The Sad Troll

 

I look over the snow-topped peaks of my homeland, the sun cresting the horizon as the warm rays spread warmth over my stone face.   It is a sight of beauty and refreshment, yet I still fell sad.

 

I am sad troll.

 

Me thinks about the glorious days of the past we crush dem hibbies and dose shiny albionz.   Dis long and hard to remember, for now we are conquered and us people are leaving the land of middie.

 

I walk across the vale, spotting patches of green bursting through the snow, struggling for a bit of sunlight.   Mid is like that.  We are hurting and need light.  Me thinks to many people is greed here.  But dis troll is not greed, this troll just want Midgard to be number one.

 

We have lost our holy relics.  Dis make trolls sad and not want to fight.  Dis make the lands bad and people too. 

 

In the horizon I see smoke.  I squint my eyes and see it comes from one of our Fastes, dem invaders are taking another of our land.  Soon we will have nothing.  Something must be done.

 

Off to Jordheim I go, for maybe in the Great City I can find others who are sick of the struggle, of the fighting within.  Long and hard I ride, I see the pillars rising form our great city, yet the stench is unbearable to even a troll.

 

The stench of despair.

 

In the mudded streets I see kobolds fighting each other over scraps, dwarven healers getting fat and drunk.  What has our kingdom been degraded too?

 

Then I see a group of young trolls and Norsemen, wearing new emblems I have not seen.  Surrounding them are the old experience warriors, hurling insults at them. They look scared, but stand their ground.

  

“We must attack! This has gone long enough!” says the young Norseman.

 

“Fool! There is no point! Let them have the keeps! Let them have the relic!” says the old Troll.

 

“It is you who are responsible, and now you claim it is nothing! We will be conquered if we do not fight back!” the young Norseman shouts.

“Noob, have you not fought the enemy? Dem hibbies will have you turned into statues by their elven maidens, and the Albions with their steel skin will skewer you!”

 

“We must try! We must learn, I didn’t come here to be badgered by old warriors.  We came to learn from you! We cannot do this alone!” clenching his hammer the Norseman stands his ground, all a bit nervous.

 

“Bah! Out to die with you fool!” yells the old Troll as hit kicks mud at the young Norseman’s feet.

 

Then I see, this is the future of Midgard, these young warriors.  Inexperienced, but yet with fire in them.  I step forward, being of the old breed.

 

“Dat man is right.  We have stood idle enough, me sicken at this attitude. We have become a nation of beggars, thieves, and scoundrels!” I yell as I shake my fist.

 

The old warriors look around in shame.  The big old troll clad in black chain mail steps up.

 

“Do you propose we go fight the superior armies of Albion? They out number us!”

 

I draw my hammer and look the old troll in the eye.

 

“Yes, we crush dem.  We use what is given to us and maximize the potential! Our warriors grow fat and old here in Jordheim, we are the warriors of Thor and Odin, may ye curse you!”

 

A few of the old troll’s members move over to the young warriors circle.

 

“We will fight with you, if we die, may we be allowed into Valhalla!”

 

A roar erupted that day in Jordheim that could be heard throughout the mountains of Jamtland.  The gears of Midgard were in motion.

 

For days we sent out word to the corners of Midgard.  Warriors cleaned their weapons and armor, hunters fletched their arrows, and skalds began to write new battle hymns. It was a glorious few days, for Midgard seemed whole, there was some purpose.  The key was to make it stick.

 

Many days pass until we arrive on the green fields of Emain Macha.

 

Our army was 40-50 strong, many new warriors and many old.   Over the fields we look, the warm breeze sweeping over the plains.  

 

The smell of war was in the air.

 

A young kobold approached me.

 

“Sir, ivveee sspootted albion forces approaching”

 

“How many shiny’s?”

 

“Very few, weee thinksss they are splittedssss”

 

I think to myself, this good time for troll attack.

 

“Alright, we see few shiny’s approaching, get ready to move out!”

 

Our army moves slowly across the plains, few groups with skalds march ahead to scout our front, whilst a few remain in back.

 

Descending in the valley the unsuspecting Albions are caught unaware.   Our skalds rush to them with healers on their tails.

 

Whooppopp!

 

The Albions are frozen like statues.

 

“Crush dem! Crush dem all!”

 

Then it dawns on me.  I hear the heavy rumble of feat the clanging of metal.

 

Someone yells “Behind us!”

 

I look; it is the Army of Albion, 60 strong.  Most of the warriors I recognize from the old days. 

 

“Form up and get ready, we must hurry, forget them!!” I yell.

 

A few of our younger warriors ignore my commands and run towards the small Albion group.

 

Sigh.

 

“We must stay together, healers behind the warriors! Prepare to charge!”

 

Already I see the shiny’s in plate draw their strange hand held bows.  I see their evil wizards playing with fire in their palms.

 

I notice many of our younger warriors begin to spread out; this will be our undoing.  I must do something to rally us.

 

 

I draw my flaming hammer and step forward.

 

“Countrymen! Do not flee!  We must stay together! This is our folly! We must fight together and protect each other! We must be ruthless and strong! Do not forget you heritage!   IF you die today, it you die BRAVELY, you will be admitted to VALHALLA! Let us join our ancestors in glory !!”

 

The banging of shields and weapons rings through the valley.

 

A grin hits my face, if just for this once we are united and we fall, I will die a happy death.

 

“CHARGE! ODIN!!!!!!!”

 

That day the forces of Midgard clashed with the fury of Thor’s hammer against the invaders of Albion.

 

The battle I do not know what came of it, for I met my end that day.   But I died a son of Midgard with my brothers.