Unbalanced Party: Please Don't Feed the Trolls

Unbalanced Party: Please, Don't Feed the Trolls

  Lee Newman

  Published by Poor Man Press

  Copyright 2012 Lee Newman

  Firelight and raucous laughter exploded into the dark room as the door burst open. The patrons of the pub below were far too merry to concern themselves with the weary travelers in the inn above.

  “Lads!” Bofric Redwulf's stocky dwarf frame filled the lower half of the door, swaying drunkenly. “I've got our next job lined up! There's-,” he paused to stifle something between a hiccup, a belch, and something worse. “Aye, that was a sour one. There's a farmer down there who'll pay us to take care of a small problem he's having with his sheep.”

  “Wulf... we're adventurers, not veterinarians,” groaned Daveth McKeen, rolling over in his protesting wooden bunk.

  “Or are you looking to lower your romantic standards even further to livestock,” grumbled the sorcerer, Mordwin Karthright, from another bunk, an arm over his eyes to shut out the light. A poorly stifled grin twisted up the corner of his thin mouth at his own sharp comment.

  “Nay ya wise-mouthed waif. He wants us ta kill a troll.”

  Daveth and Mordwin moaned loudly in unison.

  “No more monster hunting, Wulf! We agreed after the cockatrice!” Daveth said, sitting up.

  “Daveth, we're not exactly in a position ta be selective. We have ta make a name for ourselves and monster killin' jobs are plenty because no one wants ta do it. We have ta put food in our bellies. Besides, trolls are inherently wicked creatures. It's yer duty as a paladin to slay them,” Wulf argued.

  “Hooray for us! The dog catchers of the magical creature community!” Mordwin mocked.

  “So, we're going?” Daveth asked, turning to Mordwin.

  “Well of course we're going,” Mordwin snapped. “I'm starving and we're broke!”

  Dawn came and the trio found themselves on the sheep farm of Bjorny Bergenson.

  “Thank the heavens! I am so glad to see you,” said Bergenson in the thick accent of the Fjordsmen. “This troll has been a thorn in my side for too long.”

  “How long,” Mordwin asked.

  “Any amount of time to deal with a troll is too long to deal with a troll!” Bergenson said sharply.

  “Can you tell us anything about the troll, Mr. Bergenson,” Daveth asked.

  “What do you mean? He's a troll! He's big! He smells! He's hairy! He eats my livestock! I imagine you'll have to lure him out into the sunlight or set him on fire to kill him. Aren't you three supposed to be the experts? The dwarf told me you do things like this all the time.”

  Daveth and Mordwin glared at Wulf who gave a guilty grin and a shrug.

  “We've dealt with magical creatures before, sir,” continued Daveth. “I was just trying to get a little more information. Does this troll have a name?”

  “Indeed. We call him Stinkshanks the Bonemealer.”

  Mordwin's eyes widened. “That sounds... um... unpleasant. Have you ever seen Stinkshanks the uh... B-b-”

  “Bonemealer. Only from a distance once when he made off with one of my prize sheep. He's a good nine feet tall if he's an inch.”

  Mordwin gulped audibly.

  “Where does the troll make its home, Mr. Bergenson,” Daveth inquired, trying to remain resolute and strong despite Mordwin's slipping composure.

  “Up in a cave about a mile west. The dwarf said you could take care of this in one day or not only does he owe me for all the drinks I paid for last night, but the extermination is free.”

  “What?” screeched Mordwin. “Well, my good Fjordsman, I can assure you that 'the dwarf' does not speak for us all. Any account he has to settle with you is his own problem.”

  “Relax, stringy, said Wulf calmly. ”It's just a wee troll. We'll have it gone by day's end, Bjorny. Then we'll be all settled up.”

  “In addition to the extermination cost, of course,” added Daveth.

  “Of course,” said Bjorny, “Provided you come back.”

  “This just keeps getting better,” Mordwin sighed.

  “The last time it came,” said the farmer, “It left this.”

  Bjorny held out a large ragged piece of filthy parchment to Daveth. The paladin took the paper and paled a little.

  “Is this written in...” Daveth asked.

  “Sheep's blood,” answered Bjorny matter of factly.

  “What does it say” Mordwin asked.

  “Be back soon,” rasped Daveth.

  “Oh, ye bunch a Nancys. Let's get moving! The inn is havin' a test of obscure knowledge tonight and the buxom barmaid and I aim ta win that twenty gold piece bar credit,” barked Wulf.

  Reaching the mouth of the cave, the adventurers halted, crouching in the bushes.

  Daveth broke the silence. “Soooo. How do we do this? Also, have you ever noticed how often we seem to end up broke, starving, and crouching in bushes about to do something dangerous and foolish for money? Who is in charge of our finances. This really seems to be happening way too often.”

  “I say we slather Wulf in honey and make him traipse around the entrance to lure it out. He's the reason we're in this mess to begin with. And, he's the one who's been drinking away our coin after you fall asleep.” said Mordwin.

  “Ye tattlin' goat! Like you've never snuck a handful of silvers for yer feminine perfumes,” Wulf snarled.

  “Those are odoriferous spell components!”

  “Aye? That they sell in the ladies fancy dress shop?”

  “Guys! We better think of something soon. It's almost sundown and big ugly's going to come out of there ready to eat all three of us,” said Daveth.

  Suddenly, a timid but booming voice came from behind them, “Oy then. Who're you? You the gardeners come ta trim me hedges? I sent that letter off weeks ago, I did. I hope you aren't expecting no generous tip. I'll still tip you, mind you. I ain't rude or nuthin'. But, it shan't be a great one.”

  The party turned and froze to face a large and quite well put together, for a troll anyway, troll. His hair was clean, parted down the center, and cut in rather embarrassing bob. His fur was unmatted. Rather, it was combed, trimmed, and conditioned. He appeared to have made himself clothing from large bits of leather that were carefully sewn and matched to color rather than haphazard patchwork like one might expect.

  Mordwin let out a shrill scream. Daveth cleared his throat and summoned all his courage and confidence to speak.

  “Foul beast! We have come to slay-”

  “Foul beast?” the troll interrupted. “We just met, sir. That's an awfully hurtful thing ta say ta a body one's just met.”

  “W-well, I just... We... You're a...” Daveth stuttered.

  Wulf pushed Daveth aside, gripping the hilt of his battle axe, Betty. “Listen here, ya sheep stealin'-” Wulf too was cut short.

  “Bertrum,” the troll said curtly.

  “Bertrum?” Wulf spat out in utter shock.

  “That's me name. Bertrum. Or Bert if you prefer, but I recon that's a bit on the familiar side for those what just met me and threatened a slayin'.”

  “We thought your name was Stinkshanks the Bonemealer,” Mordwin finally squeaked, joining the conversation.

  “You what? How rude and nasty. How'd you like it if I called you... skinny the... bad haircut havin'... staff guy?”

  Mordwin bowed his head a little. “That would hurt my feelings.”

  “Excuse us for saying, Bertrum, but we kind of expected you to be, well, disgusting and monstrous,” said Daveth.

  “Well that's a bit racist, innit? You, dwarf. What if I said ta you that all dwarves were short and had great long beards. How'
d you like that bit?”

  “We are all short and have beards,” said Wulf.

  “Well, that's me own mistake, then. It's a bad example. Haven't met many dwarves. But you get me meanin',” said Bertrum pouting.

  “It's just that the farmer back there,” explained Daveth. “He wanted us to come up here.”

  “What was you gonna do, then,” said Bertrum. “Come down here and burn me with fire? Figure that's me only weakness? That's bigotry that is. Who's weakness isn't fire? If I set you lot on fire, you'd snuff it just as easy as I would. Wouldn't do it, mind you. Right brutish that would be. Playin' into the negative troll stereotype. Probably think the sunlight'll kill me right proper too. Well, you see that ain't true. I'm a bit fair skinned, but if it's real sunny out, I wears a big floppy hat and make out just fine.”

  “You did steal that sheep though,” said Daveth a little shakily.

  “I left an IOU! I meant ta come back and pay fer it! I'm just between jobs right now. Not a lot of work for a troll, no matter how well ya fix yerself up. I just came from tryin' ta interview for a position in town and all they did was run about screamin', 'Oh, here comes a troll, come ta gobble us up and live under our bridge.' Do you know how impractical residence under a bridge is? People walkin' over yer roof day and night, throwin garbage over the side. No insulation in the winter. Mud for a floor. Who'd want ta even live under a bridge? This cave is just transitional until I can find a better line a work.”

  A gravelly voice like a harpy's screech pierced the darkness of the cave. “Here now, Bertrum? Who're you talkin' to out there, ya great lummox? Did ya get the job in the village or botch it just like everything else.”

  “Oh, now you've done it,” said Bertrum. “That's me wife, Hilde. She's gonna be right cross I didn't get the job and now I brought home company to boot.”

  “Brought home company?” Mordwin chirped. “We came here to kill you!”

  “If you'd do it before she came out and got ahold of me, I'd be in yer debt,” said Bertrum. “Fire is fine. I got some matches in me pocket. Takes so much hair product to get me fur ta sit straight, I'll probably go up in a column of flame. Hurry, do it quick!”

  From out of the cave tromped a female troll at least three feet taller than Bertrum. She wore a stern scowl on her face and was garbed in similarly well sewn leather garments and an apron. “Who's this? Yer mates? Been off havin' a laugh while I slave here in this dingy cave ta make supper?”

  “No dear,” said Bertrum, his voice several emasculated octaves higher. “I don't even know this lot. The farmer sent them up here to slay the lot of us on account of that sheep I stole.” Realizing what he had said, Bert clapped his hands over his mouth.

  “You what,” asked Hilde. “We may be poor, but we ain't criminals Bertrum Marigold Featherbottom!”

  Wolf, Mordwin, and Daveth all looked at each other, biting their mouths closed firmly to prevent the deluge of laughter aching to burst from behind their lips.

  Coughing loudly to compose himself, Daveth spoke up, “Listen, we can come back. There's obviously some kind of misunderstanding.”

  “Oh, I think there is indeed,” clucked Hilde, lowering her face close to the three. “I reckon you thought you'd just stroll up here and kill me lay about husband and leave me and my son ta starve and die.”

  “S-son,” Daveth squeaked. “We didn't...”

  “Daddy!” A fuzzy young troll with a bulbous nose and exceptionally large pointy ears ran from the cave and wrapped itself around Bertrum's leg. Bertrum lifted his leg and gave it a shake before pulling his progeny into his arms.

  “Henry, me son. How was yer day,” Bertrum beamed at his boy.

  “We're leaving,” said Daveth to the group.

  “What? Why,” asked Mordwin.

  “We've skirted the line a lot of times. I'm pretty sure patricide of an impoverished troll is crossing it. Wulf?”

  Wulf sniffled and wiped his eye. Daveth awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you okay, Wulf?”

  “Aye! Leave me alone! I must be allergic ta troll fer and it's all in the air here. We better go on account of my allergies.”

  “What about Wulf's bar tab and the fact that we still have nothing to eat” grumped Mordwin.

  “You lads don't seem like a bad sort. I must a-,” Bertrum paused warily as his wife eyed him, “legitimately purchased enough sheep from that farmer ta feed a small army. Stay fer supper and let us give you food fer the road. It's the least I can do fer this little misunderstanding.”

  “We wouldn't want to impose,” said Daveth.

  Meanwhile, the small troll had scuttled down from his father and was face to face with Wulf. “Are you a little troll boy too? Your fur looks weird.”

  “Oh, fine,” relented Hilde. “Come inside.”

  Walking into the cave, Wulf asked Daveth, “What about the money I owe the farmer and our bill for the inn?”

  “I guess we'll just have to add this village to the ever growing list of places we can never go back to again. I grabbed a few out of town jobs off the adventuring board before we left. I've kind of grown to anticipate things like this. Just try to stay out of the money pouch until we can actually get some money into it, okay?“

  “Fair enough,” said Wulf.

  “You too, 'jasmine and lemon blossom',” Daveth said to Mordwin.

  “Those are essential components to a calming tincture I am making” Mordwin said indignantly.