A day after the ’Noodleknob Incident’
Lysandra looks the man up and down — with no small amount of disdain.
His name is Emeric… and supposedly he’s a monster-hunter. One that specialises in trolls, even.
He dances from foot to foot, dressed in a suit of chain mail with weathered leather draped over certain parts.
She opens her third eye — the one gifted to her by Supremious himself.
Human - Alchemist / Monster-hunter
Emeric
BASE STATISTICS
ADDED STATISTICS MODIFIERS Final POWER: 10 + 20
+2% [Legend]
30
SPEED: 10 + 15
+2% [Legend]
25 ENDURANCE: 10 + 5 +2% [Legend] 15 INTELLIGENCE: 10 + 5 +2% [Legend] 15 WISDOM: 10 + 13 +2% [Legend] 23
She smiles. A good deal better than the average soldier, but with a much higher wisdom.
Not a bad specimen… but the Lord-Supreme needs him more than she does.
“You say you can hunt the troll within a couple of days?” She asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Locating, trapping, killing — all within fifty hours?”
The young man’s eyes — once roving the around the room in idle circles — now snap directly to Lysandra’s.
“Oh yes. I believe I already know where it is. I am tracking The Wandering Troll, you see — and she’s not so smart in leaving tracks.”
The Wandering Troll. The only Troll Supremious couldn’t kill. She stifles a laugh.
A sly smile etches onto the hunter’s face, and he hoists his backpack from his shoulder and onto the ground. Then he giggles like a child.
Her lips turn up in disgust.
“Trolls are… not to be taken lightly. You leave them too long, they grow too big!” He splutters, pulling out a large vial of moving, almost breathing orange liquid.
“Once they’re too big, it takes even fire a while to kill them. Don’t worry, though, I’ve pioneered a way to kill trolls risk-free.”
Lysandra raises an eyebrow. “Oh, and how is that?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t bore you with the technical details.” He speaks, pulling out a long stick with a… sack at the bottom of it.
He flashes her a smile, then pulls a strap attached along the shaft — a plume of fire erupts from the end, sending a wave of heat across the room.
She focuses on the contraption.
[ Item Unknown ]
Not a Legendary Item, then, just beyond her knowledge.
“They love bridges — wooden ones especially. It’s like they’re addicted. Little bridge whores. And the mother trolls? They’ll shove a little troll offspring under and call it a day. Twisted mongrels.”
He suddenly snaps back in the room from whatever daydream he’d found himself immersed in.
“You told me, My Lord, that the troll defecated in a church? Would the defecation happen to be untouched?”
She nods. “I assumed it would be valuable evidence, so I’ve ensured it remained untouched.”
He clicks a finger. “Very good. I can tell what type of troll it is just by the defecation. And where it lives, on occasion.”
“You consider this already complete? You offer no chance of failure?” She asks.
The man stands upright and, for the first time, seems completely and utterly stoic.
“This is my life. If I fail to kill this one, you will have no need to punish me. I’ll already be in its stomach.”
She likes this one. Utterly intoxicated with a single goal… just like Malachai.
Those are the best kind of men to feed upon.
“Good. See it done.”
The hunter gives a whimsical bow — then retreats from the war tent.
—
Two days after the ’Noodleknob Incident’
Emeric’s hand dips into the troll-faeces, picking out the teeth and inspecting them.
They’re still very sharp, with dried blood. Indicative of weak digestive juices that are unable to dissolve — or even blunt — the sharpness.
He runs his finger along the tooth, on every groove. His mind spins.
The fecal matter is dry… inexplicably dry. His smile grows so wide he can barely breath — his eyes bulge from his skull.
Another one! Another of The Wandering Troll’s spawn!
And so young… not even able to blunt a tooth!
He’s on the right track. Her lair could be nearby, even. Sightings had stopped four years ago — but now there’s a young offspring.
He must inspect its corpse. If he can determine the exact age…
Sweat drips down his brow. A young adult, at most, near a river to eat crocodiles… and no doubt under a bridge.
This could be it!
“I’m going to kill all of your children you fucking monster… then I’m going to hack your arms and legs off and let your regeneration heal you over and over and over and—“
—
Not-annoying-buzzy put finger to tree. “You can do it Grug. I’m pretty sure, anyway.”
Me? Me make carved-sticks?
How?
“The same way you make the rope from grass. You’ve got a connection to the material realm. I’m from the natural realm — so I can’t really tell how strong it is.”
Wot? Me best troll?
“You could be! Natural, uncontracted connections are quite rare… there was only one human I ever met with one. I miss her.”
You miss friend? Where friend go?
“I don’t know. I got locked in that damn stone. She was really pretty…”
Not-annoying-buzzy no speak. It sad?
“No. Not sad… just… I don’t know what the word is. Ever since I met her — and now you — I’ve wished I could get a body.”
Not-annoying-buzzy want arms? Want legs?
“Yeah. Being in the form of an insect — and not even a nice one like a bee — isn’t what I want. Unfortunate, too, because I was on my way up before I was trapped.”
It fly to me, an’ den back to da big-stick.
“Come on, Grug. Try doing the same thing with the tree as you did with the grass.”
Me look at bridge. It still no good. Da side-bits break when me grab dem, an’ dey no fix demselves. Da hole me made still dere.
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“Grug, please, I’m trying to help.”
Me need fix bridge.
“You can fix your bridge, but you need planks, right?”
Me have carved-sticks. Me jus’ go get dem. Me go now.
Me start stompin’… me drop dem in da big-stick-place. Not-annoying-buzzy fly in me face.
“Grug, I’m asking you as a friend, could you please just touch the tree?” Den it put finger out at big-stick.
Okay… for me friend me touch.
Da big-stick bark be rough. It… scratchy. Oooh.
Me rub back on big-stick — but den me catch flicker-hot hurty an’ den it hurty more!
But it feel good so me no stop, an’ den it hurty more!
“Grug! Dryad fucking damn it stop aggravating the burn!” It say, an’ den it touchy da flicker-hot-hurty an’ it feel better. “Okay, okay, fuck my re-connection to the forest.”
Me move me back.
“Stay the fuck still Grug or I swear to Dryad I will restrain you! I will heal the damn burn and then you can scratch your skin off if you want too!”
Me sit down. Da not-annoying-buzzy touch da flicker-hot-hurty again… den it hurty less… den it gone.
Me push me legs an’ me rub me back on da big-stick. Me rub an’ rub until water come out me mouth.
Back no itchy-scratchy!
Me smartest troll!
Now me go get carved-stick!
“Grug! Put your hand on the damn tree!”
Me stop. Me noggin go… but den it stop. Me remember stick-head thing an’ me touch. Me got stick-head!
“Just do it, for one second!”
Ok… me do. Me touch big-stick an’ me no rub on it! Me jus’ touch.
Not-annoying-buzzy land on me hand an’ den… da world be different.
“I was right. You have a born connection to the material realm. It’s shallow… but its growing.”
Wot dat do?
“I don’t know how the material realm works — I’m opposite that. The most I can do is feel the connection. The best I can give you is that, out of the ten levels attributed to creatures from the other realms… your connection is equal to level one.”
One? Me know dat! One is best!
“No, Grug that’s—“
Me greatest troll!
“It’s the worst!” not-annoying-buzzy shout.
Oh.
Me look at ground.
Me no greatest troll?
“I don’t know! I’ve never met another troll…” it land on me nose. “For all I know, Grug, you could be the only troll with any connection at all.”
Dat mean… me greatest troll?
“I suppo—“
Me hands start a clappin’, me feet start a tappin’ — me do a little dance. Me is greatest troll!
“Alright, hand back on the tree. Do what you do for the grass.”
Me hand touch da big-stick… an’ me think about bridge. When me need tie together sticks, me noggin’ jus’ think about it an’ it happen.
Me hand go strange… den between me fingers carved-sticks grow an’ da big-stick go small.
Dey touch me shoulder… an’ den dey fall.
Me do dat!?
Me pull a carved-stick… den another… den another!
“That proves it. You’re connected to the material realm. You are essentially trading the raw wood for a completed product.”
Me stomp on da ground, me do a little dance! Me got carved-sticks!
Me can fix bridge!
Me happy troll!
Not-annoying-buzzy make fly around me head. “I wonder what else you could do with that?”
Me look at bridge. It still no good. Da side-bits break when me grab dem, an’ dis bridge no fix itself.
Da hole me leg made still dere… me fix dat now?
Not-annoying-buzzy show teeth, an’ make head up an’ down. “Yeah, go fix!”
Me scoop da carved-sticks up an’ me put dem in me hands. Me do a little go-go fast to da hole in da bridge.
Me put da carved-sticks down until me only has one in me hand… den me hold it up in da breezy-breath.
Me put it down slowly… me fingers touch da bridge!
It… it… it fit!
Me fixed bridge!
Me singy, an’ me swing on da tree!
[ You have already claimed this land ]
No! Nasty noggin-hurty go!
“What? What are you talking about?”
Da noggin-hurty!
“There’s words in your head?”
Me piss on big-stick, me poo-poo in carved-stick-cave, me see noggin-hurty!
“Okay… really testing the limits on my ability to understand here. You see words in your head when you piss? I don’t—“
Me walk into big-stick-place, an’ not-annoying-buzzy fly. “Where are you going?”
Me find good big-stick, an’ den me pee.
[ Marking Territory… ]
[ Current Owner: The Horror of Noodleknob ]
[ Contesting… ]
A big-roar come. It shake da big-sticks, an’ me feel it in me feets.
“Grug, what the fuck did you do?”
Me make da noggin-hurty come! No see?
“What am I supposed to be—“
Hurty… me shoulder. Me smack into big-stick, me feel shoulder go click.
Wat?
Me look. Dey’s a big-thingy, like long-face with da four legs.
It head weird, no long-face, but it got big-big muchers… an’ some not in da mouth.
“Grug! Are you okay!?”
It land on me shoulder-go-click.
“What is going on?”
Da big-thingy got wet-grassy-stuff on it, like river-rock. It long. It longer den me.
[ The Horror of Noodleknob appraises you! ]
It make snorty with it nose.
Dem’s fightin’ noises!
But… den… it look fun to go on.
Me want ride it.
“What? No, Grug, you’ll have a hard enough time—“
It ok! Me go! It looky at me an’ it roar, an’ me stop when it put claw out an’ try cut me stomach.
Me smartest troll.
Me put hand in ground, an’ me pull up da ground.
Catch!
It no catch, da ground smack on it face an’ it reel back.
Me big jump! Me shoulder slam in it belly, an’ it go over. It cutty me with it claws, me feel blood on me sides!
But me get me arms under it arms, an’ den it no more scratchy me!
Me feel me back go clicky, but me pick-up it! When it feet no touchy da ground, me pull me belly.
It go swingy-singy, an’ den it smash in da ground!
Me let go, an’ me step back. Me do dat to da snappy-jaws, an’ dey snappy no more.
Me greatest tro—
Munchers on me neck, claws in me chest. It hurty! Blood go on me, an’ me slam in ground.
It no stop? Why it no stop!?
Teeth go deep. Me eyes go darky?
Me… smack!
It made bad-singy, it fall on da ground, den it roll an’ jump at me.
Me giggle. Dat what da snappy-jaws do.
Me go down, an’ it go over, but me grab it leg. Me pull it, an’ it dig in da ground but me strongest troll!
Me pull all me great-troll-strength an’ me slam it into da big-stick!
It fall on da ground, but me no stop! Me fall on it back, an’ me put me arm around it neck.
It get up, an’ it kick it legs up. Me is on it! Like weird-thingy on long-face-thingy!
It kick big-big, an’ me hand let go! Stupid hand!
It drag me on da ground… da ground!
Me make connecty-stuff, lots-connecty-stuff!
Den me put it on da big-thingys neck!
Me let go, an’ den me big-stomp me feet in da ground until dey’s in dere good.
It run — den it snap back as da connecty-stuff get pulled.
Me shoulders go clicky an’ dey hurty but it ok… dey get fix.
Me pull, an’ me clomp on da ground. Me go around big-stick, den more big-stick.
Den me tie it.
Me go fast-fast, make more connecty-stuff, den me grab it leg an’ me wrap it dere. Den again, den again!
It got it on it legs, an’ it neck.
Time to go on again!
Me jump, an’ me grab it wet-grassy-stuff on it back!
It buck, but it no bad. Me connecty-stuff good stuff!
Den… it drop.
Me put me feet in it side… make it go!
But it no go…
Why it no go?
[ The Terror of Noodleknob has been dominated ]
[ Pet obtained: ’The Terror of Noodleknob’ ]
Species: Timberclaw - Brute (Male)
[ Transferring owned land… ]
[ You now own 3.5% of [ The Spirited Wood ]
You have gained enough land to accrue Statistic Gain…
Claimants have been alerted…
View Stat Screen
Y/N?
Dere! Noggin-hurty!
Not-annoying-buzzy fly in front of me face.
“Grug! What the fuck is going on!? Why did that thing suddenly appear!?”
You no see noggin-hurty?
“I don’t see words in the air, no.”
Me noggin-think. What if… me pick-up noggin-hurty? Den not-annoying-buzzy see?
Me do dat… an’ dey go in me hand! Me put hand out, an’ not-annoying-buzzy land in it.
“Oh… oh what the fuck is this? It feels so… surreal?”
You see? You see you see?
“Yeah, alright Grug, I see. So what… you claim territory?”
Me piss, me poo-poo, me get noggin-hurty. Me no want! Me want fix bridge!
—
Emeric was right. A young adult — with distinctive back markings. The same as The Wandering Troll has.
He can still remember her back… impaled with hundreds of spears… thousands of arrows.
Why did it not attack the villagers?
It caused minimal damage, ultimately. Only one was directly hit, and even then it wasn’t anywhere near fatal.
It didn’t even seem to be on purpose, by all accounts.
There was some minor shrapnel damage and broken bones from the church-collapse… but no massacre.
Not like when she came to his home.
He would, maybe, assume that its unaware of its strength… or too cowardly, even.
Not after seeing it take down a timberclaw. Not after seeing it bloody, seeing the wounds seal up of their own accord.
The question is this; does it change the plan?
The answer is no. In fact, this is the perfect time to strike.
Whilst its weakened.
It’s by the side of the river, near the bridge.
Of course.
It’s dancing around, roaring into the air.
Yes… why wait?
He puts the backpack down and touches it, opening the table of contents.
He selects the biggest flask he has — his own formula, sparkfire. Designed, ingeniously, to burst into flame the very moment it touches the air.
It even sticks to flesh so well that some of the younger trolls he’s sterilised from the world died to that alone.
Loading the flask into the slingslot, he takes one final deep breath — then holds it as he moves until he’s adjacent to the troll and the river, some twenty meters out.
The plan is simple — all river-trolls love their river. When they get on fire, they go in it.
His method — much to the chagrin of his peers — isn’t to burn the river-trolls.
Oh no.
That’s too simple. Too obvious — too childish… and not nearly enjoyable enough.
He drowns them.
He holds the other vial in his hand. The one that sets the surface of water alight.
Watching them thrash under the water as it superheats… seeing them come up for air only to greedily suck in steam that boils their lungs…
Watching them die like that… or even better, give up and drown, now that is what trolls deserve!
They’ve often even too stupid to move away.
He launches the flask. It sails perfectly, as it should after years of practice — and lands right on the troll’s back.
The troll dons a cloak of bright flame that cascades from the impact site.
It flails. The bridge catches alight. It runs for the water. Emeric grabs the vial. He loads it.
The troll stops.
It looks at the bridge.
Then it turns.
Red eyes stare into Emeric’s soul — and a roar comes so loud that he feels his ears pop.
The birds flee in terror, screaming warnings at the top of their lungs.
He falls backwards as the tree that covered him is ripped from the ground.
Dirt falls on him like a waterfall from exposed roots.
The troll stands over him.
He scrambles, he kicks.
The troll has his leg.
It is a vice made of steel, secured to boulders — anchored in a mountain. It wrenches him backwards, and he shoves his entire arm into the ground before he can think to do anything else.
He flicks his wrist out and squeezes the bladder in his armpit. From the sleeve spews a gout of flame — his secret weapon.
The troll puts its hands up to stop the fire — and thus he is free. He’s almost tempted to stand there. To watch it burn.
Wisdom stops him.
He runs. He dodges behind trees, rocks, dives into bushes.
It doesn’t matter.
The troll is not normal.
Every tree he hides behind, the troll smashes through. Every rock pulled from the ground.
He runs, and he’s a fast runner.
It’s gaining.
Emeric thrashes in a sea of fear.
His legs are giving out.
He’s never had to run this much, or this hard.
The troll doesn’t tire. Even as the fire reaches its legs; it doesn’t care!
Is it already old enough to resist the fire!?
No. It’s not. The fire eats away at its skin… all over it. The eyes are dark — can it even see?
If he can just survive, it’ll die.
Soon.
He runs behind a rock, rips the Potion of Strength from his bandolier and pops the whole thing — glass and all — into his mouth.
The thick, viscous liquid makes him gag, and he spits out the glass.
Strength runs through him — he grabs the folded pole on his left thigh, striking it out.
A fold-up spear. A second later, a long steel rod fills it.
He is Emeric the monster-hunter!
No!
The Troll-hunter!
He just needs to survive! Just a little longer!
The rock behind him rumbles. He scrambles away.
The rock moves upwards — a wave of heat bites at him. The troll stands, burning. The rock is held in a single hand.
He locks up.
How… how does he do it?
How does he fight this thing?
He’s never had to! They’ve always died!
But he can do it! He can…
He runs.
The troll throws the boulder — it bounces off a tree and crushes Emeric’s leg before it rolls off.
The world is pain. He screams — the troll is over him. Staring at him. He holds the spear up.
It looks so weak.
Fear makes him piss himself. Tears stream from his face — memories flash before his eyes.
Then the gods intervene.
A large, thick bundle of tree roots emerges from the ground, coiling together and whipping into the troll’s chest.
It flies through the air, somehow freely passing through the tress to slam into the riverbank and slip into the water.
Emeric limps away. No doubt, the troll will die but…
This is the same feeling he felt, all those years ago.
When The Wandering Troll took everything.
Mother. Father. Brother. Sister.
Humiliation. Loss. Anger. Pain.
Hatred.