Things don’t go the way I plan. In my imagination the humans would cheer and the orcs would falter, and most of them would flee. Instead the orcs all turn from the humans and face me, snarling and growling. They wave their weapons at me, and seem to be trying to frighten me away. Are they stupid? Or do they think I’m stupid?

The orcs are filthy and barely dressed. They have rags covering their important parts but the rest of them is naked, and their skin is nasty and covered in boils and warts. Even so I find myself imagining what they will taste like. Ew. There are a couple dead orcs, but this doesn’t seem to affect their morale.

The humans have it worse. They immediately shout to each other in alarm. There are five of them, but one is downed and has a broken spear in his belly. That’s his bad luck; he is wearing a metal breastplate but the spear came in low and got him. Is he dead? I don’t know, but the other humans are certainly alive.

“A forest troll! We’re dead for sure!” shouts one of the humans, a woman with a spear in hand.

“Keep the fire between us and it! The orcs might go for the troll if they think it’s here to steal their prey!” This is a man, and he’s holding a torch and a sword. My eyes water at the light from the fire and the torch. Are trolls weak to fire?

The other two humans are both men, and they are both wearing the same breastplate as the injured man and holding spears. They appear to be guards of some kind. They watch me warily and one takes a chance at stabbing an orc from behind. He strikes it in the leg and goes down to one knee, but the man can’t capitalize on the opportunity and is forced back by his companion. The orc rises again, and it’s clear its injury is minor.

Well, this is no good. I want the humans to know I’m not an enemy, so I call out to them loudly. “Hello! I’m Ellie, and I’m a friendly troll!” This sounds ridiculous to me even as I say it. “I’m trying to scare the orcs, so please attack them while they’re distracted!” I wave to punctuate my friendly intentions.

“No good!” shouts the woman. “It’s enraged! Listen to those roars!”

What? No, lady, I’m trying to help! I shout that out, but the humans only respond with more fear. I smell it on them. It’s very distracting, if I’m being honest. My nose is a lot more sensitive now and strong smells make it hard to concentrate. There’s a part of me that feels like an animal that wants off its leash, and smelling fear makes that part a lot more insistent.

Suddenly an orc gets bold and stabs me. Its spear jabs into my hip, scraping past the scales that armour me and digging in a little. I shout out and swat at it, but it withdraws quickly out of my reach. Just as quickly the wound seals itself shut. The pain is minor and goes away immediately, but something in me is filled with anger at the audacity of the thing. How dare you! Without thinking I jump forward, and my legs are strong. What would be five or six steps for a human is just one leap for me. I close the distance in a blink and seize hold of the orc’s arm. It squeals with fright and its friends stab me, but my anger lets me ignore the momentary pain. I spin the orc around and throw it away. It flies across the camp, over the heads of the humans, and crashes into a tree.

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Immediately one of the human guards dashes over and stabs the orc in the throat with his spear. Blood, black in the firelight, spurts out and the orc gurgles its last breath. My trollish instincts approve of this, and I turn to face the other orcs. With effort I reassert my human mind and gain control of myself.

They are fully focused on me now, and have formed a small formation with their spears all facing me. One of them is making oinking sounds; is he the leader? I focus on him. He’s at the back and seems to be hiding behind the others. I raise my hand and point a talon at him. “You! I’ll eat you if you don’t flee!”

It doesn’t work. The leader sees me pointing and cries out, and his minions charge me. There are at least six of them, not counting the leader, who hangs back. They all come at once, and I find myself pushed back. My instincts as a human are to retreat from this, but my troll body wants to fight. In fact I feel like I am slavering a bit. Maybe eating him wasn’t an empty threat.

The orcs jab me repeatedly with their spears. My regeneration keeps the wounds from accumulating, but the pain is nothing to be laughed at. Each wound is a cut that hurts, then heals, only for me to get cut again. When they stab at me I flinch away and try to block them. I am getting sick of it, and the trollish part of me says this is not the way I should be fighting.

I make up my mind. I can heal even if it does hurt. Instead of flinching away from the next spear strike, I lean into it, letting the weapon dig deep. It does, and I roar in pain. But I grab hold of the spear nonetheless and pull hard, yanking the orc from its feet and into my range. Once it’s there, it’s all over. The talons on my hands are not just for show. They open the orc up like popping a water ballon and its blood flows freely.

Another orc rushes in, not to help its companion but to stab me, and I am not ready to take advantage of it. But when its spear lodges in my belly I smash my hand down and break it off, then yank the blade free. With a roar I charge the orc that stabbed me and bear him down, and this time it’s not just my talons. I find myself biting the orc’s throat and tearing it out. Hot blood covers my face and I am suddenly enthralled by the taste and scent of it. I’m not even thinking at all anymore.

My thoughts become distant. I am a blur of violence. I kill the orcs that stand and fight. I run down the ones that try to flee. At one point one of the humans stabs me with his weapon; it’s all I can do not to attack him, but that is a line I won’t cross. I hope they remember that once it’s all over.

The last orc is the leader. I am not sure whether this is an accident, but it is poetic. He has soiled himself and smells like fear and urine and confused anger. He is squealing at me and waving its hands but I don’t care. I gather my legs under me and leap just as it turns to flee and my weight carries it down. My palm covers the back of its head and I smash its face into the ground, then twist as hard as I can. Oops. I only meant to snap its neck but its head came right off, and now things are messy indeed. I toss the nasty thing away.

The humans are terrified. They’ve moved around in a circle, keeping the fire between me and them, like the one human said to do. That human is whispering something but the blood in my head is roaring and I can’t hear it. Something instinctual in me tells me the fire is dangerous. Why? I can heal anything! My instincts, the troll part of me, wants to keep fighting. I see movement, and I leap, over the fire and towards the humans.