Post by Joliette Thorne on Oct 25, 2008 20:54:27 GMT -5
Abruptly, the troll stopped speaking, and shook its shaggy mane. Yellow eyes widened as the beastlike being stilled, and one could almost see the bright candleflame of realisation flaring above its head. "Ungrubbah?"
Turel raised a brow, as the avian anti-mage listened to the words that the troll had uttered. Not understanding a single word - sounding more like nonsense if nothing more, the avian slowly moved toward the edge of the cliff face, pondering whether or not he should dive down to its depths. Turel looked over to where the troll had lumbered its huge self too, the edge of the cliff ready to throw itself down. "No. Come." Was all the avian muttered, not liking the fact that this troll wanted to end his life so...Casually. The wings that adorned the mans back unfurl in an instant - the pearlescent hue catching the moon's faint light so greatly. Turel needed his weapon, for he remembered what he had found down the last cavern he had jumped - no climbed down. Taking a step or two back, the avian seemed to jog a little, before hurling his great frame into the unknown. His wings however, would only carry him so far. Floating down, the avian's front slammed into the wall - not to hard, and yet not to soft. Clinging to the rock face, the avian let a groan of pain leave his lips. How he hated climbing at times.
The wounded troll hesitated, grunted a reply and watched the avian launch himself to toward the cliffs with something of awe in its piggish eyes. Why the troll had suddenly decided to obey the avian wasn't clear, but it did. Its injuries were dire but likely not too visible under tattered armours and matted body-hair, and thick drips of blood left a clear trail across the rock as the humanoid creature followed. Having evolved for life among chasms and cliffsides, the troll's long, sharply-tipped fingers and toes found sure purchase on the walls where no other might do so, but its wounds had weakened it and progress was actually a deal slower than it would have otherwise been.
Turel looked over his shoulder, quite stunned that the beast actually listened to him. None the less, Turel looked downwards, and saw nothing but blackness. Sighing to himself, his body hurting a little from the pain of being slammed into the wall - Turel managed to climb down several feet - using small jagged rocks as secure holdings. Another glance is shot over toward the troll, who seemed to have a knack for climbing such things. The smell of blood could not be ignored. The thick trail that could easily be spotted if someone --- or something were to walk overhead. Not having a care in the world right now, Turel quickly made it down several more feet, the rocks easily cutting into his pale fleshed hands. As Turel descended into nothingness, his fallen blade wasn't too far from him. A simple jump maybe?
The avian would have time to complete that thought, but none to form the next before the lengthy reach of a trollish arm clamped around his frame, and that powerful -- and quite odiferous-- grip served to near-suffocate Turel, while the troll completed the climb for both of them. Those pristine wings would be spotted with crimson and perhaps breath might take time to draw easily, but Turel would be deposited with care on solid rock footing. The troll stepped back. A single drip of nasal phlegm fell to splat on the ground as the rock-dweller snuffled expectantly.
Turel felt the air from his lungs being ripped right out of him, as the large troll's hand had gripped around the avian's small, frail looking body with ease. Choking back cries of pain, Turel repeatedly beat the large digits with his fists, wanting to be released from the troll's vice-like grip. A finger nail or two dug into Turel's pale flesh, the thick crimson slowly running down onto the tips of his wings. As the troll, who Turel had now named Bob in his head had placed him onto the solid rock footing, Turel choked - then started to inhale the air as if his life had depended on it. "Damned bastard...Ya could of killed me ya great big idiot! Next time, with care?" As the drop of nasal phlegm splattered against the wall, Turel shook his head to himself, rubbing and smearing the wound he now carried. Eyes had found what he had earlier looked at - his katana. Bending at the waist the avian picked it up, and the 'Haha!' fell from his lips. Sheathing the blade, the avian waited to see if the troll would escort both of them down the rocky terrain.
"URGH!" The great shaggy beastman's lips drew back over tusklike teeth as Turel exclaimed his victory, and took another long step backward, its muddy eyes fixed on the blade. But when the avian did not attack it canted its head to the side, one long, bristled ear drooping in confusion. "Urgh?" It was swaying slightly now, blood-loss taking its toll and forming a small pool at its long-toed feet. "Grooh! Ungrubbah, j'kel!" It emphatically jabbed a claw toward itself, its focus dimming. A moment later, Grooh -- or Bob, as it may be-- was a massive, hairy heap of blood and muscle, howling its pain on the stone below.
Turel looked over toward 'Bob' as the troll screamed out toward him as the weapon was sheathed and the beast tried to speak, Turel lofted a brow and shook his head - not wanting to harm it. The blood that pooled beside the beast was something Turel could take, slowly that bloodlust would take control sooner or later. Another set of ramblings came from the beast, jabbing a huge claw at itself. As the beast fell to the ground, Turel didn't know what to do at first. Howling in pain -- quite loudly at that, the avian took several steps out toward it -- thinking he should end its pain and suffering here and now. "What’s wrong with ya?" The avian asks, shaking his head slightly at the large beast. "Get up ya great big numpty. We ain't got all day!"
As Turel approached, the extent of the troll's injury would become more clear. A ragged gash of flesh to one side of its abdomen lay open in a bloody flap, the blade that caused it not slicing deep enough for evisceration but obviously it'd cut into muscle tissue. Several other 'minor' cuts welled blood, each deep enough to have killed a species less thick-skinned, but it was the stomach-wound causing the troll its pain. The creature sat up, rocking it s body back and forth, dribbles of snot wetting its leathery face. It was the very picture of trollish misery, though Turel's presence seemed to bring it comfort. It might be now, that Turel would note the rusted iron cuffs on its wrists, the ringed collar of like metal about its fleshy, waffled throat. "Ungrubbah," said the troll, quietly, staring at the avian's wings. Its great head drooped, and it began to snuffle again.
Turel 's eyes roamed around the troll's figure, the wounds in which it had suffered where something Turel had never seen. Huge, yet not quite deep enough. Turel looked at one wound in particular, the one that was causing 'Bob' so much pain. The avian was not a healer, just a rather bland sort of warrior. Turel eyed the iron cuffs on its wrists, around its neck, and for a moment, the avian saw pity for the first time. Shaking his head, the avian knelt down beside the beast, a grin look splayed upon the avian’s weathered features. "I can't help ya here Bob. I do not heal. I would probably throw in a few rocks into the wound, but that’s it. Or, you can stay here, and see if someone will come get you?" Turel really didn't know what to do right now, stay here with Bob, or continue downwards. The white ethereal glow that belonged to the anti-mage offered little light, and slowly Turel rose to his feet - as his right hand skimmed over the hilt at his side. If the beast simply remained there, it wouldn't take the avian long to end its misery.
The casual observer could hardly be blamed for assuming that trolls, particularly rock-trolls, were little more than simple, mindless troglodytes. But the fact was that the band of hirsute humanoids that had travelled here millennia ago, as primitive as they were, had developed a complex society with its own structure and lore. Grooh gargled that word again, clutching his wound, which seemed to be bleeding less with every passing moment though he winced-- and a trollish wince was something one might not prefer to behold to often -- and grunted still, in obvious pain. "Ungrubbah, ekki m'bugh." Grooh seemed intent on a gap in the rock to the west, glancing back and forth between it and the avian. To make its point, it reached an arm -- and what a length of arm it was -- toward the tunnel entrance. The wound was revealed, the flap of flesh staying put now, and the edges of the gash appeared to be knitting together, even as Turel watched. That was another thing about trolls perhaps not in general knowledge-- they regenerated their flesh in the manner of vampires, except whole limbs could be regrown with time. The only sure way to kill a troll entirely was gutting it, removing the head, or waiting for it to die of old age. "Lubgh!" Grooh struggled to rise to his knees, unsteadily, long ears lowered to the side of his head, and crawled closer to the winged man. Crouched there, the troll reached around to slap itself on the back. "Dimkur!" .... was it offering Turel a ride?
Turel watched as the troll had appeared to grip onto its wound. The blood had now started to flow less and less with each passing second. The wince it had made, not something Turel had heard before was quite loud - not louder than the growl that left its bloodied lips not moments before. As the large arm pointed toward what appeared to be a huge gap in the rocky terrain, the avian nodded his head slightly. "We go there?" Turel asks, as his eyes still remained on the large wound, which had now started to heal right before the avian. Blinking, confused if nothing more Turel shook his head. "Lucky bastard...." Turel didn't know how troll's bodies worked, or even why they were usually so stupid at times. As the beast slapped its back, Turel nodded, seemingly he understood what the creature was asking him what to do. Turel leapt up onto the creatures back, waiting for what Turel thinks will be a rather bumpy ride.
With limbs of equal length, and the thick hair that covered almost all of its body except for its bald face, which resembled more closely a baboon's than anything, the troll might have seemed like some colossal, ugly hound as it took off in a surprisingly smooth gallop into the caves. Turel was left to clutch to its back as he could, while Grooh loped swiftly through tunnels, some of them lit faintly by luminescent fungi or by glowstones set among the limestone deposits overhead. On sight of the glowstones, he -- properly trolls could not be defined as male or female until they reached full maturity and Grooh was a mere teenager at a hundred and four, but we'll call it 'he' for expediency -- would halt and sniff as though expecting danger. None came, however, and soon they were deep in the bowels of the Void's western side. The stench of troll was thick here, not a lot of fresh air wafting in but rather seeping slowly through porous stone or narrow fissures in the walls. At last, the creature stopped, lowering himself to help Turel’s' descent from his back. They were at the lip of a cavern through which poured a dozen much bigger trolls, each adorned with cuffs and collar like Grooh. They appeared to be ready to shred any interloper to pieces but, on sight of the young one and particularly the white-winged male that slid from his back, they all stood like hairy statues, staring. Then one broke the silence, with a cry of, "Ungrubbah!", its maw splitting to a jagged, tusk-toothed grin. The rest started capering about in some sort of dance, possibly, and then fell into two columns on either side of the cavern entrance. Grooh drew himself upright, his gnarled chest puffing out in evident pride, and gestured for Turel to enter the cave, which was unlit and thus they entered into that thick, pitch blackness only deep subterranean caves possess.
Turel held on for dear life, as the troll galloped through the cavern like it knew the way around. Turel looked at each of the green lights that flickered every now and then, the faint glowing stones seemed to lose what energy was left in them. Turel did not know what would happen, as the avian clung onto the troll's hairy back. The smell was something he never knew existed. The putrid smell of troll lingered, and as 'Bob' had stopped for now, and lowering the avian toward the ground, Turel's cold sapphire eyes widen. A dozen trolls stood, all wearing the same iron cufflinks around their wrists and necks. Shaking his head, Turel patted on Bob's thigh, as the avian smiled to himself. And yet, it was so dark, darker than what Turel was expecting. Was the avian going to become a fast meal for these hideous looking creatures? Walking around, the avian's faint aura of pure magical negativity shone, and was the only thing that marked down. Even his eyes did not adjust to what was around him, only the smell of urine, dung and lastly troll lingered in this place. Turel did not know what to do. Even as the troll's had threw themselves upright, standing in what could be displayed as two columns, the avian did not know what to do. Be eaten, which was a possibility, or run and stay alive.
While the avian wandered the utterly unfamiliar cave in darkness, Grooh was muttering a long string of guttural trollish words, and abruptly the cavern would be alight, if still somewhat dimly. The source of the illumination was a large stone jutting up from the cavern floor, several feet wide at he base and tapering to a point the same distance above Turel's head. This was likely the largest glowstone the avian would ever see in his life, and what it revealed was just as extraordinary. The cavern was painted upon every inch of its surface with scenes in which were figures that represented trolls, mostly, though here and there were dotted smaller, cowled beings and other, uglier things that looked like trolls but possessed of hideous, circular maws. Other atrocities, monsters, were shown as well as a scene of a huge battle that covered much of the space, followed by an image of hundreds of trolls, cowering in cages and shackles. Grooh grunted, showing Turel to the next wall, a painting of the Void itself, one side full of cages and chained trolls and the other a swarm of the little hooded men. The young troll pointed to what was clearly the eastern side, and a lone figure that was circled in black soot, rays of darkness painted like a dark sun surrounding it. Then he pointed up, and there was the most puzzling, shocking thing of all. In a similar, sun-like ring of bright zinc-paint was a figure that looked remarkably like the avian himself, wings spread and sword high. The last wall, beside which jutted a very life-like statue of a horrendously gnarled and obviously ancient troll, was a scene in which the winged figure led another battle, and the cowled figures lay like a flock of slain crows on the ground. This entire mural was circled by a huge 'sun' of white, its rays extended to look each like a white wing. Grooh was hopping from foot to foot with excitement, saying over and over as he pointed back to Turel, "Ungrubbah!"
Turel wandered around the cavern for several moments, listening - or trying to understand what the troll was talking about. Turel's eyes now landed on the biggest glowing stone he had ever seen. Taller than himself, and so wide Turel had to shake his head slightly. Looking towards the cavern's walls, Turel had to squint in order to see the paintings. As 'Bob' started to point towards the walls, Turel lofted a brow as the avian looked, and was quite speechless at what he saw. The battle with the small, ugly beings. To the enslavement of the troll species. As Turel was shown, the Void in which he had not so long ago passed through, to the disturbing image of the lone figure - standing there with darkness completely surrounding him. The last image. The image of himself painted on the wall, sword held high as enemies, though painted, were nothing more than vulture fodder. Turel fell on his ass, too shocked at what he saw. As Bob went on a hopping spree, thinking that the avian was the saviour in which his kind had painted, Turel shook his head, the words of his father now circling around his head. 'Destiny isn't set into stone - everyone makes their own.' Where the words of his father a total lie? Standing up, the avian looked to Bob, a rather blank expression splayed upon his features. Was this the avian's destiny? Too lead a group of trolls to glory? "Take me there." Was the only thing Turel had muttered, eyes narrowing. The avian was slowly getting ready to do what had been painted. Free this strange race from its captives.
A sharp 'crack!' sounded, then. Grooh let out a piteous yelp, turning to the sound -- and the lumpish statue -- and falling once more to his knees. One huge paw reached to turn Turel that way too, and none too gently force the avian to take a similar position. The troll pup was shivering, still muttering that same odd word, though under his breath, though at the next sound fell utterly silent, his ears pinned back completely against his skull.
"Long time..." The statue shifted, sending another sharp snapping sound echoing about the cave, and seemed to come to life. The ancient's joints made more complaints as she shuffled one step forward, resembling something like the roots of some archaic tree or perhaps a twisted mass of greyish lava, forged into the shape of a troglodyte whose eyes cracked open now to a sulphurous yellow gleam. Her voice was like the swing of a rusty hinge. "... long time, come Brahishlah, little men..." The accent was thick, and Turel might have trouble with some of it if he wasn't paying attention. ".. long time, Borgallak slaves. Long time, Deshreggar dream Ungrubbah, the Borgallak free like wing." More crackling of joints as the aged female lifted a yellowed claw toward the paintings. "Grooh bring the Ungrubbah to Deshreggar. Soon, we birds." The younger troll was chortling softly, almost wetting himself with excitement and pride. The elder continued, "Come, wingman. Come, see." With a great deal of effort, the ancient one creaked a slow path toward the glowstone.
Turel jumped suddenly at the sound of the 'crack!'. Turning on his heels sharply, the avian had almost withdrew his katana from its dormant state in its sheath. His eyes followed to where the sound had come from, ignoring the yelp that had come from Grooh. As the statue had shifted slowly, those yellow eyes gleamed out back towards the avian. The creature spoke, and the avian had a hard time trying to understand what the hell it was saying. Old, haggard, something like an old, withered tree the creature moved towards the large glow stone. Turel's hand shifted from the hilt of his weapon, arms now crossing over his bare chest. As the elder appeared to be talking about the painting's, and Grooh chortling softly, the avian slowly made his way over toward the glow stone, wondering what lies next in store for him.
Deshreggar ignored the avian's grasp for his sword, except for a wry wheeze that could have been a chuckle, and shuffled to eventually stand beside the immense gem. Her spine groaned loudly as the elderly Seeress attempted to bend down to a rock-hewn hammer and a metal shard that lay on the ground beside it. Grooh had wriggled along behind Turel, having recovered from his horror at the avian's near-threat to his race's most important member enough to realise Deshreggar needed help. The hammer and chisel were scooped up in the pup's claws and handed to her reverently. With all the speed of an oak growing the old one placed the chisel on the tip of the gem and then struck the end of it hard. The glowstone shattered, sending glasslike, twinkling splinters flying like sparks. Lodged inside it, revealed now as being embedded within the top of the gem, was what looked like an ordinary oval river-stone the length of a surface-humanoid's hand and a sort of greyish-blue in colour. The Seeress turned her hoary head Turel’s way, her tone a whisper like bat's wings rustling. "Take, Ungrubbah." She paused, her yellow eyes settling on the avian. "Big fight come. Not here. Fight go up." She paused again to suck in a breath, as if the effort of merely speaking tired her. "Many bad. Big dark. The Ungrubbah must win."
.
Turel raised a brow, as the avian anti-mage listened to the words that the troll had uttered. Not understanding a single word - sounding more like nonsense if nothing more, the avian slowly moved toward the edge of the cliff face, pondering whether or not he should dive down to its depths. Turel looked over to where the troll had lumbered its huge self too, the edge of the cliff ready to throw itself down. "No. Come." Was all the avian muttered, not liking the fact that this troll wanted to end his life so...Casually. The wings that adorned the mans back unfurl in an instant - the pearlescent hue catching the moon's faint light so greatly. Turel needed his weapon, for he remembered what he had found down the last cavern he had jumped - no climbed down. Taking a step or two back, the avian seemed to jog a little, before hurling his great frame into the unknown. His wings however, would only carry him so far. Floating down, the avian's front slammed into the wall - not to hard, and yet not to soft. Clinging to the rock face, the avian let a groan of pain leave his lips. How he hated climbing at times.
The wounded troll hesitated, grunted a reply and watched the avian launch himself to toward the cliffs with something of awe in its piggish eyes. Why the troll had suddenly decided to obey the avian wasn't clear, but it did. Its injuries were dire but likely not too visible under tattered armours and matted body-hair, and thick drips of blood left a clear trail across the rock as the humanoid creature followed. Having evolved for life among chasms and cliffsides, the troll's long, sharply-tipped fingers and toes found sure purchase on the walls where no other might do so, but its wounds had weakened it and progress was actually a deal slower than it would have otherwise been.
Turel looked over his shoulder, quite stunned that the beast actually listened to him. None the less, Turel looked downwards, and saw nothing but blackness. Sighing to himself, his body hurting a little from the pain of being slammed into the wall - Turel managed to climb down several feet - using small jagged rocks as secure holdings. Another glance is shot over toward the troll, who seemed to have a knack for climbing such things. The smell of blood could not be ignored. The thick trail that could easily be spotted if someone --- or something were to walk overhead. Not having a care in the world right now, Turel quickly made it down several more feet, the rocks easily cutting into his pale fleshed hands. As Turel descended into nothingness, his fallen blade wasn't too far from him. A simple jump maybe?
The avian would have time to complete that thought, but none to form the next before the lengthy reach of a trollish arm clamped around his frame, and that powerful -- and quite odiferous-- grip served to near-suffocate Turel, while the troll completed the climb for both of them. Those pristine wings would be spotted with crimson and perhaps breath might take time to draw easily, but Turel would be deposited with care on solid rock footing. The troll stepped back. A single drip of nasal phlegm fell to splat on the ground as the rock-dweller snuffled expectantly.
Turel felt the air from his lungs being ripped right out of him, as the large troll's hand had gripped around the avian's small, frail looking body with ease. Choking back cries of pain, Turel repeatedly beat the large digits with his fists, wanting to be released from the troll's vice-like grip. A finger nail or two dug into Turel's pale flesh, the thick crimson slowly running down onto the tips of his wings. As the troll, who Turel had now named Bob in his head had placed him onto the solid rock footing, Turel choked - then started to inhale the air as if his life had depended on it. "Damned bastard...Ya could of killed me ya great big idiot! Next time, with care?" As the drop of nasal phlegm splattered against the wall, Turel shook his head to himself, rubbing and smearing the wound he now carried. Eyes had found what he had earlier looked at - his katana. Bending at the waist the avian picked it up, and the 'Haha!' fell from his lips. Sheathing the blade, the avian waited to see if the troll would escort both of them down the rocky terrain.
"URGH!" The great shaggy beastman's lips drew back over tusklike teeth as Turel exclaimed his victory, and took another long step backward, its muddy eyes fixed on the blade. But when the avian did not attack it canted its head to the side, one long, bristled ear drooping in confusion. "Urgh?" It was swaying slightly now, blood-loss taking its toll and forming a small pool at its long-toed feet. "Grooh! Ungrubbah, j'kel!" It emphatically jabbed a claw toward itself, its focus dimming. A moment later, Grooh -- or Bob, as it may be-- was a massive, hairy heap of blood and muscle, howling its pain on the stone below.
Turel looked over toward 'Bob' as the troll screamed out toward him as the weapon was sheathed and the beast tried to speak, Turel lofted a brow and shook his head - not wanting to harm it. The blood that pooled beside the beast was something Turel could take, slowly that bloodlust would take control sooner or later. Another set of ramblings came from the beast, jabbing a huge claw at itself. As the beast fell to the ground, Turel didn't know what to do at first. Howling in pain -- quite loudly at that, the avian took several steps out toward it -- thinking he should end its pain and suffering here and now. "What’s wrong with ya?" The avian asks, shaking his head slightly at the large beast. "Get up ya great big numpty. We ain't got all day!"
As Turel approached, the extent of the troll's injury would become more clear. A ragged gash of flesh to one side of its abdomen lay open in a bloody flap, the blade that caused it not slicing deep enough for evisceration but obviously it'd cut into muscle tissue. Several other 'minor' cuts welled blood, each deep enough to have killed a species less thick-skinned, but it was the stomach-wound causing the troll its pain. The creature sat up, rocking it s body back and forth, dribbles of snot wetting its leathery face. It was the very picture of trollish misery, though Turel's presence seemed to bring it comfort. It might be now, that Turel would note the rusted iron cuffs on its wrists, the ringed collar of like metal about its fleshy, waffled throat. "Ungrubbah," said the troll, quietly, staring at the avian's wings. Its great head drooped, and it began to snuffle again.
Turel 's eyes roamed around the troll's figure, the wounds in which it had suffered where something Turel had never seen. Huge, yet not quite deep enough. Turel looked at one wound in particular, the one that was causing 'Bob' so much pain. The avian was not a healer, just a rather bland sort of warrior. Turel eyed the iron cuffs on its wrists, around its neck, and for a moment, the avian saw pity for the first time. Shaking his head, the avian knelt down beside the beast, a grin look splayed upon the avian’s weathered features. "I can't help ya here Bob. I do not heal. I would probably throw in a few rocks into the wound, but that’s it. Or, you can stay here, and see if someone will come get you?" Turel really didn't know what to do right now, stay here with Bob, or continue downwards. The white ethereal glow that belonged to the anti-mage offered little light, and slowly Turel rose to his feet - as his right hand skimmed over the hilt at his side. If the beast simply remained there, it wouldn't take the avian long to end its misery.
The casual observer could hardly be blamed for assuming that trolls, particularly rock-trolls, were little more than simple, mindless troglodytes. But the fact was that the band of hirsute humanoids that had travelled here millennia ago, as primitive as they were, had developed a complex society with its own structure and lore. Grooh gargled that word again, clutching his wound, which seemed to be bleeding less with every passing moment though he winced-- and a trollish wince was something one might not prefer to behold to often -- and grunted still, in obvious pain. "Ungrubbah, ekki m'bugh." Grooh seemed intent on a gap in the rock to the west, glancing back and forth between it and the avian. To make its point, it reached an arm -- and what a length of arm it was -- toward the tunnel entrance. The wound was revealed, the flap of flesh staying put now, and the edges of the gash appeared to be knitting together, even as Turel watched. That was another thing about trolls perhaps not in general knowledge-- they regenerated their flesh in the manner of vampires, except whole limbs could be regrown with time. The only sure way to kill a troll entirely was gutting it, removing the head, or waiting for it to die of old age. "Lubgh!" Grooh struggled to rise to his knees, unsteadily, long ears lowered to the side of his head, and crawled closer to the winged man. Crouched there, the troll reached around to slap itself on the back. "Dimkur!" .... was it offering Turel a ride?
Turel watched as the troll had appeared to grip onto its wound. The blood had now started to flow less and less with each passing second. The wince it had made, not something Turel had heard before was quite loud - not louder than the growl that left its bloodied lips not moments before. As the large arm pointed toward what appeared to be a huge gap in the rocky terrain, the avian nodded his head slightly. "We go there?" Turel asks, as his eyes still remained on the large wound, which had now started to heal right before the avian. Blinking, confused if nothing more Turel shook his head. "Lucky bastard...." Turel didn't know how troll's bodies worked, or even why they were usually so stupid at times. As the beast slapped its back, Turel nodded, seemingly he understood what the creature was asking him what to do. Turel leapt up onto the creatures back, waiting for what Turel thinks will be a rather bumpy ride.
With limbs of equal length, and the thick hair that covered almost all of its body except for its bald face, which resembled more closely a baboon's than anything, the troll might have seemed like some colossal, ugly hound as it took off in a surprisingly smooth gallop into the caves. Turel was left to clutch to its back as he could, while Grooh loped swiftly through tunnels, some of them lit faintly by luminescent fungi or by glowstones set among the limestone deposits overhead. On sight of the glowstones, he -- properly trolls could not be defined as male or female until they reached full maturity and Grooh was a mere teenager at a hundred and four, but we'll call it 'he' for expediency -- would halt and sniff as though expecting danger. None came, however, and soon they were deep in the bowels of the Void's western side. The stench of troll was thick here, not a lot of fresh air wafting in but rather seeping slowly through porous stone or narrow fissures in the walls. At last, the creature stopped, lowering himself to help Turel’s' descent from his back. They were at the lip of a cavern through which poured a dozen much bigger trolls, each adorned with cuffs and collar like Grooh. They appeared to be ready to shred any interloper to pieces but, on sight of the young one and particularly the white-winged male that slid from his back, they all stood like hairy statues, staring. Then one broke the silence, with a cry of, "Ungrubbah!", its maw splitting to a jagged, tusk-toothed grin. The rest started capering about in some sort of dance, possibly, and then fell into two columns on either side of the cavern entrance. Grooh drew himself upright, his gnarled chest puffing out in evident pride, and gestured for Turel to enter the cave, which was unlit and thus they entered into that thick, pitch blackness only deep subterranean caves possess.
Turel held on for dear life, as the troll galloped through the cavern like it knew the way around. Turel looked at each of the green lights that flickered every now and then, the faint glowing stones seemed to lose what energy was left in them. Turel did not know what would happen, as the avian clung onto the troll's hairy back. The smell was something he never knew existed. The putrid smell of troll lingered, and as 'Bob' had stopped for now, and lowering the avian toward the ground, Turel's cold sapphire eyes widen. A dozen trolls stood, all wearing the same iron cufflinks around their wrists and necks. Shaking his head, Turel patted on Bob's thigh, as the avian smiled to himself. And yet, it was so dark, darker than what Turel was expecting. Was the avian going to become a fast meal for these hideous looking creatures? Walking around, the avian's faint aura of pure magical negativity shone, and was the only thing that marked down. Even his eyes did not adjust to what was around him, only the smell of urine, dung and lastly troll lingered in this place. Turel did not know what to do. Even as the troll's had threw themselves upright, standing in what could be displayed as two columns, the avian did not know what to do. Be eaten, which was a possibility, or run and stay alive.
While the avian wandered the utterly unfamiliar cave in darkness, Grooh was muttering a long string of guttural trollish words, and abruptly the cavern would be alight, if still somewhat dimly. The source of the illumination was a large stone jutting up from the cavern floor, several feet wide at he base and tapering to a point the same distance above Turel's head. This was likely the largest glowstone the avian would ever see in his life, and what it revealed was just as extraordinary. The cavern was painted upon every inch of its surface with scenes in which were figures that represented trolls, mostly, though here and there were dotted smaller, cowled beings and other, uglier things that looked like trolls but possessed of hideous, circular maws. Other atrocities, monsters, were shown as well as a scene of a huge battle that covered much of the space, followed by an image of hundreds of trolls, cowering in cages and shackles. Grooh grunted, showing Turel to the next wall, a painting of the Void itself, one side full of cages and chained trolls and the other a swarm of the little hooded men. The young troll pointed to what was clearly the eastern side, and a lone figure that was circled in black soot, rays of darkness painted like a dark sun surrounding it. Then he pointed up, and there was the most puzzling, shocking thing of all. In a similar, sun-like ring of bright zinc-paint was a figure that looked remarkably like the avian himself, wings spread and sword high. The last wall, beside which jutted a very life-like statue of a horrendously gnarled and obviously ancient troll, was a scene in which the winged figure led another battle, and the cowled figures lay like a flock of slain crows on the ground. This entire mural was circled by a huge 'sun' of white, its rays extended to look each like a white wing. Grooh was hopping from foot to foot with excitement, saying over and over as he pointed back to Turel, "Ungrubbah!"
Turel wandered around the cavern for several moments, listening - or trying to understand what the troll was talking about. Turel's eyes now landed on the biggest glowing stone he had ever seen. Taller than himself, and so wide Turel had to shake his head slightly. Looking towards the cavern's walls, Turel had to squint in order to see the paintings. As 'Bob' started to point towards the walls, Turel lofted a brow as the avian looked, and was quite speechless at what he saw. The battle with the small, ugly beings. To the enslavement of the troll species. As Turel was shown, the Void in which he had not so long ago passed through, to the disturbing image of the lone figure - standing there with darkness completely surrounding him. The last image. The image of himself painted on the wall, sword held high as enemies, though painted, were nothing more than vulture fodder. Turel fell on his ass, too shocked at what he saw. As Bob went on a hopping spree, thinking that the avian was the saviour in which his kind had painted, Turel shook his head, the words of his father now circling around his head. 'Destiny isn't set into stone - everyone makes their own.' Where the words of his father a total lie? Standing up, the avian looked to Bob, a rather blank expression splayed upon his features. Was this the avian's destiny? Too lead a group of trolls to glory? "Take me there." Was the only thing Turel had muttered, eyes narrowing. The avian was slowly getting ready to do what had been painted. Free this strange race from its captives.
A sharp 'crack!' sounded, then. Grooh let out a piteous yelp, turning to the sound -- and the lumpish statue -- and falling once more to his knees. One huge paw reached to turn Turel that way too, and none too gently force the avian to take a similar position. The troll pup was shivering, still muttering that same odd word, though under his breath, though at the next sound fell utterly silent, his ears pinned back completely against his skull.
"Long time..." The statue shifted, sending another sharp snapping sound echoing about the cave, and seemed to come to life. The ancient's joints made more complaints as she shuffled one step forward, resembling something like the roots of some archaic tree or perhaps a twisted mass of greyish lava, forged into the shape of a troglodyte whose eyes cracked open now to a sulphurous yellow gleam. Her voice was like the swing of a rusty hinge. "... long time, come Brahishlah, little men..." The accent was thick, and Turel might have trouble with some of it if he wasn't paying attention. ".. long time, Borgallak slaves. Long time, Deshreggar dream Ungrubbah, the Borgallak free like wing." More crackling of joints as the aged female lifted a yellowed claw toward the paintings. "Grooh bring the Ungrubbah to Deshreggar. Soon, we birds." The younger troll was chortling softly, almost wetting himself with excitement and pride. The elder continued, "Come, wingman. Come, see." With a great deal of effort, the ancient one creaked a slow path toward the glowstone.
Turel jumped suddenly at the sound of the 'crack!'. Turning on his heels sharply, the avian had almost withdrew his katana from its dormant state in its sheath. His eyes followed to where the sound had come from, ignoring the yelp that had come from Grooh. As the statue had shifted slowly, those yellow eyes gleamed out back towards the avian. The creature spoke, and the avian had a hard time trying to understand what the hell it was saying. Old, haggard, something like an old, withered tree the creature moved towards the large glow stone. Turel's hand shifted from the hilt of his weapon, arms now crossing over his bare chest. As the elder appeared to be talking about the painting's, and Grooh chortling softly, the avian slowly made his way over toward the glow stone, wondering what lies next in store for him.
Deshreggar ignored the avian's grasp for his sword, except for a wry wheeze that could have been a chuckle, and shuffled to eventually stand beside the immense gem. Her spine groaned loudly as the elderly Seeress attempted to bend down to a rock-hewn hammer and a metal shard that lay on the ground beside it. Grooh had wriggled along behind Turel, having recovered from his horror at the avian's near-threat to his race's most important member enough to realise Deshreggar needed help. The hammer and chisel were scooped up in the pup's claws and handed to her reverently. With all the speed of an oak growing the old one placed the chisel on the tip of the gem and then struck the end of it hard. The glowstone shattered, sending glasslike, twinkling splinters flying like sparks. Lodged inside it, revealed now as being embedded within the top of the gem, was what looked like an ordinary oval river-stone the length of a surface-humanoid's hand and a sort of greyish-blue in colour. The Seeress turned her hoary head Turel’s way, her tone a whisper like bat's wings rustling. "Take, Ungrubbah." She paused, her yellow eyes settling on the avian. "Big fight come. Not here. Fight go up." She paused again to suck in a breath, as if the effort of merely speaking tired her. "Many bad. Big dark. The Ungrubbah must win."
.