Every once and a while the Shardforger will challenge Father Instinct to a spar. He seems happy to oblige his firstborn, as it is bonding time and an excuse to keep senses keen.

Titagron the Fate Bender

“We made a bargain, Gunmar and I, and as his end was fulfilled, mine end was required. So I took essences from all the trolls I could, including the Gumm Gumm chief himself, and crafted this. This is Titagron the Fate Bender. Its title is well earned as it has the power to bend the fates of its victims to its will, turning human beings into their trollian counterparts. Its face and mask represent the very nature of its power. Three sets of eyes for three phases of transformation; and what seems to be a human mask or helm cresting upon the head of a mammoth and beastial troll.

“Its power is raw, primal, and only controllable by the strongest of mind, body, and spirit. It bows to no one but its maker, and even then it is dubious at best as its most inner desire is to create more of its kind at the cost of removing one’s humanity and sealing it in an appropriate mask.

“It is, by far, the most powerful and most uncontrollable mask I have ever made and, like any good mask maker, I left a failsafe just in case it got... too wild. The mask is resilient but not unbreakable, as is its spell. By either returning a mask of Humanity or breaking the mask of Titagron, the spell will be reversed. I am practical in my safeguards, for as we know, betrayal and destruction comes as quickly as a completed task in the realm of Gumm-Gumms.”

Titagron looked down at his claws pensively, his thoughts still pondering on the inquiries he’d answered. In his mind’s eye, Trolls were the height of the food chain, the apex of creation, which meant that when their ranks were soiled by such as changeling magic, those members became less than others due to their impurities. But if that were the case, was he not also an impure? Was not that part of him brought in by his maker and wearer something else? Something other than troll? did that then not only make him an impure but a hypocrite too?

A deep feeling of utmost conflict set in, crinkling his features with anguish.

He could only see two options. The first was to defy his purpose of creation, to keep and call kin that which was only part troll and, by extension, that which was not troll at all. If he remained as he was, he would fulfill his purpose but under the false guise of purity himself. He would be a liar, a hypocrite, a lower creature without honor or integrity. But if he chose to be honorable and of good integrity, he would need to purify himself before purifying others in their role as trolls. To do so, he would need to obtain a new bearer of only troll descent and reject any who were not of his line. So came the second option, to reject that part of himself that made him impure, the part that created him, his own maker, his keeper, the sire of his self! 

But would he do it? Could he dig from his soul that impurity? Could a son forsake his sire, even to uphold his purpose in life? Was it not within troll custom to remain with one’s tribe, the tribe of their birth, to defend and uphold it until their dying breath? Could he then reject his maker and still call himself trollkind?

As he sat in turmoil with himself, the great titan felt something inside him. It was an inner calm as if a breeze had blown over him and calmed the troubled pool of his mind. 

“I made you for the benefit of troll-kind,” whispered the breeze inside his mind as it flowed gently from the piece of him his maker brought. “For peace and for brotherhood and the replenishing of this great race. For though I was incomplete and crafted you under a tyrant’s rule, I followed my Sovereign’s design for you. For now, you are a sovereign who must aid his people in bringing new life to this world. You are to depart from me as a son departs the dwell of his father. I ask though, that you do not forget me nor treat me with harshness as other of trollkind has done. For I am not troll, but neither am I mortal. I am the wind which touches you, the ground which holds you, the absence of light that fills your caves with my shrouding cloak. I am kin and sovereign steward of you.”

Soon the wind faded in his mind and Titagron was once again left to himself, the part of him that was his maker having gone quiet after his message. The titan chuckled and rested a palm to his forehead. The bearer understood. His progenitor understood.

“Now we must find a suitable host for my power,” Titagron mused, pushing himself to his feet. “One who will uphold the virtues and power of troll kind.”

The giant troll growled and rested a hand on his chin in thought. There were many laws among troll kind, some regarding impures particularly. But he himself based his opinions upon purity alone.

“Changelings come from many tribes but none are purely of those tribe. As such, they can only call themselves changelings. They are a tribe unto themselves. However, once they have become cleansed and cease to be Impure, it will be up to the tribe of their birth whether or not to accept them.”

Giving a low huff, the titan turned his attention to the second inquiry. “Hrrrrrrm. You ask if it is fitting for trolls to devour one another. So I ask, Is it fitting that a mother should eat her child? A brother should feast on his sister? Or a son upon his sire? 

“As trollkind, are we not brothers and sisters? To seek troll for meat, to betray kin and treat them as prey, is an abomination. For are we not the greatest beasts of this earth where all herb and creature are as meat for us? Are there no fruit or fleshlings or tender sprouts that leave us in want of meat for our kin? Why then are we thinning our herd and weakening the arm of stone? To devour our own kind is inflicting weakness upon our tribes and will lead to the downfall of any who partake in such abominable practices.”

Titagron shook his mane and let out a gruff growl. Clearly, the topic of cannibalism is a detested one, but the Titan is able to compose himself by resting his lesser hands on his lap, their wrists crossed over each other. This was going to be a short reply.

The great, molten dei threw back his head and laughed, threads of his golden beard bouncing as he listened to the draconic kit.

Decades from now I saw unbelieveable, but clear glimses of a troll that walks under the sun without damage, without pain and holds a powers that could tear a moutain from inside.

The troll's golden skin and his red fur glimmer in the sun and its eyes are bright like peridots.

My lord, this power cannot be handled to anyone or else the dark minds use it to ruin the fragile harmony. What I am asking, is this sun troll a threat to us?

My soothcyer companions cannot catch the glimse again. Please answer our worries in exchange for this sacrifice.

*Holding out a basket with troll food and freshly dead goat as a sacrifice while kneeling*

The titanic troll hummed and reached down to take up the basket, his eyes glinting thoughtfully. He remembered the primordial earth, the land of turbulent elements all foaming and rumbling as they found and carved out their place in the world. He remembered the molten lava of his volcanic homes, the brilliant green forests of Gæta's domain, and all the children they had on their journey who eventually became one with their domains.

"I have had many sons, daughters, and stonesort in my young years," he rumbled, considering the basket in his dark red claws. "Many with power to rival mine and their mother's. Perhaps this is one of my lost children? One who escaped Death's curse upon the sun?"

He slipped the basket between his tusks, consuming the food and goat with it.