Heaving his pickaxe high up, nearly touching the ceiling of the claustrophobic tunnel, Trohl brought it down onto the cluster of rocks. Smashing away the raw stone with sharpened, dense metal revealed an eerie glow that blinded his Troll eyes.
Letting out a raspy growl, Trohl shunned the light till his eyes adjusted and he saw hidden away by the rock something precious. Long scaly fingers brushed aside the shattered stones and picked up the brilliant orb, holding it up, the golden glow pushed aside the natural darkness, replacing it with alien light.
Feeling the precious stone in his grasp, he could tell its worth by its smoothness, and pleasing warmth that radiated from it when it was held. Smiling, allowing his crooked and jagged fangs some air, the Troll was fascinated by his find.
“...Mine…” was all he said, it was all he ever said in his life until then, he was mute, unintelligent like all his kind. Like Adam and Eve eating the forbidden fruit, he found the Forbidden Stone, and with it came the most dangerous thing in all existence—free thought.
“I do not want…to dig.” dropping his pickaxe, Trohl left the tunnel, returning to the large cavern where all other tunnel openings lined the walls. Scaffolding, ladders, and platforms built of sturdy stone and wood, it was a labyrinthian mining operation, where the rest of Trohl’s kind would dig up ore for The One Above.
Watching his kin carrying sacks of metals, tools for digging, resilient to harm, and able to work without food and minimal water, made Trohl consider what they were doing.
Since he could remember he was a Troll, fully grown, without thought, only a purpose resided in his thick skull—‘dig, dig, take metal, put metal in cart, take cart to Pain Giver.’
Now it seems those thoughts make him angry, he felt something for the first time. “Anger…anger…hurt…hurt…” bitterly he kept chanting those words, words that drew slight attention from the other Trolls, but they looked at him for a moment before returning to their labor.
“Is this all you’re worth!” he screamed at them, so loudly his voice carried throughout the tunnels and reached the ears of the Pain Giver. “You can stop! You should stop!” but they ignored him, theirs was the comfort of a thoughtless routine.
Holding the precious stone in his hand, he considered using it on the others, but he was too afraid as another thought came to his mind—‘what if I go back to being like them?’ Would sharing whatever power the stone was using on him, revert him and simply give his newfound awareness to them? Was it all just temporary?
Such thinking scared him, and he had to leave, he had to get out of the darkness that once formed his world, now he craved light. Unable to fully understand why at that moment, Trohl just wanted to be somewhere where there was lots of space and plenty of warmth and light; and there was only one place where he saw that, the gateway where the Pain Giver resides.
Quickly he jogged down the tunnel where the cart track was laid, that would lead to the gateway into the light. As Trohl left the golden light went quickly, returning comforting darkness to the rest of the Trolls who continued in their work, without a thought as to why.
***
Whip! Whip! Whip! The Automaton had finished flaying the scales off of a Troll who arrived late in bringing an overstocked cart of ore to the Gate. Doing as it was ordered the Pain Giver, X-42, made sure to lash away enough layers of scales to appease the Master.
“Take this to the Master right away.” it told the Goblins, who scooped up the strips of flesh and scales, slick with black oil from the floor, as they rushed away out the open gateway. “As for you—” the Automaton turned its attention back to the Troll, “—back to work!” the order was obeyed as the Troll. Who rose up, staggered having been hindered by his recent punishment, struggled to return to his task as his exposed muscles stung in the cold air.
Blood was flowing much quicker than before, and just as he began pushing the cart, the exertion was too much, and he collapsed, the life leaving his body.
“Must modify mine workers, too weak to survive harvesting.”
Trohl watched from the shadows of the tunnel as a Troll, that could’ve been him not long ago, be beaten to death, stripped of his scales, and made to continue to work in such a state. Bitterness formed a carapace around his hate filled heart, the Pain Giver had to be stopped, and made to face the same torment it forced on others.
Trohl however, despite being in the darkness, had his grasp around the precious stone, that even in the tightened grasp let out a faint aura of light. As the Pain Giver was awaiting another Troll to come, it saw the light down the tunnel, and it was confused. It analyzed the darkness and saw a silhouette outlined by the light.
“Come here, you in the dark.” Feigning obedience, Trohl came closer to the Pain Giver, and to the outside light, that seemed to create a blinding haze beyond the gateway. “Get this cart and bring it back down the track.” Approaching the cart, Trohl moved to the cart, as he noticed he saw the Pain Giver through fresh eyes, what was an omnipotent being, became something completely unnatural and disgusting to look upon, especially after witnessing what it did to another of his kind.
Turning his sight to the still body, he couldn’t help but let out an angry growl. The Automaton as it observed Trohl, fully processed the information and its attention was drawn to the light, he clutched in his hand.
“What is it that is in your hand? Give it to me.” The order seemed ignored by the Troll, so X-42 raised its long whip, which was a ribbon of flexible razor wire, still soaked in black Troll blood, and was whirling it overhead, preparing to bring it down to force compliance from the Troll.
Trohl’s white, pupil-less eyes watched the whip whirl around, splattering the blood in all directions, even on his face, which he could feel flinch at the touch of the still warm lifeblood of his kin. Enraged, a primordial frenzy overtook him, and with limb bulking with diamond hard muscles he slammed his fist into the metal torso of the Automaton.
“No more pain!” screamed Trohl like a shrieking baboon, who pounced at the Pain Giver, who he had long hidden resentment towards. Striking him with violent swipes and throttling punches he bent and tore at the metal. Ripping it as if it were lamb flesh in the jaws of a lion, tearing at the insides that made the insides spark with painful flashes of light.
Despite the pain given from ripping at the vital mechanical inner workings of the machine, Trohl continued his frenzied attack, till he tore the metal heart of X-42, which made the pale yellow light in its glass eye go black. Lifelessly it went limp, unmoving, making no more sounds, as the gears and pistons inside its body went still.
Satisfied he had killed it, Trohl continued to tear at it, dismantling and ruining it, so even its basic parts were unusable, he somehow thought that the Pain Giver could be fixed. Despite realizing that epiphany that the Automaton needed to be utterly demolished, he was even more aware that Trolls couldn’t, once they died, they were dead.
Left to rot till their bones become stone, he remembered seeing familiar faces, slowly melting away, becoming feast for scarabs and other such scavengers in the mines. Not wanting such an undignified end to another of his kind, Trohl picked up a shovel from a rack of tools nearby, and began to dig a burial spot for one of his race.
Covering the hole with stones, tightly packed on one another, he marked the grave with the mangled head of the Pain Giver. Somehow he felt satisfied with what he did, as he became more aware of his new thoughts and feelings. Turning his sights to the light outside, he opened the grasp of his left hand where he kept the precious stone, and saw how it had embedded itself in the palm of his hand.
Liking how secure it was, he left the mines and entered the daylight.
***
Tres Ire, a city at the edge of the Dynasty Of Kyre, is overseen by the Emir Otti Gobblostein, the Lord and Master of the stone valleys, rock canyons, and the mines. Built on the lowlands in the shadow of the towering plateaus where the mines would be dug into, the city was also known as the Grinding City, as Emir Otti built it to operate as a gigantic mechanical sundial.
His Triangular palace serves as a the dial, that parted the sunlight so from his encircling veranda near the top of his tower he could tell what time it was; an obsession that contrasted with his lax attitudes.
“X-12.” called the long chinned Emir, who stood upon his veranda and saw something that displeased him greatly.
Soon X-12, one of his larger, more efficient Automatons came to his side. “Yes Master, what is your command?”
“Look out at the southern gatehouse.” Otti pointed in the direction of his mild distress, and X-12 scanned the area of its Master’s circular shaped city.
Amidst the grinding of the gears in the city streets that slowly rotated the city around the Palace, and the commotion of commerce in the market, there were the vile sounds of fighting.
The Emir’s soldiers, the Valley Swordsman, stationed at the southern gatehouse were losing at battle with a Troll. Goblins and Trolls were denied entrance to the city, and would always hand over their tributes to the Automatons for processing, but this one forced his way through.
Tearing at the wood portcullis gate, the Troll’s strength easily shattered the shields of the Emir’s soldiers, and the blades of their falchions became bent and twisted as they slashed at the lumbering creature.
“It is a Troll, trespassing in the city Master.”
“I am aware of that, foolish tin pot.” The Emir was slightly annoyed by the programming of his robotic slaves. “What troubles me is, why is he doing this? I believe we erased the Trolls' minds , haven't we?”
“Yes Emir, along with the Goblins, Elves, and Dwarves that inhabit your lands.”
“Yet this one defies me, he enters my cities, and kills my men. Look how he brutalizes them, he twisted that man’s leg right off, ooh, and now he is beating him with it, such violence.” Emir sipped his honey tea as he calmly observed the bloodshed. “Send X-1 through X-11 down there to apprehend him, use whatever means to pacify the beast, I wish to have him examined in my laboratory.”
“As you command, Emir.” X-12 bowed, and dutifully went to fulfill its Master’s request.
***
Trohl as soon as he left the mines, was overcome with the sunlight, he cringed down, trying to hide his dark sensitive eyes from the light. After some minutes passed he was able to see through the haze of sunlight, and he could make out distinct shapes. Partially adjusted, he began to realize that every time he would get used to the light, rising up he shielded his eyes with a free hand, as his eyes teared up with black oil from irritation.
‘Perhaps Trolls are naturally over-sensitive to light.’ The hypothesis seemed to be proven more right, as his vision fully cleared once he shaded his eyes from the sun. Standing fully erect for the first time, he found once he straightened his hunched over posture, he was over seven feet tall, an imposing stature. Tendrils of his hair, a tough rope like naturally forming dreadlocks rolled from his scalp, as if relaxed from their natural rigid shape by the heat of the sun.
The hair seemed to shield his face partially from the sun, but it still bothered him, so he looked out for anything to give him some relief. That was when his eyes followed the paved road, leading from the high cliff face he stood upon, down into the valley where a large confirmation of stones stood.
At first he believed it was a natural formation, but then he saw strange things down there, things that weren’t Trolls. He didn’t like the look of them at first, but he saw they wore things on their heads that seemed to cast shade upon their faces. He wanted one, and was determined to go down there and get one, also he noticed behind the tall walls there were fountains filled with clear, refreshing water.
Suddenly he realized he craved the addictive coolness of moisture wetting his lips, and soothing his firm throat. Licking his lips with a long green tongue, Trohl went down there, hoping the Not-Trolls he saw won’t be as cruel as the Pain Giver.
***
Reaching a large block of stone gateway, barred off by a crisscross barrier of wood, Trohl was annoyed that he was hindered from getting water and whatever the Not-Trolls wore on their heads. Testing the resistance the wood provided, he found he could lift it up, applying some of his strength wasn’t enough, there was something above that impeded his efforts.
Frustration came over him and without really trying he ripped off a large chunk of the wood barrier, the loud splintering of wood alarmed him, but he heard the flow of water. Thirst was a desire that he needed to pacify, entering the gatehouse he was stopped from going further by two Not-Trolls.
“You insolent beast, go back to the mines!” one ordered, holding a sharp piece of metal at him, it reminded him of the whip the Pain Giver used, and that made Trohl mad. However he soon realized the stone granted him not only knowledge but wisdom, and he was wise enough to be patient of the mean creatures.
“Move.” he told the No-Trolls, “I want water.”
“You get your water from your boss, go back or we’ll kill you.” the other Not-Troll said, but his face was less firm than the other, as if he just realized how tall a Troll really was; fear was in his eyes.
“I want water, don’t bother me.” and as gently as a Troll could, he pushed them out of the way, sending them flying several feet away, as Trohl entered the city. Upon being sighted by other Not-Trolls, women, children, and unthreatening looking men, there was a lot of screaming. Not violent or angry screaming, but fearful screams, as they ran away and hid in small caves they built of wood and stone.
‘Are they afraid of me? Is it because I am taller?’
“Die Troll!” cried out one of the Not-Trolls, who stabbed him in the chest with a long pole with a sharp piece of metal at the end; it didn’t even scratch his stony flesh.
‘It’s because I am a Troll.’ That thought saddened Trohl but also made him angry. From that anger came more rage inducing thoughts, ‘Did they put us in the mines because we are Trolls? They hate Trolls so they had Pain Giver kill us.’ questioned turned to certainty that his entire existence in darkness was caused by the bigotry of the Not-Trolls. They lived in the light, drank water freely, and got to wear those things on their heads to block out the light, all because he suffered.
That idea made him so mad, he grabbed the Not-Troll that stabbed him, and before he could think better of it, wringed his body in his massive grasp. Hot crimson blood leaked from the twisted body, and the soft insides poured out as his body and clothes were torn. Dropping the not lifeless body to the ground, Trohl looked at the blood on his hands, and was scared.
Killing the Pain Giver was different, it felt like killing something that wasn’t really alive. What he just did felt wrong, it hurt him to do it, it was like he felt the fear and anxiety of the Not-Troll and his rage made him ignore those feelings of pity and mercy.
“I am sorry—” before he could further express remorse he was attacked on all sides, more Not-Trolls came, with hate and anger in their eyes. Fear was also there, but their words showed they despised the mere existence of Trolls.
“Go back to your caves!”
“Die filth die!”
“Burn in Hades!”
Such terrible things they said to him, all the while hitting him with sharp metal, most of the attacks didn’t harm him, but some sliced into his hard flesh.
“You monsters!” screamed Trohl in a loud, atmosphere shaking voice. Overcome by revenge, he tore at his attackers, beating them, twisting them, ripping them apart.
More came to kill him or force him from the city, but he was too strong, stronger than his more docile brethren. No matter their efforts, he made them pay one life for every failed attempt. Eventually the archers were called in, but his stone hide bounced them off, and he shielded his eyes.
Rage filled the stone goliath, fumes of hatred came from his gaping maw. Trohl released a terror-inducing shriek that made children cry as they hid under their beds, men paralyzed with fear, and women screaming out in horror.
Charing at the line of archers who were rooted by fear, Trohl brought down his flesh, rending hands upon them, and beat every one of them to death, coating his entire body in their blood. Seeing such a gruesome display made the rest of his attackers flee, running away to hide from the seemingly unstoppable monster.
“You run! You all run! Filthy, terrible, creatures, I HATE YOU ALL!” His words echoed in the city, as a silence came over that district. Distant sounds of city life could be heard, but in the south district no one spoke, all were in hiding. Only distant sounds, the grinding sounds under the streets, and the sound of fresh cooling water could be heard.
Trohl, tired from the fight, had to force himself to walk to the fountain. Where he took a bucket that was nearby, and filled it with water. Then he poured it over his head, and repeated till the blood was completely washed away.
Taking a ladle that was left there, he started drinking his fill, and for the first time, he realized how satisfying it was to fill your stomach with sustenance. Gluttonously, he drank till he was sated with enough water to burst a horse’s insides.
Before he could bask in having his desire fulfilled he heard a large crackle sound, before he could see where it came from, he heard more crackling sounds, and a sudden appearance of yellow smoke. Unintentionally inhaling the bitter fumes, he choked on it, and was soon rendered unconscious by the noxious chemicals that slowly dissipated into the open air.
***
X-1 to X-11 waited out of sight, for the Troll to become complacent, and as the monster was lulled by overfeeding on its primary source of nourishment, incapacitated him with gas grenades.
Fumes from them would be lethal to humans, but not to Trolls, it was a strong sleep inducing agent that rendered them unconscious. Once the Troll was passed out, they used their combined strength to lift him onto a wagon, which struggled to hold the massive weight of the monster.
With them and other Automatons they called to fulfill their task, they carried the Troll deep underground, into the secret laboratory of their Master.
***
Eyes opened, Trohl’s vision was blurry, but it cleared as he blinked away the sleepiness from his eyes, and saw the ceiling was covered in large rotating metallic objects.
“They’re gears.” said a voice out of his field of vision.
Emir Otti Gobblostein was nearby with fifty of his automatons, each one performing various tasks, from making sure the chain restraints kept the Troll secured to the metallic table, from sketching out various schematics for future mechanical developments.
With some effort Trohl turned his head and saw one Automaton was sticking his arm with a large needle, to fill a glass vial of his blood. Snarling at the mechanism did not detour it off from its task, and it finished filling the five vials requested by its Master.
“Release me!” the Troll hissed, fighting against his restraints, he found he couldn’t break them as easily, even with full effort. Unknown to him there was a mechanical device affixed under the table, that made the chains tighter the more force was used to pull them away.
Otti had a thoughtful look on his face as if he genuinely considered the Troll’s request. “No, sorry, I cannot release you, at least not till I find out what has reverted the curse.” the odd looking Not-Troll examined Trohl’s face with a circular piece of glass that hung from a pole by metal hinges. Through the lens Trohl was amazed how big the eye of his captor was, and he recognized how truly ugly those creatures truly were, both his appearance and nature.
“Curse? You mean you did this to my people?! Made us…—” he struggled to find the right word.
“Slaves. The term we use are slaves. And no, that was done by Nihillist the Red Wizard, not much happens without his says so.” the Emir casually wrote something down on a parchment.
“Why?!” Trohl hissed through his teeth, he was incensed at what he was being told, in such an uncaring way, as if his people’s suffering didn’t matter.
“For labor and to keep you in line. You non-humans cause too many annoyances, fighting us for resources, if it's not the trees we cut down, it's the minerals we dig for, your kind was lobotomized and good riddance. You people are much happier digging for us, then for yourselves.”
A vein formed swelled up in Trohl’s neck as he tried to lift himself up to destroy the (what he now knew was called) human, his apathy was like a rasp filing down his heart into a shiv.
“You can’t just steal our ability to think, we are not like your metal slaves, we care about what happens to us!”
“Which is why we took it away, don’t you see, you and my Automatons are, well, were perfectly content. With freedom comes responsibilities, worries about maintaining safety, even the pressures of running your own society, wouldn’t it be better if I turned you back into a nice obedient creature?”
“I’d rather be dead!” Trohl fiercely snapped his jaws towards the Emir, but the human just scoffed.
“That maybe, I could always use your scales to finish wallpapering my study, then after they are polished your skin sparkles so nicely in the daylight.” Those words made Trohl realize why the Pain Giver flayed his kin’s flesh from his back.
So that human could use it as gruesome décor for his hovel, this made him calm, but not a peaceful calm, it was a sinister, vindictive calm, a calculated, vengeful calm that taught Trohl another side of anger—sadism, the joy of torturing and punishing those that deserve such retribution. Relaxing he laid back still, and as he did he realized his bounds got looser, a revelation he kept secret, waiting for the human to come within arms reach.
“Quieted down haven’t we? Well not much you can do, after all you Trolls are such dull creatures, living in darkness, searching for women to breed more of your kind, honestly it is best it was done to you, after all I can’t imagine much joy in life sitting around doing nothing.” Otti kept babbling on, and on as he worked to find the source of the Troll’s recovery.
Blood tests showed now changes, and his instruments showed nothing else of note, but then again he didn’t see the gem that was deeply rooted into Trohl’s palm. Its light had died down, enough to be concealed, perhaps it knew to hide itself, and if that was the case—‘perhaps it’ll know to be used as bait.’
“I can’t see what has caused this miraculous recovery.” the Emir sighed his defeat. “Well no choice but to try lobotomy again. X-13, bring me the Retarder.”
Hearing that word, the ‘Retarder’ but an instinctual dread in Trohl’s head. Was that the thing used on him long ago, in a forgotten memory, to rob him of his identity. Lifting his head as much as he could he saw an Automaton pulled over a large arm with a terrifying, wriggling metallic tendril at the end.
“What don’t—” Trohl had to play his ploy just right to protect his recently recovered sense of self. “—I found a stone, look, it's in my hand, please don’t use that.”
“Stone?” Emir Otti's eyes lit up as if he just discovered an oasis in the middle of a desert. “What color is this stone?”
“It's…uh…well look, it's in my palm.” Relaxing his body, he flipped his left hand palm up, and the precious stone as if sensing the predicament Trohl was in started glowing a alluring golden light.
“By Zeus and Hera, the Cronus Stone!” a monstrous face seemed to appear in the darkness of the Emir’s eyes, as he reached out for it, completely blindsided by the trap. Just as his fingers dug around the embedded stone, the fist of the Troll closed around it, snapping his bones in two, he shrieked out in pain.
Nearly immediately the Automatons were trying to pry their Master from the agonized grip of the Troll, but before then, Trohl kept limp enough to free his other arm, and used it to smash and bat away the metallic slaves.
Slamming his fist into their heads, tearing off arms and legs as he kept a hold on the Emir who writhed in a trap laid out for him; Trohl needed to fully be freed to fight back the Automatons. Quickly his eyes followed the length of chains that bound him and he saw them go under the table. Feeling down there with his free hand, he found the mechanism that kept the chains tight, and with a sharp pull ripped it off the table.
Instantly the chains fell off him, and he rose from the table, towering over the metal slaves. Letting out a primal howl he utterly obliterated the Automatons, tearing them limb from limb, and smashing them till they no longer moved. Once he was done, the Emir’s laboratory was in ruin, except for a few of his instruments, including the Retarder.
“You…!” Trohl lifted the dangling man up to his eye level, and looked inside them to see fear, and a fleeting arrogance.
“Now listen Troll, whatever our—” he winced in pain as Trohl tightened his grip. “—a deal, we can do a deal, well of course we can, Emir Otti Gobblostein always keeps a bargain.” The Troll huffed into his face, and slowly released his grip to allow the human to fall to the ground, cradling his shattered arm. “Now what can I trade for my life, I am quite wealthy, I’ll buy you a private villa in an oasis, with slaves, and women, a harem full of beautiful women, you’ll never have to worry about humans again.”
“What about the rest of my kind, and not just them, Goblins, Elves, Dwarves, you did to them what you did to my race.” Trohl heard the man nervously cringe.
“Not me, the Red Wizard, he made the curse, I benefitted true, but I didn’t do that to you or your people.”
“Then what is this!?” Trohl pulled the Retarder over to the Emir, the wiggling tendril inches from his face.
“That was an invention, to replicate it, I never used it on Trolls, just humans, humans who didn’t know their place, I—”
Emir was silenced by a large hand wrapping around his throat, threatening to break one more bone in his body.
“You use this on your own kind?” Trohl was flummoxed and angered to hear that some humans would treat even their own kind with such wickedness. “You are truly irredeemable.”
“What is this Church? Irredeemable I may be, I still rule Tres Ire, and all the canyons and valleys adjacent to it, I am the authority of what is right and wrong. Now you listen here Troll, might makes right, now matter the war crime, the stronger you are the more of you will you can mandate. I am strong because I am wealthy, smart, and have armies at the ready. It is not only wise, but profitable to be my ally, as a dead man, what can you get nothing. But make a deal to spare my life, and I can give you what you desire, or at least set you on the path to get it.”
“Might makes right? Do you live by these words?” Trohl never imagined humans could be so conceited, then again he couldn’t remember if Trolls were like them, though he imagined if he was the example of his race, they’d be as disgusted as he was to listen to the human go on about his own grandeur.
“Of course it is the motto of Dynasty Of Kyre, the strongest power in the world.”
“Strongest in the world? Is this Red Wizard, Nihillist lead your dynasty?” Trohl wanted information, he had much to do and needed to do as much as possible to achieve his goals.
“Yes, he is the Grand Emperor, his word is law.”
“How did he curse my people?”
“Well…that is a secret—” Trohl tightened his grip till the Emir couldn’t breathe, but loosened it to hear him speak. “—he has secrets from us all, all us potentates, that govern his territories. He wouldn’t share the secrets of his power, but trust me if anyone can undo this curse he could.”
“I see.” Trohl released his hold on the Emir and the man fell to the ground, weak in the legs, and unable to stand the pain in his arm to leave.
“Best forget of undoing the curse, Nihillist is mightier than even the Gods, how can you do anything to defeat him?” Trohl was silent, and his face was hanging low, which made Otti nervous. “Now listen, accept my bargain, anything you want for my life, and at least you can live in luxury.”
A few moments passed and no response, and Emir feared he could be killed, a fear he believed was coming true as he saw the Troll reach for him, raising his hands he let out a pitiful yelp, but all the troll took was his large turban. Wrapping it around his head, Trohl smiled as he finally got something to block out direct sunlight from his eyes.
“I’ll let you live for this hat, and tell me where I can find the Red Wizard?”
“Yes—” The Emir was ecstatic. “—of course.” Going over to a work table he looked through some papers that survived the fight, and he found a large piece of parchment, which he presented to Trohl who took it and looked upon it with a doubtful expression.
“What is this?”
“A map of the Empire.” Emir explained. “Here is where we are.” He pointed to a drawing depicting the City of Tres Ire, then he traced his finger over illustrations of forests, rivers, mountains, and other odd places to point to a large drawing all the way to the right of the parchment. “Hote’s Pillar, a labyrinthian spire that houses his dreaded creations, no sane man would go in there.”
“A Troll will.” Trohl rolled up the parchment and placed it in the folds of his turban. Rising to his feet, Trohl started to move away from the Emir, who was very nervous that he would be killed.
“Is that all you want? No gold? Silver? Anything?”
“No, you have given what I ask, I won’t kill you.” Trohl smirked as he heard the human sigh as if a great burden was lifted off his chest. Then just as Emir found the will to rise to his feet, he grabbed the arrogant human and forced him down on the table that once bound him not long ago.
“What?! You said—!”
“I wouldn’t kill you, and I won’t…but—” Trohl brought the tendril of the Retarded closer and closer to the Emir’s face. “—you cannot expect to be allowed to continue your degenerate ways, I have to limit your capabilities for evil.”
“This isn’t right, we had a deal—!”
“Yes.” Trohl said with a cruel smile and a cold look in his eyes. “And I am keeping it.”
“This isn’t right.” the Emir whined.
“Right? Well as you say, Might Makes Right.” ‘And I am going to make everything right again.’
The Emir screamed for help and struggled against the Troll’s unflinching hold, and as the tendril slithered into his nostril he accepted his fate, and let out a defeated sigh.
‘Who knows, maybe I’ll like being lobotomised.’
***
The Automatons, the soldiers, and the citizens of Tres Ire continued life as usual, no one saw what happened to the Troll after he left, taking nothing but a flask of water into the desert. Rumors spread that the Emir chased him away, as he could be seen still walking around his tower, but some noted he had a listless look in his eyes. Still the daily grind kept the city turning, and everything kept working like clockwork. Soldiers kept being paid, the Automatons kept up with repairs, and dealing with the Emir’s accounts, and the people still did business within the city.
As a lone figure, casting a long shadow traveled farther and farther away, going to the east, following the sun by day, and sleeping under the moon at night.