Slaughter the non-believers

Ruejen and Kethiro have been kidnapped with permission from @lordofthedarklands!

~

When a summons by the Skullcrusher is called you listen and obey for such was the way of things within the Gumm-Gumm army because your rank denotes as much expectation on what you do as it does privilege over your fellow troll. The runner was annoyingly vague on exactly what this was to be about and while not particularly surprising as word was brought directly to them meaning it was of great import it is always better to have a sense of what to expect thus it meant that this would be little more than a blind walk. While irritating it was acceptable, their position is not one meant for asking questions without prompting and they were hardly about to start doing so now. As loathe as they were for Rhinebeck to keep an eye on things in their absence needs must and all that, hopefully she wouldn’t start a riot through her ‘creative’ solutions to boredom in however long this planned on taking, it would not be the first time. Luck be with them that the travel would not be a long enough to tempt it. Ugh.

Even by hauling as fast as they are able it still costs half the kloka while following their far nimbler guide but they persevere not wanting to risk being stranded by the Ram and force him to wait any longer than absolutely necessary. The approach immediately strikes them as strange because of the absence of much of the ruz or any of the others that normally would be standing to attention even out here, in fact even their guide quickly deserts. Letting out a snort they wander towards the temporary throne claimed in this current home territory rising up onto too feet and push deeper into the carved rock while cautiously refusing to allow themselves to be caught any further unawares. There is no true innocence in this world after all, better to be suspicious than caught after all.

As they continue forth through the tunnel the cavern slowly widens to be flooded with the light of blue crystals that had been harvested from elsewhere and repurposed to further enhance the natural colours of their Opradush. The Prince is already there they notice standing proudly alongside his father with arms crossed and a gleam of expectation in his glowing eyes. He nods curtly their direction when they slam their chest with a fist.

“I heard your command and came as soon as I was able, please forgive me for how long I forced you to wait,” they state firmly with a bowed head and do not dare lift it again until they are addressed to show their respect.

“My General, as ever you do not disappoint. Now that you are finally here I have an announcement to give.” The words are spoken softly with a hint of a smile hidden amongst the fangs that suggest nothing they can recognise.

“Ruejen, Kethiro your presence is now required. Bring forth the Krubera.”

Ruejen is the first to emerge from the darkness seen just out the corner of their eye with his head held high causing the light to make their charcoal stone stand out from their darker mane more than usual. Truly it is almost strange to see him without a weapon in hand though understandable and he gives them a glancing look for barely a beat before green eyes focus on where they should be. Kethiro follows afterwards like the twin shadow the pair often were ushering the other troll ahead of him with a muttered word or two ensuring that the youngest is placed in front of them before taking his own position. Their pale mane is positively gleaming against their slate coloured stone and far darker horns with an almost ethereal tone that always making them appear far older than they really were. The mess of moss hair before them remains silent wisely calling upon the lessons taught though hopefully with their eyes averted if they have any sense. This is not the time for coddling reminders.

Looking over the four of them and satisfied all is well Gunmar speaks with a tone that screamed of every drop of authority he commands as easily as breathing.

“Vo wema zotteni ops dush bruzen, vorn twiz wema hidhen hwen fai uma vok hurmena. Toz eks Klokaran bruzena yalpo zotten vo.” Not a word nor murmur is said by any but there is a sense of curiosity in the air given it is spoken so formally.

“My decree is thus: A new General is to be added to our ranks and they stand before me in this very space having proven their value and worth for such a position to be bestowed.”

There is a pause that is marred only by the sounds of their Opradush rising to his feet and the tension begins to pitch ever higher with it with all eyes watching every twitch of stone.

“Aarghaumont upon this night you are welcomed into the ranks of elites as my newest General.”

Even a corpse could have been quieter than the shock that reverberated in that moment for even Bular is caught completely off guard from the way his widened eyes stare at his father incredulous who in turn simply seemed simply amused by all the (Likely shocked) reactions set out before him. For their part Gnasha ensures that they school their expression into that of a neutral one as to not betray their own thoughts. They had known this troll since they were little bigger than the Prince so to come from that, particularly given their origins, and reach the same rank they hold? Certainly they could not say such a thing was impossible but that made it no less unexpected to behold. He must have been proving his mettle while they have been based elsewhere on the continent, there certainly could be far worse choices chosen and he was a tolerable one if forced to admit.

“Vo koppena, Skullcrusher.” It is spoken so devoid of emotion yet humbled around the edges. Hm, perhaps a private word will be in order to prise out of them what they really feel about this change. They have not moved even to salute as though the idea never occurred to him.

It is whilst in the middle of planning exactly how to broach it that Ruejen pipes up while tapping his chest and tail flicking at the tip.

“I respect your decision as always as ever, Opradush Gunmar, however would you permit me the right to test our newest General in combat? I wish to see his mettle for myself.”

Somebody hissed a curse; they are not sure who and it could well have been them. Eyes dart between him and the throne where the Underlord looks positively amused at the idea as though someone had just offered a boon without even realising what they had done. A glowing eye locks with the Lieutenant-General where he defiantly refuses to buckle under the stare.

“I will allow it.”

What really happened is hinted at in this drabble.

♚ - A memory of something paranormal

From Gronka comes Gova and from Morka comes Otzum. Much like how the Ram will give way to Klokaran each eve, these are the order of all things that can and will be part of the eternal cycle. A day will come when all will pass from this world to the other and while many would hope for it to be through old age, it is not always meant to be. The world is a hostile place meaning many will be lost to injury, upon the battlefield or through sickness and plague ripping through the hearts of a clan long before their time might have been. For all the best intentions there might be, some things simply cannot be fought to the last and still won be you young or old. You will endure only in the form of stories should you be lucky enough to make a mark with what you had. They knew this, had carved it upon their mind, yet it does not mean suspicions cannot be raised when circumstances appear... Strange. A lore keeper does not take a turn so violently that nothing that consumed can be held down when only days prior they were perfectly healthy for their age. Even the softest of foods given to whelplings or those without teeth to grind made no difference, wasting faster than even starvation's toll. If they were asked to be specific, it was like her very stone was being drained to the very last drop of hearth until there was nothing left to give. It is not something any child should witness happening to their own kin no matter their age and even centuries on with many kills they can proudly call their own, the sight still manages to haunt them.

The rites of passage were given true despite hushed whispers that it would not be wise to do so after such an ill omen had taken them. They recall threatening to do everything themselves because she would have expected nothing less for all she had given during her stay upon this plane which quickly silenced the concerns. Some still balked mind and their names would be silently noted for the future. Still, enough came to assist and made travel far easier to bear. The remaining husk was moved to a vacant spot so that while it may crumble, her spirit would be honoured in a way fitting for her status by encouraging the future growth of plants and mosses that could one day benefit many trolls. This would be where they could feel closest to them though she would never have approved anyone languishing when so much work would need to be done. No doubt she was already harrying those that watched along with their fallen warriors to get them into shape for their slacking prior to her arrival. It would have been a very her thing to do.

There was also an issue of succession. No heir to her role had a chance to be chosen such was the speed of things which also drew their suspicious eye. The law spoke that if the former cannot present the next in line then a council will be met to declare a new one. This risked meddling from those playing favourites or attempting to secure future boons and frankly they did not like how this could potentially flow. They knew who their she had her own eye on but their voice counted for naught here amongst elders but perhaps… Perhaps hers still could.

It took nearly a week to gather the required ingredients in part due to having to keep such things a secret. The others had already descended into pointless bickering which gave ideal cover and a healthy distraction from it all. While they would never take her place, it had been made clear as such when they were a whelp, they had been taught some of the craft should it be needed in an emergency such as natural poultices friendly to a variety of flesh. More importantly for this moment was how they might seek guidance on a subject they could not ask of another troll and in times like these, they were thankful she thought to do so. The next stage could only happen at the Omla Tat, when Klokaran would be at their most full. They still had time to finish preparing.

At first rise fresh moss is pressed downwards, soaking in a decrepit stew made of dust from the old body and a grounded chip from one of their own spines and left to sit in a small bowl of carved stone. This would not be released until not a single drop remains. Only when satisfied do they remove the now blackened sponge, holding it away so that they may clean the bowl with fresh spring water they brought especially before returning the moss to it's rest. After running their hands through the same water to clean them of any residue that might attempt to stain, the bowl is placed upon the remnants of her crown. Their task complete, they step back with a bowed head to prove their humility and do not dare lift their gaze.

“Otzum, I ask that you grant me the permission to seek answers from those you have taken as kin,” they state calmly. Each word is spoken clearly and firm. They pause only to strike a small piece of flint against their palm and use the sparks to set the moss ablaze. The strange purple light dusts the edges of their features and does not consume it's present host. They ignore it.

“I offer you this as a small token, from flesh of both whom I wish to speak and of myself. I fear there is trouble in our clan and will remain unsatisfied until I know the truth. In turn I ask that you forgive my most ignorant needs.”

♣ - A fading memory

Trolls are a very long lived race compared to many that inhabit this world so it should be understandable that memories are imperfect. Eroding with time, leaving much of their younger lives held only through emotional attachment or cause, giving them those last hooks to hang onto as they fade into mute first, then lose their details bits by bit until little more than blobs of colour remain. Finally sensation and feeling are taken away last in the final ebbs before finally turning entirely to dust.

One that still clung on even now was that of a little rock-hide rabbit who could barely muster a growl. No, instead they simply vibrated in anger in an attempt to be fierce while stomping their hands to appear far bigger than they were that only added to the adorable nature in their eyes. They would not tell him that of course, not with youthful pride being what it is. Dark as Klokarp when the void claimed the skies, nubs that would eventually become a crown and so much more bristle than their sire... One day these could make them a good hunter if they learned any patience but from the way the same whelp often clambered about huffing and puffing as though it were little more than an obstacle to be conquered such things would be a long way off happening. For now, the best they can muster is preventing them from getting hurt or ward their annoying habit of trying to throw their non-existent weight around forgetting that title means little if unable to back it up. Granted at worse you will simply be nudged aside by a foot but still. It was truly a great honour to be entrusted by the Skullcrusher with such an important task though at times the sickly little thing caused far more worry than pride. This was not helped either when they scarcely remember ever being on nursery duty due to their own status as General keeping them away from the more delicate age of their future warriors. Protection was easy and a noble pursuit, looking after or simply caring however was not and yet somehow the expectation was to be both and failure was an option that was not even conceivable.

In the present moment however, blunted claws had scrabbled up and around their back until they sat near their bone mask making a rather valiant attempt at gnawing a hole in the left piece. Must have gotten bored from their other adventuring efforts of being a mini mountaineer across crystal spines. With a snort, he is ceremoniously plucked by the scruff giving out the teeniest yelp when he is half dragged until left to hang in front of their face. Not too high sitting on their haunches as they are though still enough for effect. Arms are crossed over his chest and the attempt at a fiercely adorable glare with twitching the stub of a tail? Oh it’s hard not to smile at! The right attitude had been firmly cemented early. Good.

“I am not your teething toy, scrap. Use the bones you’re given for that.”

His mouth opens and utters something indignant making full use of the entire vocabulary he possessed. That is what finally allows a rough chuckle to slip through.

“Adornments are my trophies from battle. You will earn them like the rest of us when you may hunt for your own kills but for now, ankles should be your biggest target.”

A huff. He was fierce he deserved more than the title of biter of ankles! The eye roll is blatant but he is placed back onto the ground and given a rough pat making his fluff become even more pronounced. Preventing a chance of him acting up further, they gently poke his nose with a claw earning another squeak of fury because how dare! But it does get his attention away from starting to sulk.

“If your prey tumbles then you can keep them there even at your size. If that weak spot snaps they cannot even stand. Use your disadvantage and turn it into an advantage, they won’t believe you can do it; do you seek to prove them correct?”

Wide red eyes blink looking up to their far larger guardian then scooting to the side to see beyond them to the world they only been allowed into a mere handful of times with careful escort. Such was the rarity of him being well enough to be taken.

“Then how about we see what the wilds have to offer the fabled Prince of Gumm-Gumms? The Ram is gone, the hour now belongs to us. I may even allow you to ride in my mane if you prove trustworthy and practice your ability for quiet.”

Jolene - Dolly Parton

And I can easily understand How you could easily take my man But you don’t know what he means to me

~

Preparations were well underway for the battle to put the wretched human King into the earth to seep with his final breaths as the damned being deserved. From the lowest of troll to the smiths and bonemenders, all were doing their part to ensure there would not be a single blunt blade nor armour untended when the march into battle begins comes as the Ram begins to wane. Those with a hand free would attempt to salute or stand to order when their passing was witnessed, otherwise continuing with their orders with nary a word nor command needed. However, there is something amiss in these echoing caverns that bothers like an incessant itch. Their fellow General is conspicuously absent. Even more unusual is that the Opradush seemed unperturbed by this development despite his being one of their most brutal of combatants. Instead he chooses to focus on testing the strength of a blade gifted by a golden witch to aid in their plight against the oppressors. Only the son was allowed to approach and all wise trolls and the few impures offered to be of assistance did well to stay away from the caverns he dwelt.

Letting out a huff, the Gumm-Gumm stalks away to finish decorating their own armaments with the bones freshly carved from a successful hunt days prior. It is infuriating that a mere ruz will be required to ensure that their paint is ready for war for the blue-ish stone-flesh they cannot reach themselves. If this could be taken as an omen it would be one of ill times ahead.

  The fleshbags and their strange beasts, oh how they blanch and shiver in fear upon seeing the mighty Skullcrusher approach from the ridge flanked by the Prince and General! The spitting defiance they showed under a banner turns to cowardice when confronted with an army borne of stone and the cries of many victories been and yet to come. They are weak, barely worth the meat buried under the metal carcasses they foolishly wear. The coming slaughter will be glorious and the songs will carry of how these creatures cannot hope to force their kind into the shadows for ages to come! The order to feast is given when the light is at it’s weakness and their roars begin to echo round the hills as they plunge into the valley seeking to end the folly of man’s age be it by parlok, sword or claw. Each as eager to be the first to have a confirmed kill and seek the blessing from Morka.

Their route deliberately criss-crosses with that of the heir so that they might keep a golden eye on the far younger troll by being nearby while still allowing him to breathe and truly test his mettle against the swarming ants. Oh! How those sounds of bodies crumpling under the weight of the Black’s General ploughing through them on all four limbs utterly delights and makes them grin! Others are caught instead by their facial plate adding to the red colouration as they are flung aside leaving them a morsel. The length of their tail strikes down yet more with satisfying clangs. The stench of blood begins to fill the air as much as orders shouted in every language, all driving the frenzy ever onwards towards utter annihilation. They cannot help but laugh uproariously, they had not had such fun in many a afe!

A blown horn snatches their attention away from the struggling human desperately trying to pry fingers away from how tightly, tighter, they clutch it’s chest in curiousity. It is… trolls? Ones that are armed little better than farmers attempting to rise in defiance, bringing with them a swell of forces led by a troll they cannot recognise. These are all of Dwoza’s brood they suspect and their prey is dropped in surprise barely able to breath under cracked ribs as what it meant dawns. Aarghaumont? Had failed?? Impossible!

“The wretches wish to play at war? Then let them be ground to dust!” Gnasha snaps snatching the attention of battered ruz nearby to begin a fresh charge over the dead and dying and put these pathetic gravel huggers in their place once and for all.

There’s a troll of many eyes carrying little more than bristles to defend from the seething goblin masses screaming in terror while failing to fend the lot of them off. Even shouts a name as though it would mean anything and completely oblivious to what else stalked near them. Even the noise of a beast hurtling right at them with terrifying speed did nothing to sway.

It should have been so easy

Within a blink the General is struck on their side and sent hurtling across the grass until their sheer bulk and claws slows their momentum enough. Stone creaks as bones rattle when they spit in annoyance that they had been so ceremoniously caught out while stalking prey. Rising up onto hind legs they search for the cretin who had the sheer audacity t-

“No hurt!”

Gold whirrs to find their omen had turned real, standing protectively between them and the Dwoza born making their jaw slack in surprise. Their bruised anger explodes at the troll who still carries the trappings of their army now being worn in mockery.

“You of all trolls, of all Generals, want to protect these sniveling things who would seek to have us buried by the whims of the flesh?” Gnasha snarls with hackles raised down their shoulders. The personification of a true Gumm-Gumm borne of war.

“They hide under the tail of their ancestors instead of embracing their heritage of true warriors or the banner which we serve!”

The krubera keeps his head held high, eyes firmly on theirs. In any other circumstances they would be proud of the authority he carries by posture and expression that is so different from the tiny whelping that once played with the young Prince in the nest. Now? The defiance in green from a traitor makes them bare their teeth in fury for the audacity of so easily turning on his own kind.

“Don’t want to fight. Blinky friend. Stand down,” he states with unusual calm. A small snort after causes his ring to clink on stone.

Planting fists on the ground the great General Gnasha roars back before lunging into a step then into a barreling charge with only the other’s death repeating over and over in their mind. There would be no honour shared here, only just reward.