t do as the alchemist commanded, so he shuffled towards the strange mixture. Looking around hesitantly, he saw a bronze dipper and picked it up.
“That is called a ladle,” stated Munderigus.
All of a sudden, he saw a man leap into the balcony. The man rolled on the floor then re-caught his balance. He yelled and unsheathed his sword; and ran, with astonishing velocity, directly towards them.
Munderigus, astonished as he was, did not know what to do. He took a few steps backwards but to no avail; the man came up to him, with a quick stroke of his blade cut off the old man’s head.
“He’s dead!” the man celebrated; he raised his sword upwards with triumph.
Wak was bewildered. He took a good look at the man and saw nothing in particular, except that the man appeared to be a knight. What he wore did not say that; for his chain mail was nothing special; but his shield did. It was a perfectly forged buckler painted green and white in diagonal stripes; the kinds of protection only knights were allowed to wear.
Suddenly, the sounds of angry guards banged against the doors. Their shouts of frustration and threats of death grew louder as they hacked through the wooden doors with axes.
Only now did the Knight seem to notice Wak. “Listen,” he demanded, “I saved your life because that potion was poison. Now, if you help me escape I will reward you. When this is done meet me around the side of Eight Plates Tavern.”
The middle door broke open and 2 guards ran in. Both of them charged towards the knight. At this moment, the door furthest to the right also broke open and 4 more guards swarmed the room. The knight stabbed one guard in the chest and Wak pushed the other one backwards, making him fall 5 feet away. As soon as Wak began fighting, the knight backed away towards the balcony. The 4 guards ran towards Wak and he fought back. The knight, seeing that his distraction had worked, laughed and jumped off the balcony.
Wak, who was now faced with 5 guards, (for the one he pushed away had come back) was alone and angry. He knew that he could not survive a battle like this; so, instead of fighting he tried to escape.
“I ‘ad nothing to do with this!” he screamed.
However, they pushed forward and one hit him on his right kneecap; while another hit him on his back. The pain soon spread all over his body and he couldn’t move. Another one hit him on his hip and blood sprayed out like the Nile. This horrific turn of events was terrifying and Wak continued to plead. He thought about his wife and son. He was now on the floor, twitching in agony. They would not even know how or why he died. Receiving another blow, he felt his arm get sawed off. He, in fact, did not even know why he died. Blood splattered his face and the noises of past horrors rung through his brain. Supposedly, he died just because he was a troll. One of the guards, the one he had pushed away, hovered over his neck with an axe raised high. That was no reason to die though. He lowered the axe swiftly and in a moment all of Wak’s pain was gone forever.