|Dark Legacy MUD Forum
|The Troll Wars *DL FAN FIC*
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|Author:||Sonhcara [ Sat Jul 23, 2011 4:31 pm ]|
|Post subject:||The Troll Wars *DL FAN FIC*|
*This was requested by Skyzzik, after i told him i was bored one day...lol*
Wind whistles through the long, dying summer grass, with a wailing sound akin to that of grievers at a funeral. This fact is not lost to the wanderer standing at the top of the tallest hill in the plains. Tall, broadly built, the wanderer is wrapped in a plain brown travelers cloak that hides all but his sheer size to any onlookers, leaning slightly on a sturdy walking stick.
In the skies above, a great host of scavenger birds circled lazily as they waited for the meal to come, drawn to this place by some unknown power, casting strange shadows on the plains below. They would not have long to wait.
The wanderer sighed sorrowfully as war drums sounded out from opposite sides of the plain, sending out their call to arms with thunderous might. The ground itself began to quake and a multitude of voices roared in unison, the opposing forces doing their best to drown out their opponent as they whipped themselves into a killing frenzy.
He watched as the armies appeared at last, appearing as two great waves of leather and metal and flesh, each bearing a multitude of banners bearing symbols of house and clan. The waves clashed with such force that the wanderer felt it even from where he stood.
Time and time again he had seen this very same thing. Time and time again, he had watched as armies fought their pointless battle. An endless loop, perpetuated by eons of hatred and tradition. Heaving a great sigh, the wanderer turned away. With walking stick in hand he continued on his path to find a place of peace and sanity in this world of conflict. In the many years of his life, peace was a rare thing to be had.
All day he walked, on towards the mountains in the distance, until at last he left the plains and entered a forest. Wrapped in the protective arms of a great mountain range, the forest was a vibrant place full of life. He had the strangest feeling in the pit of his stomach, almost like something was tugging him onwards. Never one to disobey the whims of his stomach, the wanderer simply shrugged and continued on.
He came at last to a steep slope. Without the aid of his walking stick and a few trees to rest upon, he never would have made it to the top.
What he saw when he reached the top of the slope caused his jaw to drop in wonder.
The slope was actually a section of land bridging a pair of great mountains, and on the other side of it was what could only be called a paradise.
It was a great valley, hidden from the turmoil of the outside world by the protective arms of the mountains. From high up on a mountain to the northern side of the valley spewed forth a mighty waterfall, falling down to meet a small lake and then moving across the huge valley to enter a cave and disappear again.
The forest he had just came through ended abruptly and another grassy plains stretched on for miles, until he had to strain to see a distant forest. And the plains abounded with life. Deer, rabbits, prairie dogs, horses. And also, he was sure, predators like wolves and mountain lions, though none were visible.
The wanderer gathered up wood from the forest there that night and made camp, determined to explore this place in greater detail.
It was several days before the wanderer left that place, his travel pouches bulging with newly drawn maps and notes. But he did so without hesitation, for he had not found civilization and yearned for the company of another of the intelligent races.
North, always north, he walked. Every day he could hear the troll clans battling, even having to make circle around a few skirmishes on his journey. Everywhere there was death and conflict. Blood soaked the ground, and the only trees not cut down for firewood or weapons by the troll clans were rotting husks. Not a speck of green to be had in this world of conflict, not since the valley and never before. And still he continued on, following the stars to the north.
Weeks passed in this manner, until at least he was greeted by an unusual sight.
In the distance, a very small village of barely thirty buildings sat amidst a field of green. Farmland surrounded them, though he could see that already the citizens of the village had begun harvesting their crop.
Seeing civilization at last, the wanderer walked onwards until he came to the beginning of a dirt path. Towering piles of skeletons, some still with charred meat upon their bones, sat to either side of the path, and he easily recognized them as troll corpses. Their tusked maws and broader skulls gave them away.
A pair of men from the village soon met him, wearing leather armor and each bearing a spear and wooden shield. He noted that they carried their weapons well and did not drag them along as they walked.
“Greetings stranger” one of the men called in the common tongue, “What business have you here?”
“I am just a wanderer, looking for a place of peace to settle down in this weary world” he replied. His voice was low and soft, yet each word carried to the villagers and they understood him perfectly. His strange lilting accent caused the second guards eyebrows to raise in surprise.
“You will not find that here, wanderer.” the second guard told him. “The trolls attack more and more often, and in greater numbers, recently. Do you need a place to stay for the night? We have an inn, though you are the first traveler we have seen in over a year.”
“A bed for the night, and water for the road. That is all I ask.” he replied softly, “I will be on my way in the morning.”
As they led him on to the village, the first guard said “Welcome to Tarsonis.”
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