Quest: D’you Want Axe?

[Gildarts]

“GRAMPA! GRAMPA! Will you tell me the story again?” A young troll bounced on his grandfather’s knee and pleaded with big, wobbling eyes.

“O’ course I will! What’s a good tale if no one tells it? But, ye must promise me that you’ll listen very closely,” he teased the child with careful tones of his voice as it blended with the crackling flames of fire.

“I will.” the child nodded and moved to the ground where he crossed his legs, sat up, and opened his ears wide.

The old troll mused with satisfaction as he brushed his wrinkled fingers through his graying beard. The tips were white as the swirling snow that rose with the whistling wind outside of their small wooden hut. “Alright laddie, where should I start?”

Suddenly the small paneled window in the corner burst open, it was as though the fastened hinge had come loose by the trembling chill of winter and the window itself had shuddered from the cold. The fire flickered with the gust as the troll child ran to lock it once more. He had been taught the heat couldn’t escape if he locked it properly. His scowl at the interruption remained creasing his brow as he trudged back to his cross-legged spot, which was now a little less cozy. It seemed as though the charm had been swept from the room by its exposure to the icy slap of wind.

The troll child was ready once more and eager for the storyteller to begin his tale, yet the aged troll looked over the youth’s head and beyond to the framed square of pristine white. Snow blurred against the glass that offered a view of the outside, but frankly, a valley surrounded the village in the same massive clump of white. Niveous spirals blazed like fire and swirled with the unrelenting wind; the sting of the environment matched those who dwelled in it. The caustic trolls rolled easily with the harsh tides of wind; some protest that the creatures even adapted from a previously peaceful species into their current beings just to survive the murderous weather.

Out the window, past the sky, and layered with snow, a Prime named Gildarts braved the hazardous terrain as he made his way for the very town of Zul’Gurand.

...

“I hear there is trouble in the Frozen Fields...”

The wind played different tunes through the many snow tipped mountains as though it were strumming guitar strings and its icy fingerprints stamped into the very pattern that the soft snow fell. The immortal trudged through the thick blankets of snow as his mind wandered back to the “thoughtful” advice. He didn’t mind the heat when he had faced the smoldering volcano but his joints didn’t agree with the cold. With every third step he took, a frozen clump of ice liked to lodge itself between the hinge where his kneecap would have been in his left metallic leg. The worst part of it all were his socks. Well, sock. It was soaking wet and had frozen against his skin causing him immense discomfort with every step. For once, he was grateful he only had one.

Searching for trouble, that was something he had done in his past too. Things didn’t seem to have changed much and despite a new world of possibilities, he was still the same guy. Granted, he was currently trying to discover where trouble would be found in the icy slates that made up the Frozen Fields. All he was really able to see was a glimpse into the snow studded mountains and wind on the blurred white horizon as it scorched in his eyes.

Gildarts had embarked on his adventure just to pass the time and to escape from the Empire’s expanding domain, this seemed like the right place to do it. Or maybe there was more to it than that, as he remembered the hinting tone of his ally’s voice. The soothsayer had even mentioned answers colliding with his face where the ice in the air was certainly taking its toll. His wind worn cheeks were protected by his five o’clock shadow, the same stubble that had accumulated flecks of snow that clung in tiny crystals to his chin.


It seemed as though he had traveled for ten straight days before dramatically collapsing into a mound of snow. For a moment, he thought he would die right then and there. Die of boredom. The scenery hadn’t changed for a second and well, it was getting old. His eyes were like glass, his nose frozen like a lump of ice, and his auburn hair stuck up in every direction as the wind had tousled it into little splayed ice sickle daggers. He had shielded the sleet from his eyes for many hours and varied the degree of ice on his body by occasionally releasing some energy to break up the freshly formed coating into fragments. Occasionally, he would sit by a warm fire which helped him from turning into a solid pop sickle.

The only way he got through the first range of mountains and the crisp altitude change, was by assuring himself that someone was in trouble here and needed his help. Yet so far, it seemed that if there were an inhabiting people in this realm, there were very few, and they had made themselves scarce. The Frozen Fields were so secluded he had not come across any traces of campfire nor marked paths of travel. Any sign of life would have been helpful, even if they proved adverse to his goal of survival.

The Prime’s main enemy in the fields was not the ice that was carried by the wind (the same ice that threatened to freeze him solid), nor was it the many feet of snow he could easily sink through. But it was the most unsuspecting predator of all. Hunger. He could not feel through his numbed body when his hardened stomach was empty, nor could time be told by the countless hours he spent below the storming skies. Time was no longer measured in minutes, or in the same twenty four hours he knew that made up a day, but it was measured on a new scale, with a new clock. Omni’s clock. A single night, Gildarts figured by his own experience, was completed on a twenty hour rotation. The days here, perhaps due to the season and was far from an equinox, had lasted only about six hours.

Daylight, like warmth, was scarce.

He rolled over the mountains as easily as the wind and had yet to set off a single avalanche. The sun rose once more and luck finally seemed to be turning in his favor. The blizzard dissipated and he finally saw patches of blue in the sky. The snow covered peaks cradled the pale sky in a way that reflected the brilliance of light. It dazzled into the heavens. Gildarts himself stopped to remark at the true essence of nature. Perhaps it was the calm before the storm, but Gildarts had a feeling he was finally seeing the truth of the very verse he was adventuring. A million drops of snow, like dew on the crests of clouds; it was worth the many unending hours endured and peace settled in his heart.

Another great thing about his exile was that there was no one here. No one to depend on him. This was a relief in itself. There were no houses to accidentally relay his magic into, nor people to fear him as he walked in the room. No one to defend. Gildarts suddenly felt his motive and purpose reduced to ash. He valued and took pride in his adventures because they changed people’s lives, not because he was the first to do them or the last of warriors to stand on the battlefield.

A great gust of wind rolled over him like an avalanche and dusted him with snow, delivering a freshly chilled layer to his once thermal body. Ah well, I couldn’t expect it to last forever. He thought to himself in regards to the cold and carried on, night would soon fall and if he could get a better bearing of his forthright direction from the highest peak, eventually he may hit a form of civilization.

In this desolate place the bachelor could only dream of the drinks he could be having with Martha back at the very warm and scenic Costa Del Sol. He could taste the tropics as he imagined her drinking from a glass; condensation forming in her hands from the humidity and its rims coated in icy looking salt. Shaking the idea of ice from his head he tried again to imagine the warmth of the island sun as together they might slurp from coconut shells and again, the fleshy coconut shavings would glitter in the sunlight to resemble his current snowy climate. He rolled his eyes. It seemed there was no escape from his current isolation. He was, in his own way, stranded. Yet the idea of a vacation cast a refreshingly new outlook on his ongoing adventure.

Little specks resembling people lined the base of the mountain and, like ants, climbed in a line upward. The oblivious Gildarts was not pulled from his thoughts and had already set a brisk pace for himself, he continued to walk as though enlivened by the momentary peace. If he kept his speed he would soon outrun the very people that were following him. The mere strength in a single stride was that of ten feet for the short creatures who trailed in his steps. The youngest in the group of three finally heaved his last effort filled step before he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted upward toward the singular traveler.

“HEY YOU...! STOP!”

An older dwarf with a great brown beard scolded the youngest, “You idiot! Everyone knows better than to shout in the wake of a mountain! You’ll wake them from their slumber and make them angry!”

“Psh, mountains can’t get angry,” the enraged teen hobbled onward. He scowled at the tediously impossible task of chasing the outsider as his eyes fell on his own feet that were buried in the snow.

The shouted echo reached the Prime and reverberated as a ripple through the cup that was the valley. As the voice cascaded upward, it stirred the balance before finally tipping the very stability of the mountains. Suddenly a soundless growl was produced as the colossal slope began to shake from its great blanket of snow.

“Look out!” But as Gildarts pointed to the slipping slope below him, rolling balls had already begun to slide toward the tiny group in the distance. He stared at the beginnings of an avalanche that threatened to steamroll the trio of dwarves below.

The not-so-helpless Prime extended his hand, the force of the growing snow wall would surely kill them with its impact alone. Small creatures were far less durable and he would not let the murderous force of an avalanche be their demise. From his palm, a growing net of white energy flowed down toward the tsunami of snow. It was released in hopes to block the avalanche’s path.

It did not.

Instead, the energy was skewed slightly off its mark and crushed the ground too close to their feet.

“No!” Gildarts’ shout was laden with distress and without a second to loose he charged some energy into the mountain below him. It erupted into the large cracking fragments and the rigidly broken earth carried him as well as the rolling momentum of snow below, to a screeching halt.

It was too late for the dwarves and the very land their feet stood on was compromised by calamity. Not only had the earth broken from beneath them but the three figures fell through the ground with the great wave of rolling fluff that swept over them. When Gildarts came upon them, they were mangled in the thick crunchy snow. Dead.

Both the avalanche and his magic had killed them. What difference did it make if he was able to decipher which? He released a deep sigh as he flung the day’s casualties over his shoulder with his brown supply bag. Gildarts couldn’t help but to think what their lives would have went on to become if they had never so literally crossed his path.

The Prime carried the weight of their corpses across the land as recompense for taking their lives. He had every intention of righting his wrong and would return them home to their families. One moment they were alive and well, the next, they had been delivered a snowy death. This place was more dangerous than it seemed. Frozen streams glistened from the very top of the gray and white patched mountains. The good news was, he had finally made it to the highest point and could now see a full span of the land.

He would not relinquish three burdens on his shoulder, even as he rested. They were his responsibility now. He would not allow their lives to be for nothing and their deaths to be meaningless. Perhaps he could get the nearby village in the distance to answer some questions he had, or maybe this was another lie from the old prisoner of the Vastly Deep. Behemoth had mastered the art of deception but what reason did he have to lie to the Prime? Wait, was that a village on the horizon? The man squinted against the eternal chill of the wind.

...

Beer glasses clattered and many men lively chattered as they talked about yesterday’s legends, the day’s adventures, and tomorrow’s promise. Laughter smudged in the lines of every man’s lips and the froth of ale bubbled around their beards.

The gray skinned trolls all inclined their heads as they gathered round one table, where the eldest of the room spoke much softer than the rest, which made him all the more interesting to his audience of eager listeners.

“It was then, when me and my men had wandered to the thinnest ice imaginable. We could still see its frosted feathers molded by the wind on the slope that scaled only downward. There was no choice but to cross for there was an army of sabertooth tigers to our right and cowardly dwarves to our left, all while a great avalanche rolled down from Thunder Mountain. We were forced to cross down the slope, only to slip and loose our footing. We all rolled down and became huge balls of snow. After tumbling to the mountain’s valley we had finally reached the ravine of a great glacier! There was no where to turn from there, we faced the oncoming wave like brave warriors, ready to fight to the end. I had prepared the dive set though, holding onto the greater hope of survival so we could take out those pesky dwarves afterwards. At the very last second we jumped and hung onto the scaling rope that was set sturdily into the cliff side, we were all supported by our handy ice axe. We hoped that the thick layers of snow would roll over us as we dangled over the ravine and prepared for the wave of snow to wipe us clean off the Verse! In a rage it rumbled over as we all clung for our lives.”

The elder took a dramatic moment to catch his breath before sipping his ale, “With the added weight of the sheets of ice, the cliffside alone was not strong enough to hold all o’ us as well as the heavy snow that swooped over our heads. It had rumbled and cracked before the ice started to shatter at the very point that our icepick held our dangling rope. Crystals of diamonds fell from above and finally the ledge shattered.”

“This next part is my favorite!” One of the younger trolls looked up the the elder with great admiration.

The old troll spoke of his compelling story, “Of course it is m’boy, but don’t interrupt again or else I’ll never get to it.”

“My favorite is when he crushes the skull of the puny dwarf warrior with his bare hands!” another ape-like creature said as he impressed the audience by knowing and spoiling the details that came later in the story.

“Aw come on!” Jeers of anger filled the bar and finally after some clinking glasses that knocked on the wooden tables, silence fell once more as every troll’s curiosity got the best of them.

“So then, we had all fallen from the icy cliff and the rope had been split and frayed by ice that coated every layer of woven twine. I looked over to my left,” the great story teller depicted his expression as though the bar had became the very setting he spoke about. He turned his bearded chin to look at the crowd of trolls to his left as though he were analyzing the aftermath of his great fall, “We had fallen about five hundred feet. An’ I shook every single troll’s shoulders but I could see from the very stains on the snow that they had died of the fall. Hope fell in my heart for a moment as I realized I had survived. The last troll. But, like a troll, I never gave up! Even as my hands were numbed with frostbite and I couldn’t feel enough to flex my fingers. When my teary eyes fell on the axe that had survived, propped on a mound of snow and mine for the taking, I knew I could get out of the valley alive.”

Eyes continued to watch him intently, as the suspense of the story seemed to reach a climax. “Well, I guess you know the rest of the story, so I just wont tell it...” the great troll paused as his fellow bar mates gaped with exasperation.

“But that’s the best part!” someone shouted from the group and gave the demanding response he desired from his teasing comment. They hung on his every word.

“Alright, alright, if you insist I’ll continue. Now, my hand wouldn’t move, the very veins felt as though they were frozen solid and I only had one option. In order to climb out, I needed to wield the axe. What I really needed was another hand. Now, you all remember when I told you of my right arm that was bitten by that villainous dragon? This was not long before, and I still had the bandages from that very injury on my forearm. In my current wounded state I had no hope of crawling out of the ravine alive. But my will was strong and my sense of survival drove me as I plunged the heel of the axe into my arm and used it as an additional foothold to climb up the slippery ravine. Each time I drove the pickaxe into the ice I made progress scaling the ravine and clawed my way to the top. Without this very axe I wouldn’t have been able to escape to vanquish the Dwarven King. This axe is my survival and the very symbol of our fierce troll nature. In it, I have developed the most elite fighting style in troll history an’ it is my honor to wield it as it has saved my very life and brought power to our people in times of death.”

Gasps filled the room as their awe-filled eyes fell on the huge battle axe he had once used as an ice cleaver but now the hatchet had taken the place of his hand.

The low grumble of the ground rippled in their pints of ale, circles grew in their mugs, when suddenly, the entire wall of the bar was ripped open. Wood sprayed in splinters upon them and the dense logs broke around the wake of a single man. In the hushed silence, the trolls’ anger boiled. All eyes fell on the black cloaked male who hung three dwarf bodies over his shoulder before not-so-delicately dropping them to the ground.

“Ye got a lot of nerve showin’ up here with three dead dwarves.”

“Hm?” Gildarts curiously looked around the room and tasted the hostility infused in the air.

The pause was long and heavy as the many gray skinned creatures sized up the sturdy looking human. Their silent reaction was meant to intimidate the Prime but Gildarts merely took in the scene of the bar and greeted the warmth that crept back into his bones. The wordless hostility rolled on for a moment longer before finally another spoke up.

“WITHOUT EVEN INTRODUCING YOURSELF!” The whole room roared with laughter as pints clinked once more in a hearty cheer.

It was a while before the room settled and the logs of the wall had quickly been restacked. Air leaked in but nothing could freeze the bustle of excitement that was delivered with the Prime’s arrival. After offering Gildarts a beer, the bartender asked, “So what brings ye’ here? And what about them?” The man wanted to know the story behind their death, but the explanation was not given by the Prime who responded.

“I was hoping you’d give them a proper burial, I could not find their people.”

“Hah! You do know who you’re sayin’ that to, don’cha?” he laughed a he poured himself a drink with his burly troll hands.

“That’s because they’re all hiding in their little crevasses! Like the very snowrats of the caves...” A hostile troll growled and interjected between their conversation.

The bartender paused, “Ah, indeed Droggle. It seems he does not know much of the land he travels.”

Droggle glared at the dwarf-like human in contempt, “What brings yer kind here anyway?”

“I heard there was work available for a Prime like myself.” Gildarts explained simply and left out the mention of where or of what work he implied.

“Work eh? Ain’t nothing a troll can’t do. Trolls work much better than humans and have the strength of at least ten men. Wait, yer Prime? Can’t be...” The troll prodded the human with his dark eyes and rounded the corners and edges of Gildarts’ metal joints.

“That’s right. Do you know if there is any major strife that plagues this area?” he continued and his eyes were earnest and steadfast. Aside from the weather.

The many drinkers consulted for a moment in a huddle, their whispers could be distinctly heard by the Prime as he took a guzzling sip of the beer. “Let’s give him the most challenging job there is if he thinks he’s so great!”

“What?! And send him to his death?” another troll whispered.


“Ye got a better idea?” Droggle scowled, “If we send him off without doin’ nothin’ he could come back with the dwarves! Humans are so easily convinced by their own kind.”

After a few more murmurings they disbanded from their chat and confronted him. “Looks like we do have a job for you after all.”

“What’s that?” Gildarts asked as he dismissed their malice filled glares.

“Defeat the dragon!” Droggle demanded.

“Dragon?!” Gildarts’ eyes widened.

“That’s right, a great dragon reigns over this land more than any other civilization,” the bartender informed as he wiped out a cup, “The Dragon of Ice threatens every inhabitant of the Frozen Fields, Dwarves included. Our very existence is on the line just where we have established towns. If the beast awakens from his great slumber just for a moment, he could easily fly here and destroy us all.”


“Yes, yes, slay the dragon. An’ bring back proof. Now off with ye!” Droggle ushered the Prime from his seat.

“Wait stranger, I didn’t get your name.” The bartender had asked in order to create a tab for him.

“Ah don’ worry about it. I’ve already got a name picked out for ’im.” Droggle antagonized with a sneer, “We’ll call you Ten-to-One.”

“Huh?” At first it seemed like troll custom to name the travelers that came to town. Gildarts even figured it was some sort of tradition or cultural trend. “What’s that mean then?”

“Hahahaha! That’s your odds of surviving out there on your own!” Droggle slammed his hand on the wooden bar and laughter shook the entire room as it formed ripples on the troll’s ale.

Menace grew in the Prime’s expression, his eyes challenged I dare you to underestimate me as his posture squared as though preparing for battle. The rumbles of the room ceased and their eyes fell on him once more. It was the bartender who prevented the aggression from becoming an all out fist fight, “Oh, Droggle. It seems you’re actually right.”

“Hm? I am? How’s that? I mean, I know it, this guy doesn’t stand a chance out there!” Droggle turned his head from the Prime’s daring eyes.

“No, I mean, if it is a test of strength it seems he wouldn’t fail if he has vanquished three dwarves and also ripped a hole in our wall without lifting a finger. But I think a guide should go with him. How else will he find the dragon?” The bartender explained, sweat dripped from the troll’s grey skin as he hoped to quell the violence or risk loosing the roof of his pub too.

“Just slaying a few puny dwarves will not make this man a king. But a guide is a great idea, someone should witness his failure. Who did’ya have in mind?” Droggle asked.

“...” All eyes fell on Droggle, the best navigator in the tribe of Zul’Gurand.

“OH NO. Don’ make me go with this stinking human! He smells terrible!” Droggle’s protests were futile as Gildarts felt his eyebrow twitch.

“Oi, I’m right here.” his eyebrow had creased with anger. These beasts lacked decency, he had tried to not let their bloodied scent of war cause him to cringe and they said that he smelled. Gildarts observed their violent behavior and the mere shaggy tarps they wore for clothing. As he looked closer he could see that the tarps were actually skins of their vanquished prey. He found this species had a warped sense of pride and honor as they carried trophies of death on their backs. Then again, so had he in a not-so-similar way.

“It was your idea in the first place!” one smirked in amusement.

“C’mon troll up!” another said to him.

“How else is he gonna get to the dragon’s lair?” the last troll reasoned.

“Grr... Fine.” Droggle guzzled his pint as streams rolled down his white beard. With a slam that caused the cup to chip as he brought it with great force into the table. In the corner of the room the eldest troll eyed the action that took place as the Prime and Droggle set off.

After the Prime left with Droggle, a troll of the bar smiled with malice, “D’you think he bought it?”

Another agreed, “O’course he did. Humans are stupid creatures. Nothin’ but serving our kingdom was on his mind.”


The real reason they wanted him to defeat the dragon was not for the risk that its existence posed to their many tribes. They had no regard for the well being of the other populations, but their motive surrounded what was always their first priority: War. They were more concerned that the dwarves were in pursuit of the dragon to find a way to tame it, control it, and later learn to use it as a weapon of dominance in a way to end their everlasting feud in one mighty bout of destruction. And they simply couldn’t have that...

[Gildarts]

White flakes crunched underneath the heavy heels of the two warriors. Both from different realms, both were different species, and both had a completely different idea of what their purpose should be.

“Ugh, stupid dragon...” Droggle groaned under the weight of his own feet. Every few seconds the ape-like creature would cast a snide glance at the Prime who followed the guide toward their destination. Gildarts still had no idea if he could slay a dragon, after what happened last time in his own verse and now in this place some of his powers were missing. Particularly his speed.

“Could you be any slower?... Stinking human.” Droggle grumbled again and grabbed his sack of supplies. The troll packed his own because it was not troll-like to rely on others, especially pathetic humans. The weakling could easily die of exposure and then the troll would be left in the icy wilderness to fend for himself, without food. “If you disappoint me by wasting my time. I’ll crush your bones in your sleep one by one before leaving you to die the same fate as those dwarves you brought to town.”

Gildarts was pulled from his dismissive behavior and beckoned by the call of his own pride as he rose to the challenge. “Go ahead and try it.”

“That a threat, puny human?” Droggle growled as the pair continued at it for a while after leaving the camp. It passed the time as they crossed through what seemed to be another endless blizzard. Eventually their banter fell into an unfriendly silence and was lulled only by the wind. Hard lumps of hail clanged against his empty appendages. They fell like rocks but didn’t seem to dissuade the troll who smirked as his superior pace hastened in the storm. It took some focus, but with a little skill and a few mistakes, Gildarts learned to dodge many of the the hailstones that raced for his head.

Their eyes had adapted to the gray night but neither could see beyond the walls of snow. Droggle, the great troll guide, seemed to know where he was going and like a needle on a compass, never wavered. Suddenly the frigid air quelled and the speedy currents of the wind halted mid-air in a stagnant motionless drift.

“We’re almost at Dwarvenholm.” Droggle announced to Gildarts before explaining, “We have gathered information that they are keeping the dragon underground until it can be tamed.”

This was the first Gildarts had heard of the dwarves having a dragon in their possession, this was no small feat. “What do dwarves want with a dragon?”

Droggle remained silent for a moment as though he considered the validity of the man’s question. He recalled what the other trolls at the bar had told Gildarts and decided if the Prime was going to be killed anyway, there would be no use lying. “Aye, that’s the question isn’t it... The dwarves are planning to use it against our people as an act of war. Though, the feud that is carried on by both our tribes is warlike enough.” Draggle left out the part about the many aggression fueled raids and the unending death that troll attacks had brought upon the dwarves. The fault was theirs. But the Prime didn’t need to know that to fulfill his mission.

“Many trolls have tried to kill this dragon and disrupt its rule over our land. Tribes have died and suffered as well as given up everything to defeat it. We aren’t fortunate enough to have achieved success. We trolls are a mighty people and many of our enemies bow at our feet or have died in battle against us. It is rare for our people to meet a challenge that would take so much of our men and blood.” Droggle informed the Prime hesitantly.

“And, what? You don’t think I can defeat it?” Gildarts presumed from the underlying tones of the troll’s grizzly voice.

“What, a mere human?” Droggle grunted, “Do you?”

“We’ll see.” Gildarts spoke and swept his gaze on the caverns they had come to. There was one large gaping hole in the middle of the dusted mountain range, it seemed like an entrance but the hollowed interior only blew crisp air back in their faces.

“Don’t get yer’ hopes up, we ain’t there yet. This is the only entrance our people don’t use and are unable to enter. We had once planned a raid through here to the Silver Mountains but I think you’ll see why no one has returned for fifty years.”

Fifty years...

“Its enchanted. Don’t touch the walls. This place is part of the many caverns of Dwarvenholm.”

Gildarts let his eyes trace the icy rims of the silver caves. Rough walls sprouted with white crystals and silver veins streaked across the sides of the cavern. “This’ll take us there?”

“To the very heart. Most trolls can’t travel here. I’m one of the many few who is able and you are a human. There should be few problems with our passage.” Droggle left the reason, a haunting curse, unsaid.

After an hour of peacefully walking below the surface of the earth, Gildarts found himself relaxing. The ice no longer frayed his hair and he had more time to think about the memories that haunted him. He kept about an ounce of his focus on his power so as to not accidentally release it and cause the ceiling to come down on them as the Prime pondered his purpose in the new realm. Fairy Tail, I will find you once more... He thought about his lost guild, it was the only home he knew and it was hard to bear the thought of it being in danger.

The inner-purpose seeking Gildarts had tried to establish was interrupted by the howls of wolves echoing through the caves, “Don’t look back.” Droggle warned as he could feel their presence behind him. A pack, he assumed, about six to ten enemies. Their eyes shined crimson and reflected the color against the silver walls. “Be ready for when the first one lunges, then we will turn to strike.”

With a silent nod Gildarts confirmed the plan. Their savage and hungry growls grew closer as the drool seeped from their snarling lips and trickled in the darkness and onto the cave floor. Swiftly, as one paw grazed the rock nearly a yard away from them, each warrior turned and brandished their weapons to the lunging predator. Energy expanded as a net into the beasts who yipped and whimpered as their skin and fur were sliced back. Droggle kept his half at bay with a single broadsword. It shined against the cave’s dim walls and in the blur of battle, only smears of crimson and flutters of silver could be seen until the ground was spattered with thick coats of the wolves’ blood.

The leader of the pack now approached Droggle, snarling and with a bloodied wound in his side. Gildarts watched at the ready but Droggle held a hand up as though waiting for the creature to speak, “Mortal, allow us to slay this outsider.” a deep voice exited from its bloodstained fangs.

“The Prime is here to slay the dragon. Allow him to pass until he completes this task.” Droggle reasoned with the wolf who would have none of it.

“HOW DARE you speak to your wolf brother in such a way after injuring our kind. I’ll kill all dwarves and man alike!”

“You can try.” Droggle growled and raised his sword to kill the leader. The leader lunged toward the troll’s neck but Gildarts closed in and threw a fist down on the wolf’s head before it could sink its fangs into his ally’s flesh. Droggle planted a killing blow into the wolf and suddenly the troll collapsed as he brushed into the stoney wall. The clattering of his sword could be heard throughout the many walls of the tunnels as the other wolfs whimpered and vanished once more into the night. Gildarts searched the troll for a life-threatening wound as Droggle gasped and held his palm to his stomach.

“It’s no use, go while you still can, I’ve touched the walls will my fall.” Droggle managed through his teeth and the pain of his wound could be seen only in his weakened eyes.

Gildarts was silent as together they had time enough to tend to his abdominal wound and then suture the bloodied gash in his foot. “Will you be able to stand?” the Prime asked with his voice carefully pitiless.

“I thank you for staying with me. But, it won’ matter.” Droggle groaned under the unending pain of his heavy body.

“Why? What happens when-”

Sickening green slime began to drip from the walls, sludge and globs of goo seemed to melt from the ceiling and trickle into the ground near the troll’s extended leg. As though the liquid were laden with heat it made hot contact with the ground and made a TSHHHH! noise as it scalded next to his foot. Gildarts quickly gave the troll an unwanted hand up and they raced against the walls that folded around them.

They made their way through the melting walls and Gildarts managed to dodge the best of the acid sap that seeped from the cracks of silver above. Droggle winced as he applied pressure to his fresh stitches and Gildarts lead the way as the level of fluid flowing from the hollows grew from drips to steaming streams that lined the corners and ran for them along the walls. It seemed that the liquid was following them as it chased them deeper into the caverns.

Black. Their momentum carried them to a lightless room. Only darkness encompassed their sight and yet the rivers of acid did not leap for them as they were forced to stop or smash into the wall before them. “Well?” Gildarts questioned his guide and they both investigated with their hands to determine the density of the wall. “Droggle I think I can break it.”


“What? But it’s about five feet deep! Ye’ don’t even have a pick axe but it is very curious that this area the molten sludge isn’t following us. Hang on, I’ll see if I can strike a torch. There’s still plenty of oxygen in the air.” With a scrape against the walls a match was born into fire and they stared at a stone door. Behind them, waves of acid seemed to stop and crash into an invisible barrier not ten feet from their location. “Hah, ye better be able to, or else we’ll have to go swimmin’ through that.”

Gildarts extended his hand and quickly crushed the thick wall before them as it formed into a clean mound of square bricks. “Let’s go.”

“How’d ye manage that?” Droggle looked around as he held the torch up to the strange pattern and now laid his eyes on the Prime in a new light. His question went unanswered as they took a look at the new room they entered.

Gildarts’ mouth hung open and Droggle looked up at the domed ceiling in wonder. “Any idea what this room is?”

“Haven’t the slightest... It almost looks like a dwarven tomb.” Droggle responded as his eyes fell on the pale sphere was cut to resemble a stone igloo and they were inside of it. An ominous blue light melted in the same flicker as the torch, the room was empty and yet empty tones of death filled it.

“I’m not familiar with dwarven lore... But I think this place is...” Suddenly a transparent phantom approached Droggle and the Prime. The corners of its figure were darkened and it formed into what appeared to be a muscly dwarf with a thick beard.

“The place where the dead lie.” The dwarven voice intercepted his sentence, “Is there a reason you have come disrupt my people’s slumber?”

“Are you the gatekeeper?” Droggle asked as Gildarts was completely left in the dust, the Prime had no idea what was happening and could only see a dwarf that had appeared out of thin air speaking to them.

“Aye. I am. Which tunnel do you seek?” The dwarf spoke to the troll who responded with a gulp.

“We seek the crystal room. Take us there.”

“As you wish.” The ghost of a dwarf obeyed and the ground was opened up around them. Suddenly both Gildarts and Droggle fell through chutes of carved in the rock as they slid through the strangely smooth canals of rock. Winding curves of the darkness finally turned to light as their pace slowed and they reached a non-flooded tunnel.

“Alas we are saved!” Droggle shouted to the sliding Prime and smiled through his thick white beard as though a miracle had just happened.

Gildarts glanced around and tried to register the meaning of the events, but to no avail. So instead he determined as his ears popped they had somehow actually climbed upward in altitude. “Yes, but where are we?” He asked to himself as he was the first of the two to arrive in the next tunnel.

Another voice answered him, “At yer’ death.”

“Huh?” Gildarts turned his head casually to meet the voice in the dim light of a lantern.

“Oh sorry, thought ye’ were a troll.” the battle ready dwarf with a flowing brown beard said and didn’t sound very sorry.

“... Hey!” Gildarts was insulted for a moment, “Who are you calling a troll?”

Suddenly Droggle appeared from the same rocky tunnel as Gildarts and his eyes recoiled as they met the dwarf with seething menace.

“Who are you?” the dwarf asked with his huge broadsword in his hand, ready to strike the two down. “What business do you have here?”

“We’ve reached it Prime, this is the outside of the room of the dragon.” Droggle read the inscription on stone.

“So this must be the guard?” Gildarts guessed and politely asked, “I’ll be going in there.”

“Aye, I’m the guard. Which means there’ll be no way yer’ kind’ll get through.” The comment was directed at Droggle, the troll, who had lead the Prime to this very location. Droggle now limped with the remains of his stitched pride. Gildarts realized his guide was injured from the wolf attack and motioned a hand to him.

Gildarts allowed his eyes to fall on the dwarven warrior, “I’ll take you on.”

“You got guts human. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But I, Larken, am a dwarf of honor and will rise to your challenge to fulfill my duty.” Larken the guard dwarf introduced himself and raised his weapon in the glinting light.

“Gildarts.” the Prime told his name so Larken knew who he was fighting and raised his silver her hand as well as molded a fist. Gildarts appeared to be an elite hand to hand fighter and this could be distinguished by how relaxed he looked in the comfortable stance, as though he had fell many men with a single punch.

The dwarf charged and flung his broadsword high in the air, it swung with a crashing blow down on Gildarts’ left arm that raised to block the attack. This left the Prime’s abdomen open, which Larken used to his advantage as he swung his left foot into a swirling motion and readied a kick with great speed.

Gildarts allowed a grimace to crease his brow as he intercepted the dwarf’s boot with his fist and lightly punched him away as his sword clunked into the ground with the dwarf’s spirit. The fallen dwarf wobbled and stood once again. His balance was regained and his motivation anew. “You’re strong.” Larken’s eyes shined with admiration of his enemy.

“You’ll have to do better than that to beat me.” His comment sounded more like a warning than a dare. The Prime hadn’t moved his feet from his position and secretly hoped for Larken to surrender despite the kindling fire in both of their eyes.

Larken picked up his sword as it scraped into the rocks below. A flash of light and his speed grew as he aimed the plunging weapon to skewer the Prime’s heart. Gildarts quickly moved his silver hand to intercept the blow, and was almost too late as the strength collided with his arm with great impact. His body shuddered with the force as the solid rock beneath the Prime’s heels began to crumble as his body withstood the attack. Gildarts released a wave of energy into the sword which caused it to shatter and shining pieces clattered to the ground with the same echo of the dwarf’s hope.

Larken pulled out a large wooden club, the same club he had taken from a troll’s body not long before, and with a squint, he aimed a swing at the Prime. The wide movement exposed the dwarf’s belly where Gildarts landed a powerful punch. Larken was launched into the hard stone wall, had hit his head on the solid rock, and did not awaken from his slumber.

“Let’s go.” Gildarts ordered Droggle as he stepped over the defeated dwarf. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.” Gildarts said to his sleeping opponent as they opened the gates to the unknown.

“Behind this door is a dragon, are ye prepared?” Droggle asked as the wooden door began to creak against its hinges.

“I am.” Gildarts wasn’t much for words but fixed his eyes forward on the oncoming danger. He felt caution crease his bones and prickle his hair as he recalled the oh-so-distant memory he thought he had left behind.

...

The lair was pure ice, as though it were a castle in the stars, it glowed with the hues of faded silver moonlight. In the dim light that reflected off of the geode-like interior, the Prime could see the dragon that had slunk into the floor asleep in its cradle of frost. A great beast had nestled itself in the middle of the frosty room and above him there were rays of silver that streaked across the dragon’s white scales.

His feet carried him closer to the dragon’s head and as he stepped into the light, he was able to get a clear view of the full room. Now he was able to distinguish that the dragon’s eyes were not closed, but open and narrowed with a swirl of pain. Gildarts’ eyes caught on it’s disabled body. Thick and heavy chains had strapped into it’s wings and pinned the mighty beast to the ice of the frozen ground. The dragon was “secured” and as the Prime approached, the creature’s wings shuddered with the recollection of pain of the last man that had neared it when it could not defend itself.

The immortal frowned with anger as he gripped his fist. It was not the same. Gildarts knelt before the great dragon, once a mighty beast of the sky and gently placed his hand on its scaly head. This was not like the one he had met, not so full of wrath and hatred. Maybe even in this world he could find the power within him to destroy Acnologia.

Acnologia was a dragon from his home world. Gildarts, the S-Class wizard, had taken on the human-killing beast and he failed. As a result, he had lost his arm and leg as well as an organ to the dragon of death. And he hadn’t been able to defeat it. Gildarts rarely lost and never surrendered. Even in the moment he was grasped from his world, the dragon’s great wings descended on his entire guild and threatened to destroy them all. That is why he felt the need to so desperately return home, to save them from the reign of pain that was soon to follow.

Acnologia had no hope and considered itself God and humans insects to exterminate. Pure evil, hatred, if it even could feel such complex emotions. Acnologia could even speak but never would with a lowly human. His experience with it had emboldened his desire to live after his defeat and convinced him that dragons were a force to be reckoned with. But here, as he faced the atrocity that was the needless torturing of such a majestic creature, he couldn’t help but to feel pity. He held his right arm around the loss of his left steel appendage. Cold, vacant, and he could not feel where his fingertips brushed and skimmed the smooth surface. However, it was not just limbs he had lost in the battle against the dragon from his realm.

Now, the creature before him seemed soothed by the Prime’s compassion and the mighty Gildarts dipped his head and offered pride to the creature once more. “You who have slain so many, stranded here under your own palace as though it were a dungeon.” he paused, “This is the pain that only destruction brings.” After loosing both his arm and his leg, he knew the cost all too well.


“I wouldn’t step too close to that thing, Gildarts.” Droggle warned and the creature’s eyes opened once more, alert with terror and tormented with rage. “He’s killed many of our men. Dwarves too. He has brought havoc on all of the fields so that these endless pastures of ice are not our own.”

Noble Gildarts grimaced as the weight of morality tugged within him. He rose from his kneeling position that had allowed him to bow to the dragon’s head. “Can you not tell this is the female? She does not even have teeth. Either the dwarves thought they caught the real ice dragon or they are using her as bait.”

“WHAT?!” Droggle gasped and took a second look at the dragon, as he began to steady his gaze, she began to look more and more feminine and he noticed she lacked any essence of battle. She was not even adorned with claws for defense. “This is the wrong one? But she’s huge!”

“Yes, and she doesn’t have much time left.” Gildarts confirmed and glanced at the droplets of frozen tears that formed as dewfall around her eyes.

“So that means...” Droggle’s voice trailed as he heard a distant wind gusting in rhythmic cascades upon the icy lair.

Darkness grew under the shadow of its wings as it fell from the sky and broke through part of the ceiling in the crystalline cavern. The dragon growled with anguish from its position as it crashed through the cloudless night sky.

The room began to crumble and collapse. Droggle, who was still injured, was pushed back into the safety of the doorway where they had entered. Larken, the disoriented dwarf, felt his head spinning and had awoken to the sound of beating wings. The dwarf’s eyes grew as they met the deadly dragon he saw over the Prime’s cloaked shoulder.

Gildarts stood alone as he took in the beast that caused the room to quake with a single flapping of its wings. It was intelligent, it was deadly, and it was enraged. Its snake-like eyes fell upon its captured mate who had been tortured to near death.

“The dragon has come!” Larken stood and charged, picking up a nearby weapon that had been kept on the other side of the door in order to torture the female dragon. “YAHHHHHH!!!!!!” His voice swelled as his sword grew closer to the great beast and suddenly, as though the dragon of ice had no time to deal with such a small threat, took a large bite of Larken so that only his head remained.

Blood splattered against the silver dragon’s now very crimson teeth, the beast curved its lips into a smile and roared with rage. It was as if he was saying, This is what becomes of all those who stand against me! He thrashed about the room and the beast’s tail scraped along the walls, uprooting chunks of rock and crystal until it finally laid eyes on the Prime that was a little too close to the injured female.

Without hesitation an eruption of sharpened ice burst from its lips, Gildarts strained to intercept the flying daggers as he released his crash magic and the ice became cubes in the middle of the air. The dragon and man kept at this for a while until the dragon realized it was a draw. The human made no attempt to attack the beast and only offered a promise of defense.

A near-deafening eruption released from the dragon’s throat as it roared; the sound was so powerful that waves of frost creased into the ripping air. Gildarts clasped his ears in pain as the screech thickened with time and the dragon then raised his sharpened claws. There was no doubt that this was a beast that imitated Acnologia’s evil. The dragon’s wings had wrinkled to fit in the room and his jaws hung open to brandish the sharpness of his teeth. The depths of his black eyes welled with an endless fury as his silver scales blocked any of the remaining magic that flew towards him.

The Prime’s resolve was renewed once more and his cloak was thrown from his shoulders. It would only get in the way. He rose to face his fifty-foot tall opponent, as he showed his own battle scars and bandages that wrapped around his chest. Strong muscles flexed and Gildarts prepared another attack but before it could be deployed, the dragon’s breath coated the room in a chilling exhale. The dwarf’s rolling head became crisp as ice, the chained dragon was showered in particles of snow, and Gildarts rolled out of the way of the curling shards that grew from the ground and threatened to rip his flesh to bloodied shreds.

Steadfast eyes fell on the bloodthirsty beast. This was an enemy he knew he could not loose to. Its claw reached for him and scathed his shoulder as he dodged from its reach. Blood trickled from Gildarts’ right bicep and the slice of pain enlivened his rage. The room seemed to quake as another breath of razor icicles shot for him in a spray that grew around the chilling room. The Prime’s crash magic shattered the energy once more and he prepared a punch that collided with the beast’s scales in a swirl of white.

A howl of anguish released from the beast as its powerful jaws plunged forward to take a chunk out of Gildarts, who carefully evaded the maw with another delivered punch. The heavy weight of his fist alone drove into the dragon’s scales and crushed into his ribs. The beast’s wings waved desperately in the condensed room and shards of rock fell from the still intact ceiling. The heavy blocks fell throughout the room, a large one crashed into the chained dragon behind the killer reptilian at the same time chunks of stone scattered in the Prime’s wake.

It seemed like a draw. Gildarts could punch through the ice the dragon deployed and the dragon could withstand the force of his power with its impenetrable scales. There was only one other option that the Prime had yet to try and it took all his effort as he charged the punch and began to climb up some of the shambled remains of crystal as he drew closer to the dragon’s eyes. I will end you. Gildarts seemed more motivated by his previous failure than the intimidating carnage that would follow if the Prime was defeated. This was his last shot.

Gildarts leapt from the wall and into the dragon’s head as his glowing punch collided with the great dragon’s skull and it shattered upon impact. The ice dragon’s head became limp and fell to the ground with the wizard on it.

“That was almost too easy..” Droggle told himself as he watched the Prime seemingly beat the beast with a single punch.

With the death of the ice dragon, the female in chains shuddered. “The curse has been broken.” A smile seemed to crease her lips until the resolute presence began to fade with its ascending soul.

The approaching Gildarts couldn’t guess what the dragon was talking about, so to offer peace he removed the chains binding the bloodied creature, so she could sail the skies once more. Even in death.

Wait, did it just speak to me? The man turned back to look over his shoulder and lying there in the midst of where the female dragon had lain, once vanquished by her wounds and crushed under rubble, was now a woman. Scales of frost ascended into the air and rose from her body in swirls. In the place where the dragon died, a woman now remained. A silken gown shimmered to her toes, icy white hair curled into the stone floor. Her beauty filled the room with light.

Droggle had been limping now and at the loss of his foot, he had a few things on his mind. One of them being that he would have died had he fought with the Prime, who was quite evidently on a whole different level in battle. The troll’s eyes moved over to see the shattered scales rising into the stars through the little crack in the crystal ceiling. Instead of another dead dragon, his eyes fell on a majestic scene. Gildarts had hovered over the beautiful woman and held her limp hand in the shining room that was only lit with moonlight. For a moment it almost felt romantic as the man’s eyes revered the woman in her brave death, but even from a distance Droggle could see the frost forming on the smoothness of her cold hand. ”Is that the princess of Estadia?”

In his hands Gildarts held the woman’s human body. It was a tragic death. The man knew more than any other of the many despairs of tragedy. The unspoken words of the woman’s suffering prompted immediate sorrow in his heart. The worst part was that every tragedy could -in one way or another- be avoided. Gildarts gave the magnificent woman one last longing look, to assure that her suffering would have meaning and be carried on in him; her face brought him life, even in death. The Prime stood now as he parted his hand from the corpse of the elven princess and glanced at the remains of the ceiling before being beckoned by the troll’s question. The orc grunted with shock as he neared and was offered only a quizzical expression from Gildarts as response to the name.

“The Princess of Estadia... Estadia was a great kingdom from many years ago. It has since fallen. However, in the lore I distinctly remember them saying that their princess was no more after a curse that befell the land could not be cured.” A curse... The Prime’s expression seemed even more solemn as the troll continued, “Worry not, Prime, for it is good that if she was not fated to die with her people, it is more important that she may still rest with them.”

While his words were true, Gildarts couldn’t help but to feel as though her death could have been avoided, A curse that turned her into a dragon... What a mysterious world. And if their kingdom was lost, there was no place for her to be buried. After all that struggle, who knew how many years she endured, living with the face of a monster because no one had slain the very dragon that held her captive? “What was her name?”

“Huh? Oh, uh...” The troll scratched his grey and wrinkled head for a moment, thinking back to the stories passed on from the previous generation, “Daughter of Queen Anastasia... Princess Thalaeria.”

With the last of his magic he released some crash energy into the domed ceiling in order to give her a proper burial. It was his farewell to the lost maiden. Surely her will to live while bound to those chains was only motivated by a wish to survive and see her kingdom once more. The two dodged the giant crystals falling from the sky; a room designed to hold a dragon, yet it could not even hold the rage of a single man.

In their hastened departure, Droggle grabbed in his hand the frozen head of the dead dwarf and a few of the dragon’s scales and crammed them into his pockets.

“What’s that for?”

“Decoration.” The troll spoke with a grin and his sharp teeth glinted savagely in the light. Maybe Droggle planned to bring it home as compensation for loosing his foot.

...

Droggle muttered, “Prime, we will be nearing the village soon.” Gildarts was the dog and in the makeshift sled, the wounded Droggle suddenly stood up and began to walk beside him, lightening the load they pushed.

“Why is it that the dwarves and the trolls do battle? It seems like needless death to me. Are your differences really so vast?” Gildarts asked and pushed the lighter sled.

“There are many reasons and one cannot be singled out with an equal solution. Simplicity is a lifestyle that is not always easy to maintain here in this land of ice and death. But Prime, I’ll be honest with you,” Droggle stopped his hiking pace that seemed to cause him to wince and looked back at the human, “Speak this to none of the others. I may not look like it, but I am a half dwarf.”

Gildarts let his eyes size up the troll. Droggle looked like a troll to him. With the fiery intensity in the beast’s eyes he could tell this information was not to be taken lightly and his sincerity made his very words true. For Droggle to trust an outsider with this information had meant the words he spoke had probably eaten him alive as he waited all this time to find someone worthy to tell.

“I could be killed if anyone knew, it is a reason I cannot have children of my own when the time comes. So I travel instead.” Droggle admitted to his endless wanderings and revealed in a hint of a flaw that he fled from his truth.

“Then why not go to live with the dwarves?” Gildarts reasoned.

“What? Are you insane? I’m a troll. They would kill me. Dwarves hate trolls almost as much as trolls hate dwarves. We’ve only brought their species hardship in times that should have been peace.”

“But you’re also dwarven, are you not?” his prime understanding was not enough to fully see this fact could start a war in his absence.

“Aye, I am, but me father has been long since dead. An’ me mother is an old hag. You’re a great and powerful warrior, should they put me to death some day, I wanted you to know the reason why.” Droggle’s eyes fell to his wounded leg, as though it wouldn’t be long now.

“What? Your own people would kill you for such a thing?” Gildarts felt his eyebrows crease together in agitation.

“It is not something we can control, the rules are-” Droggle suddenly stopped the Prime mid-step by extending a furry white arm in front of him. Gildarts followed the half-troll’s gaze into the white land before them and could only hear the whirls of wind twisting through the air. “Something’s out there...”

The troll continued, “Oh no,” Droggle glanced at the human’s unbroken composure before imposing a weighted look of concern on him that remained until Gildarts was forced to acknowledge it.

“Something the matter?” he asked and his eyes searched the stirring the white blurred darkness.

“So soon? I didn’t want to see the runt get thrashed this early... Not after killin’ the dragon...” Droggle seemed to be talking to himself or the destiny that had been delivered with the calmed wind. “When the wind becomes silent, it is then that we have to be aware of...”

RUMP... RUMP... RUMP...! The clamoring sound of thunder distinctly resembled footsteps.

“What is that?” The wizard’s head spun as he glanced over his snow coated shoulder and could not see far in the darkness at the source of the approaching creature.

THUD! A giant foot stomped the ground before him and Gildarts fell to the fluffy ground as his eyes widened in awe.

Droggle explained in his gruff troll voice, “That’d be the Snow Giant.”

Suddenly a huge toe could be seen before in the gray dawn light, it formed from the shadows into complete fat pair of shoes. The beast’s big toe protruded from its ripped boot and almost made up the entire bottom half of Gildarts body. His eyes carefully ascended upward but was only able to see just past its knees before darkness and snow meshed together and blocked the rest from view.

“Yer’ outta luck. They don’t like travelers and can’t be reasoned with.” Droggle continued to mention before a gigantic hand seemed to scoop down from the heavens in an attempt to grasp Gildarts. As this happened, Droggle passively watched as he kept his bloodied and bandaged toes from the white ice below him. At least the beast would get the executioner’s job done quickly.

Gildarts wouldn’t be taken by such a simple attack and instead quickly rolled himself between the giant’s colossal feet. Droggle was still a troll who loved battles that ended in casualties and snickered at the Prime’s mistake as a huge foot raised to stomp on the small man. The human braced for squishing impact of the sole of the giant’s shoe by releasing a charge into the ground below him as the weight of the mammoth man became too intense for his shoulders to take alone. “Wow, you’re a big guy aren’t ya?” He grit his teeth as the ground cracked beneath him and the pressure of the crushing blow seemed to evaporate with the transfer of where the momentum would collide, giving Gildarts an outlet of escape.

The giant being bellowed a loud grunt, “GRAHHGGG!” As it searched for the human that had caused him to stumble and nearly fall. Just as Gildarts could not see the majority of his foe, darkness was his ally against the giant warrior as well. A huge chain suddenly began to propel into the air in a tremendous whipping noise before suddenly, WHOOSH! The Prime’s hair and cloak flapped against the intense wind of motion as a massive weapon waved past and brushed against his nose.

GA-DOOOSH!

Earth quaked below his feet and he staggered to remain standing upright. Thunder from the very being’s movement shook the ground which clattered as the burly being had taken a shot in the dark with his medieval flail that struck the icy ground. The black spiked ball attached by a chain into a stick seemed to be quite hefty, not to mention the entire weapon was twice as big as Gildarts. He eyed the spikes on the ball, I’d hate to have gotten hit with that thing...

Gildarts had a fighting strategy he always depended on. It was a balance of sheer force, headstrong will, and surpassing the limited extent of his own power. Not all of these could be fully realized in a duel against a Giant dummy. Still, he had yet to plant an attack on the beast and paid no mind to the troll that seemed to be cheering for the Giant as he idly watched from the sidelines.

“Give it up Prime, there’s no way you can win against this huge cretin!” Droggle jeered as the immortal seemed to be preparing something within the folds of his hands.

“Prepare for a fall!” Was Gildarts’ only response before his coiled fist made contact with the beast’s large achilles heel. A white glow seemed to come from the Prime’s fist as it recoiled from the sheer impact.

“ARRRGH!” The Giant howled in pain as he grasped his foot and lost his balance. Instead of falling, the titan grabbed his flail weapon once more and took a swung at the origin of the pain: Gildarts. The Prime had since moved from the spot but because of the vast range of this particular melee weapon a rusted spike was aimed to eviscerate him in one blow. There was no time to dodge and no way out of the attack. Ripples of air allowed Gildarts to anticipate the trajectory of the blow before it happened. At this, he charged his magic.

Determination seeped from the man’s expression as his chin lowered to brace for the oncoming bombardment. No matter the confidence he exuded nor the form of defense he created, his readied stance could not prepare him from the exertion of the blow that would be delivered. The immortal’s silver arm was raised and his resolve increased the energy of the shield that had formed in front of him. But the force of the single spike was too strong for his magic alone and around it, the protection magic burst. Suddenly a grating sound could be heard from the two metals now grinding together; the speared point seemed to crush into his silver hand. In the moment, the steady swing plunged through his metal appendage and the Prime was battered away and thrown from his feet.

He glided through the air and his heels slid against the coarse ground. As he slowed to a stop, the giant’s war cry rattled the air in a senseless howl of desperation. “I will not loose to someone who knows nothing of honor! Never will I be defeated by a killer like you.” Gildarts spoke under his breath to the giant and prepared another attack.

The colossal adversary swung again, this time missing and overshooting his aim. Gildarts got a glimpse at only the large body parts of the giant and never saw the full size of the figure, which only told him that the beast was beyond his reach. Gildarts saw the wooden log before the speared ball, as it threatened to slice through the air and hammer into his ribs, yet he held his ground. “Shatter!” He declared as a wave of energy was released into the abiotic weapon and his hands clenched painfully against the dominance that a single attack had over him. The base of the spiked ball broke and flinders of wood spread through the air as Gildarts was once again thrown from the ground.

Unfortunately, the unruly beast continued his swing and the wooden stick upward as it crashed into the Prime’s ribs and drove in a winding collision upwards. In this motion he scooped from the ground and found himself balancing on the swaying weapon many feet from the now distant ground. A blaze of wind and ice sliced the Prime’s cheeks as the higher altitude made his fingers purple and numb they were bitten by frost.

There was a huge drop below his feet, one that would kill him instantly should he decide to jump or fall. Dizzily, he made haste to stand on the broken bat before running along the wooden weapon as though it were a bridge. The giant grunted and noticed the spiked ball of its weapon was no longer attached by the chain at the end of the spike. As it noticed the weight difference, it caught sight of the puny human running at him. The colossal bat was slowly raised, as if against Gildarts, which only propelled the Prime into the air and towards the giant’s face. This prepared him for a near-perfect launch.


Gildarts extended his punch as he flew toward the creature’s nose and with a crash, the bones of the giant’s nose shattered as he drove the titan to the ground.

The Prime fell too, with the great effects of the momentum, a little more gently as he held onto a bed of the creature’s fuzzy beard hair.

The creature was knocked into the ground and the collision it made as it rammed into the icy rock below crushed the earth below. Gildarts silently growled at the sleeping beast’s bloodied nose and stepped off.

[Gildarts]

With their return to Zul’Gurand, Droggle presented the items he had collected as proof of their travels. A decapitated dwarf’s head, the frosty scales of an ice dragon, and what appeared to be an ivory tooth pried from the giant’s gums. Gildarts still pondered how the troll had spared the time to gather all these articles, but spared no further thought as a strange unspoken dispute began to rise in the room of the many trolls.

“What’s the meaning of this, Droggle?” The grandfather troll grunted as he approached the table where the items had been scattered, “What?! Has he really defeated the Dragon of the West?”

“No puny hu-man could survive such a thing!” A troll protested from the corner of the room.

“Now it has become a test of pride.” Droggle retorted with his eyes narrowed and his gray-blue skin.

“Aye, but is he worthy of our clan?”

“That ain’ even a question. Is he really worthy of his life after the conquest? No troll can allow a human to live with such power without challenging our champion.” The bickering between trolls began.

Someone pounded the table and with a hollow thud, the dwarf head rolled to the ground. “A duel shall be issued by nightfall.”

“But who shall face the human?”

The sickening sound of crushing bones could be heard silencing the chatter of the bar, all eyes looked to the one-handed troll that had stomped on the dwarf's frozen head with his boot and crushed through it’s skull in an effortless step. The grandfather troll’s glare could be felt in the tense air as his chest puffed, “I’ll do it.”

“Drink up and gain your strength back, for you will have a real battle on your hands. Elder here has never lost.” Droggle coached the Prime, “He may not look it an’ despite his age, he’s the best there is.”

Gildarts allowed his eyes to follow the secondary troll who had an axe in place of his other hand. In a way they were similar. Elder spoke, “So Prime, are you ready to fight for your life?”

...

“Kill... Kill... Kill... Kill...!” The chants of the people advocating his death only enlivened him. The scent of rotting blood stunk in the musty room as Gildarts was lead to a strange looking chamber and told to drink a mix of decaying liquid.

“Here, it will help you in your battle.” Droggle prompted the foul smelling ale into the Prime’s hands.

“I only drink after I’ve won.” Gildarts lightly touched the rim of the mug away from him with a relieved exhale.

Droggle smirked a bit, “You will be facing our people’s best today, it is a great honor, even if you die.”

That’s right... Now I fight for my life against the very people I just completed a mission for. But, not all cultures were the same, and according to Droggle it seemed as though battle was the most respectable way to die in their tradition. Now they plan to kill me as a reward... The Prime put his silver palm to cool his forehead. It had been a long day.

“Choose your weapon,” Droggle asked and displayed a long line of tools created for the sole purpose of mangling flesh. Gildarts held up a crunched fist, he had gotten this far with it: His ultimate weapon. It was held up still as he entered the theater of war.

“YARRR!” Elder’s laughter filled the arena-type room as trolls cheered for their champion.

“What’s he doing?” Gildarts held his breath as the champion in armor finished off a youthful looking troll and searched for his next victim to kill.

“He’s warming up, you can do it too, but if I were you, I’d conserve my strength for the real fight.” Droggle informed until Gildarts stepped forward and was thrown in the midst of the distasteful “warm-up” routine.

“YOU!” The man’s voice boomed in the room, silencing all laughter and destruction despite how each mingled together as though they were long lost friends. A pool of the dead troll’s blood surrounded his boots, “I am not familiar with your culture, troll, but where I’m from, crushing the young is one of the cruelest things imaginable.”

“HAH! EXACTLY!” The troll champion laughed and the room burst with applause. It seemed some strange currency was being passed around and Gildarts guessed that it was the betting bin and remembered his odds well. Ten-to-one. Elder continued, “No fear for death, no fear for our enemies. We trolls do not cringe at the sight of blood as the weak humans do. We trolls fight to the death and by surviving, we win the right to spill the very blood of our enemies. That is what it means to be a troll.”

“I’ll tell you then, what it means to be a man. The most honorable men I’ve met are those who offer mercy to their opponents once they have fallen. It may seem as though sparing life is a weakness because of a lack of ability to follow through. To you, allowing your opponent to live means a man has a weak resolve. But the world where I am from... Honor is seen as the strongest and most respectable ability of all, so that each warrior may live to fight another day.”

“Hah! Humans have some funny ideas, don’ they!” The troll champion spoke to the roaring crowd, “You will get no mercy from me. I fight with something stronger than your puny honor, it is called power. I use it with my axe to vanquish my foes. Or maybe you have heard of it? Honor is not needed where war belongs.” The troll schooled the Prime.

“Now, where’s the challenge in that?” Gildarts grinned at the troll’s drooping smile. The creature’s warped face recoiled in disgust at the jolting insult.

“Take that back human!” The brute growled and showed his sharp teeth, filed into spears as if to rip the very flesh from his victims.

Drums began to pound in the empty room, filling the battlefield with an even pace that each warrior’s heartbeat would match to. The troll champion began to circle the outskirts of the arena, which was flat and dirt covered. Gildarts remained where he was, not much of the boxing type, and exhaled a foggy breath into the crisp air. It would soon begin.


His eyes blazed with fire as the sticky crimson blood stained his boots in the puddle below.

“Look at this, he actually thinks he can defeat me!” The troll champion jeered as he provoked the Prime for the singular purpose that Gildarts would fight him with his best.

Tribal drums continued to clap with a snowballing pace, Gildarts eyed his ferocious opponent once more. The gray troll towered over him by at least a foot, gray skin was laden with armor on his torso and the skins of his defeated flowed in a beige cape to the troll’s heels. The champion troll was a notorious dwarf killer, almost as famous as the ice dragon Gildarts had slain. The troll prepared for yet another duel and Gildarts felt his expression harden from the repulsed anger at their people. The mighty Prime threw off his black cloak at the same time the troll champion removed his cape of skin. Each fell to a crumpled pile on the ground while they matched one another’s gaze and took a step closer.

Death will not be delivered so easily to me. Gildarts stood with his ripped muscles bulging from the strength of his arms, meanwhile he faced off against a troll who had thick armor covering his torso. Cut along Gildarts’ torso were bandages and stitched scars which made it seem as though he were still recovering from a battle that had damaged him long ago, one waged in his home verse. The Prime remained fixed on his opponent, focus and concentration drowned out the rest of the room’s chaos. Drums faded, smiling orcs became shadows, and the greedy clatter of change into the basket fell ominously silent.

A breath filled his lungs, the troll too had readied his gaze on his Prime opponent. The puny human, he was sure, was no match for a seasoned veteran such as he. The human even showed his weakness as he bore marks of injury on his chest that appeared still unhealed. Did he expect pity? Two lost appendages, where as the troll champion only had one. Little did they know each had lost theirs from a dragon. Elder could not loose to this man, his ego, no matter how savage, could not bare it. Not with the leader of Zul’Gurand attending the festivities. The real question of the two warriors was not who was stronger, but which of them had the stronger will to survive.

The drumming reached its fastest pace before stopping altogether and the fight commenced with the troll growing close and offering a smile that was of the same curved degree as the crescent shamed axe he had for a hand. Suddenly the force of the axe was grappling with the Prime's metallic forearm and the troll had immediately put him on defense.

Gildarts growled and felt the thundering blow of the troll champion’s punch collapse into his abdomen. The Prime nearly stumbled over due to the immediate sense of fresh pain. It woke up his muscles and sent ripples of enflamed torment shooting up his chest. Grating metal shrieked in his ears. He grit his teeth as another punch collided into his jaw, it was nearly shattered as the Prime was easily pushed aside by the sheer weight behind the tremendous force. His eyes rolled beneath their lids as his head spun and his stomach clenched in a nauseating twist.

The troll’s expression grew into one of satisfaction as he used the base of his hammer-hand and rammed the smooth part into the kneeling Prime’s head. The rock around Gildarts’ skull shattered as he was pounded and thrashed into the wall by the champion's combination of power and speed. The immortal was put to sleep by the consistent pounding of his skull that he mistook in his disorientation, as the familiar pounding of battle drums. With the next hit, the immediate agony delivered a ricocheting shock to his body that almost, almost flinched at the pain.

First blood had been drawn as it spattered to the sand dusted floor and Gildarts could not withstand another blow to his head, at the last second he dodged his neck from the mallet and countered with a weaker blow to the troll’s shoulder.

“Now, now, ye’ll have to better than that.” The vicious grin of Elder twisted into the movements that shook the muscles into the champion’s next move. A swing of his sharp axe was only stopped by the metal of Gildarts’ left elbow. Gildarts saw another opening in the troll’s chest but could not land the blow, instead his other fist was pinned by the troll who seethed with anger. “This is not your best, human, now is it... Human? You may be one of the greatest warriors of your kind, but against a troll as great as I, ye are just another pest. Show me the real weapon you yield, for against me, you cannot hope to win with your fists alone.”

Maybe the creature was right, Gildarts charged his magic into his fist, seeing no other option. Desperation to survive kept the blood pumping in his veins. Blood from his head trickled down in stagnant streams that lined his torso in stripes and had sprayed scarlet specks on his gleaming metallic arm. The weight of pain was heavy on his shoulders and Gildarts felt his eyelids grow heavy when he attempted to suck in air but was held by the throat, strangled by the creature’s single hand. 


Elder held up his weakened opponent for the entire troll population to see as Gildarts could not even move to flex his toes. The charge in his palm was lost as the room began to darken around him, Was it all over? A flash of the princess in the ice cave suddenly shook him from the dream-like state he had entered. The crowd of trolls cheered as the readied for the troll champion’s famous final move: Thunder stomp. Gildarts’ head was clasped in the troll’s fist before suddenly in the darkness he felt gravity sway and change. A powerful launch propelled him into the ground. At the same moment he was thrown with tremendous force, a sliver of his magic was released into the ground below them; Elder lost his balance as the earth broke beneath him and seemed to launch little cubes into the air due to the crash Gildarts’ had made when he was trounced into the ground.

Cracked pieces of earth were shaken off of the troll champion, who blinked away the haze of dust from his eyes. The troll champion stood in awe of the power he had delivered that blow with. In all his years, he had never before applied such power. The audience screamed approval and coins were flung in the air. Their champion had killed yet another human.

Amidst the cheers and clinking of ale-filled glass, Gildarts scrambled from the hole in the earth he had created, his bloodied skull had stained his auburn hair and half of his face seemed to race with rusty blood. The troll had turned his back from his defeated opponent and it was to his and all of their surprise when his renewed and confident voice was heard once more, “I’m not done with you yet.”

The champion’s blood froze, He had managed to survive that? “Yer’ a real monster,” the troll offered a faltering smile as his carnivorous teeth flashed.

“That was my warm up.[/i]” His deep voice casually offered back, almost betrayed by the pain searing against his throat. The retort shocked the old troll who staggered for a moment in his place, unsure if he was to believe fully it and sized up his opponent once more. Something had changed about the Prime during the battle, an unrefined aim had sharpened in his gaze as the Prime now stared unwaveringly at his enemy. The air seemed to crackle with magic as the glare broke through the bristling silence. Gildarts extended his hand mercilessly while his expression was stained with blood and anger, soon after, white magic was launched toward his foe in a netted pattern.

Before the troll had the chance to dodge, his armor was scratched with the grazing energy and he felt the coolness of his blood as it was drawn from his freshly sliced skin. Not deep cuts, but thick enough to enrage the monster who now would have more battle scars to add to the tattooed collection hidden beneath his foggy gray armor.

The immortal charged again, his eyes menacing, and another blast was released into his enemy. Slices once more formed through the troll’s armor and inched into his skin. Chunks of the gray armor began to shatter and fall to pieces. A beastly growl was released and the champion charged with his melee axe once more as he aimed a killing blow to bash into the puny human’s head. Suddenly, the immortal's eyes narrowed as though the troll had played into Gildarts’ assumption and the ground below his feet rippled, causing the chase to be more difficult. This didn’t stop the final boss from finally reaching the Prime with more strength in his swing than ever before. Gildarts intercepted the swing with his silver arm and caught the planted force of the axe with in his metallic palm. A scary smile formed around his stubble as the Prime held back the troll’s immense power seemingly with ease, “Now, you’ll have to do better than that.”

Gildarts released a glowing white punch into the champion’s abdomen and Elder was thrown off his feet and into the wall behind him. An indent had formed around the collapsed troll, who took a moment to stand and catch his breath, he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

The barbaric troll rose from his stupor and once again faced off against the deadly Prime. Gildarts moved his head to the side and narrowed his eyes into a determined squint. The troll champion had never seen such menace and coiled his fist in retaliation to the power displayed.

The warriors clashed like gladiators once more in the middle of the colosseum. Hands and feet were dodged, flesh was grazed, and bites of flesh were taken as the hook of the champion’s axe-hand sliced into human skin and sprayed a splash of blood as Gildarts endured the deep embedded axe in his bicep and landed the final punch on his opponent. It glowed with traces of white magic and the troll fell into the ground in a soundless strike.

He caught his breath for a moment before grasping the burning wound of his arm from which blood dribbled and poured. Pain crawled to his throbbing skull, a high pitched chime wouldn't leave his ears, and his crunched ribs were repulsed by every breath he took. “Tch... Maybe I over did it?” The immortal winced in pain and applied ample pressure to the wound that would not stop gushing. The wobbling man took a weakened knee next to the defeated troll champion and his shoulders stooped in acceptance of the pain that overwhelmed his body. He could feel the warm sensation of his own blood as it flowed to the battered parts of his body and seeped out of the lashed skin. His head dipped into a bow, for he could no longer hold it up against the burdening weight of fatigue and ache. The iron taste of his own blood coating his tongue was a taste he would not soon forget and a memory he would carry with him from this day onward.

Sweat gleamed on his shoulders and matted his darkened hair, there was a new champion of combat in Zul’Gurand and his name was Gildarts.

...

The troll champion himself awoke in a blaze of thrashing. “He... Won. I’m alive?! THAT BASTARD!”

“Yer’ the only troll ever to survive a duel to the death. It is as though you have vanquished death itself!” a smiling nurse told him.

“But, I lost. It don’ matter...”

“Sure it does,” her smile lifted his spirit, “Now you can gain even more experience in the years to come. You’ll live to battle another day. Or at least, that’s what he said. Pretty wise for a human, wouldn't you say?” The nurse folded over the clean tarps and Elder glanced around, he saw his arms and legs covered with bandages. It was that good of a battle, eh? A smile folded the wrinkles of his gray lips.

“Is he still here?”

“Well after we bandaged you both up, you fell asleep. Right now I believe he should be...” The jingling of the town’s tribal bells tolled and the troll lurched too quickly from his sleeping position and sat upright. He put on his moccasins and strode off in pursuit of the Prime.

Droggle handed him a strange looking weapon, it was coated in a gooey looking substance and Gildarts recoiled instead of touching it. There seemed to be lines of “trophies” dangling from it as well as other strange looking talismans that the mage couldn’t place. A pile of tarps was offered as a reward for the Prime’s valiant ordeal.

“HOLD IT!” Elder shouted, interrupting the festival and made his way around the pack of orcs, heads rose to sneer at the disgraced troll. Gildarts looked lazily over, he still felt nausea sinking in his stomach from the battle not a day before. It had taken its toll on his body and incapacitated him for a short time as even more bandages had been added to his collection.

“Get outta here Elder,” Droggle warned, “This is the anointing ceremony, you of all trolls should know that. The human won fair and square and it was his choice to let you live.”

“I know.” The troll champion raised his head with fresh pride and grattitude, “I wanted to thank him for that. And I wanted to give him my axe.”

“No, you don’t mean...?”

“Aye. For the first time in me life, someone smaller than me has proven to be stronger. Ye’ should be commended.” Elder began to go through the motions to break the axe from his arm.

“I don’t want your arm, troll.” Gildarts spoke and revealed his own steely appendage, “I have my own. Use yours to fight off your enemies and give a better life to your people.”

“Ye’ know, I just might. Trolls, may I introduce Zul’Gurand’s new champion, Gildarts!” Elder stepped down from the platform and allowed Gildarts all the glory.

The cheers of excitement died away and Gildarts was left holding a creepy looking axe, it rippled with power and it seemed magic even flowed through the tradition with traces of troll lore. Later, he was told by Droggle it had Elder’s blood dribbled on it so that his strength would follow him to battle but the Prime thanked the troll people for their hospitality anyway.

“Where will you go from here?” Droggle, his once-enemy and now forever-friend had asked him with underlying tones of curiosity that hinted at accompanying him on his journey.

“I will be going to the Black Gate. It is not a place for mortals like you to wander near.” Gildarts shook the half-troll’s hand and shared the honor of his triumph with him, even in the Prime’s departure.

The burden of solitude hung on his shoulders once more. As above, snow danced with the many stars that were cradled by the silhouette of the mountain, reminding Gildarts that he was not alone.

...

“What happened next Grandpa?” The young troll asked the elder as he was bounced once again on the old troll’s leg.

“Hah, I’ll get to it, don’t rush me. I may be old, but I ain’t gonna die tomorrow!” The troll champion ruffled his grandkid’s hair with his good hand and took in another steady breath of life as he was warmed by the fire.

“It was on this day, I learned a valuable lesson -from a human if you can believe it- and I was shown the true power of a man’s will. It was then, after all that had happened, I realized my own folly. Perhaps even, the folly of the trolls, and though I had been defeated by him, I did not loose my will to fight again for tomorrow.”

“WOW! Grandpa, you’re so cool! Tell me another story!” The youth’s eyes grew with excitement, they had spent hours in that little room together, and it was there that they would spend hours more.