Chance heard the troll clear his throat and Yrip shift uneasily in his chair, though his attention was not really upon them.
“I see," Maedryn said slowly. “Yes, I see. I am truly sorry for your loss, my friend, and wish that I could be the bearer of more welcome news, but it can not be. A god is what you are, not what you can become. I shall, of course, endeavour to uncover more information about this situation of yours, to aid you in the understanding of it, to find out just how that it happened. It is a passing strange condition, I must say. Perhaps one of my kind has heard tell of it before. Yes, I shall contact the other Elders to see what they can reveal.”
“Master must not be so hard on himself,” Yrip added. “Master could not be as responsible as you say; Yrip does not believe he could do such a thing. Yrip has seen how kind you can be.”
Chance shook his head bitterly. “You pay me too much credit, Yrip; I am not so different a person now as I was then. Don’t forget that I took advantage of your misunderstanding. It is just the way I am.” He sighed. “No, I am perfectly capable of that. There is one more thing that you may be able to help me with,” he asked of Maedryn. “As I said, at times it has felt like the real Craghand has said things, done things that I had not planned to do. I take it that would be the soul of the body I occupy who is doing that.”
“If I were to hazard a guess,” Maedryn responded, “Then I would say that is most likely the case, yes. I have not heard of it happening with the avatars of the gods, but then their presences, the raw power of a god is far beyond that of a mortal and would not allow such a thing to occur.”
“Could he get stronger?” Chance asked. “Might he take back control of his body so that I end up the one relegated to riding in the body, aware but unable to do anything but observe?”
“That I can not say,” Maedryn replied, “But the possibility is there.”
A very real chill ran through Chance, his skin crawling and mouth going dry. The prospect of that happening sounded like a nightmare, trapped in a body as nothing more than a passenger, unable to interact with the world all about. It went beyond a nightmare; it was a story of horror.
And yet that was what was going on with the dwarf whose body he inhabited. A surge of pity welled up in him for Craghand. He hadn’t asked for this to happen, hadn’t forced it to happen and was not sure how exactly how to end it, beyond the vague instruction that he had to ‘win’, whatever that entailed. Which meant that the sooner that he did so, the sooner both of them could be free, to live their own lives again.
“I can see that you have come to a decision, my friend,” Maedryn said. “It is written across your features, that fierce determination that is a mark of the dwarven people.”
“But I am no dwarf,” Chance pointed out.
Maedryn smiled. “Perhaps not to start with, but some of their nature will rub off on you, if I am not far off the mark. My dear fellow, whether you perceive it or not, there will be changes that come about as a result, and there are few that would benefit you so much as the dwarven people. Stubborn to a fault, yet resolute nevertheless and intensely loyal to their friends, stoic in the face of danger, fierce in the face of their foes and skilled of hands and mind. Of course,” he added with a low laugh, “They can not compare to trollkind, but it is unlikely that the process would work upon one of us.”
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“And if I do not wish to be changed?” Chance asked stubbornly. “If I like who I am already?”
“Do you though, my friend,” Maedryn asked, then waved it away. “It matters little, one way or the other. There is a link there that you share. You can resist it, deny what is on offer to you, and that would not be counted against you. Or you can embrace it, to see it as your destiny”
“I shall have to think on it,” Chance told the troll, sinking back into his chair. It was a lot to take in, and much to think about.
“And what of you, my small friend?” Maedryn asked of Yrip, turning towards him. “I can sense an eagerness in you as well, a question burning in your soul that you wish to unburden.”
Yrip nodded his head rapidly. “Yes, yes, there is much that Yrip wishes to know, but there is one thing in particular. The Iyari have long believed that we need to have a master, to protect us and guide us.”
“I have noticed that among your kind, the need for a guardian. It is a curious thing.”
“It has been said that this desire stems from our origins, that we were raised up by the dragons, by their blood and magic, that we are of them and that is why we seek them out as our masters, and if not them, then we must have another. What I want to know is if this is true; are we of the dragons as the old legends state? Do we have dragon blood flowing through our bodies?”
Maedryn harrumed deeply and shifted in his chair. He ran his stony fingers through the moss that grew down the back of his neck, deep green eyes intent as they stared at Yrip. “Are you certain that you wish to know the truth, my small friend? It is no simple thing to discover the truth of how you came to be, and no way to tell just how the truth may impact you.”
“I am prepared,” Yrip said simply; it was the first time that Chance could recall that the kobold had not referred to himself by name. I, he had said. He did not understand why the change had occurred, only that it was a moment of great significance that perhaps the kobold would explain later on.
Maedryn smiled at the response. “Then, my friend, I shall regale you with the knowledge that has been bequeathed to trollkind, of the origins of your people. Yes, the dragons had a hand in your birth, but not as you believe, for the gods had the greater part, and they were the first as well. Indeed, it was not intended that you be the servants of the dragons; the gods had another destiny for your kind, though as to what I can not say, for if that knowledge exists not even the trolls know of it. The dragons interrupted that purpose, corrupted it and enslaved you through their blood and magic, binding you to their service.”
The small kobold’s brow furrowed and there was a hint of anger in his large eyes. “I see,” he stated. “Then we were forced into this servitude and did not choose it of ourselves?”
“That is so, yet such is the passage of time since it transpired that you now think of it as the desire of your own will.”
“What are you thinking, Yrip?” Chance asked of his friend.
“I am thinking,” Yrip replied forcefully, “That this must end. Though it may be burned into the bones of my people, this desire for a master, we must overcome it. We must be free.”