Day 11, Week 1 - Into the Halls

[Corporal Light]

A few minutes later…

“Danish!” Ballad shouted, having stopped just at the bottom of a sharp incline leading up to the woods they had passed through to get to the Hills. He had been yelling his name for quite some time already, asking him to come out and talk to him. That he had to tell him something. He never did, though; in fact, he hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of his escort since they had parted ways. Frankly, it made the gunsmith feel uneasy. Not just the fact that he couldn’t find the dwarf, but because of exactly what he was doing. What if he was dead wrong in assuming that his explanation would’ve been enough to make up for the shit he put the dwarf through this whole time?

No, he thought, no, he had to tell him. His actions were justified, just like it was now. He never did anything in his life without reason, and he wasn’t going to start now. Like SPB had said, trusting others allowed others to trust you.

It was about time he started to follow that.

The inventor ran up the incline, reaching the snow-covered pine trees. The snowfall was visibly less intense, most likely thanks to the trees themselves bearing the brunt of them. He kept his eyes on the tracks, making sure he was still following them through the piles of dead pine needles and pine cones. He brushed aside various branches as he trailed them, his back aching a bit as he did so as he occasionally looking around to see if the sentry had stopped to set up camp or to take a short rest at some point.

He then stopped, staring at the relatively brown earth. The stubby little prints in the ground were farther apart than before, a longer distance between each one. Frowning, he knelt down, his his uncovered eye inspecting the ground.

It looked like he was running.

Turning his head back, he saw another set of prints a few feet behind the ones belonging to the dwarf’s. They were clearly humanoid and barefoot.

He stood up, now no longer seeing the point of being swift. He followed the scene, each step slow and calculated. Eventually, after a few moments of walking, he saw a red splotch of blood.

He stopped, observing the traces of blood as it flowed past a large tree to his right. Moving forward, he placed his hand on the tree, peeking out from past the corner.

In the middle of the clearing was Danish, his head removed from his body and placed firmly on top of a nearby log.

He sighed, shaking his head. The gunner couldn’t say he was surprised at this turn of events, though he could say it made the entire search for him completely pointless and screwed him over. At best, this meant something else was in the woods with him, which meant more goddamn fighting, which in his condition, with only his most major wounds being properly healed, would not entirely end well. At worst? Dane was going to be pissed off.

But there was no time for lamenting the deceased. He had to get back to Nierhin. He started to move towards the corpse, prepared to loot it to find the map.

Just then, before he could even enter the clearing, he felt the edge of serrated bone against his neck.

---------------------------

“Ain’t gonna tell ya twice, mon. Hands up or ya be joinin’ ya friend dere.”

His unidentified captor growled those words directly into the gunsmith’s ear, forcing the blade of his knife into his throat for good measure. Ballad remained as still as a statue, not making any movements that would aggravate the knife-wielder. He slowly raised his hands, complying with the thing’s demands.

“Good work dere, mon. I was wonderin’ why dis dwarf was all on his lonesome.”

The inventor glanced towards his right, hearing the sound of rustling leaves and pine needles as a purple humanoid walked out into the clearing. It was wearing some kind of leather shirt that hanged loosely from its torso, with tight leather pants to match. The humanoid held a serrated sword in his left hand, one made out what appeared to be bone. It had giant, blueish hair on its head that looked like a shrub, and it was staring at him with piercing green eyes. What was most obvious, however, were the two long pairs of tusks growing out of its mouth.

Trolls…

“Turn ‘im around.”

Ballad felt a hand grasp his side, whirling him around before pushing him up against the tree. He let out a pained grunt as his injured back smacked against the tree, staring at his captor. The knife wielder was green-skinned, looking similar to his own, and its tusks were a lot shorter than the purple troll’s. It did not appear to have a shirt on; rather, it had two straps that seemed to be part of a backpack filled with supplies on its back. It was glaring at him, its grip on its bone knife tight as it pushed against his chest.

The purple troll walked towards them, moving to the right of his greenskin companion. It was smiling as it spoke to him.

“Now, before we spill ya blood all over the earth here, it would be ratha helpful if ya answered some questions, would ya?” It said, crossing his arms as it stared at him.

The gunsmith let out a deep sigh before dryly replying, “What do you require…”

The troll, who was obviously the leader of the duo, chuckled before saying, “Well, firstly, we’d like to know who ya are and what ya doin’ in the Fields.”

Great… he thought to himself, leaning his head back against the tree as he glanced down towards the knife.

“Firstly, I am identified as Ballad,” he said, pausing as if to hear a gasp or at least see them flinch. After no such response, he continued, “and I am here to end the war in the Fields.”

“So ya fightin’, mon?” it said, sounding a little excited, “that be good. Who’s side ya on?”

“Does it matter?”

“....Yes,” it said, eyeing him in a suspicious manner.

For a while, nobody said anything, with only the wind brushing past the trees providing any real sound to the otherwise dead silent confrontation. The inventor looked around, seeing he was effectively driven into a corner. If he made any sudden movements, his throat would’ve been cut to pieces, and he would have to wait three more days before he could finish this stupid errand. And by then, if the trolls hadn’t already looted the poor bastards corpse, they probably would’ve mustered up a force to destroy the village. Normally, he wouldn’t see this as a step back so much as a step forward, but right now he NEEDED to get into the Dwarven Army. It was the only way for his plan to work.

He looked back towards the two trolls, “I would love to remain and converse, but I must be gone from here. I am on important business.”

“Important DWARF business, I presume?” The purple troll said, raising its bone sword up to his head, “We ain’t stupid, mon. Ya be consortin’ with the dwarves; that means ya know some stuff the boss could use.”

Shit, he thought, gritting his teeth, “And what do you wish of me?”

“Well..” it said, moving its hand into the backpack of its green-skinned partner. It then pulled out a piece of parchment: the map to Nierhin.

“We’d like ya to translate.”

“You’re illiterate?”

“No. Can’t read common.”

“And how can you figure I won’t lie to you?”

The troll paused, its eyes darting around the area, clearly deep in thought.

Well, looks like we are in a bit of a situation.

The gunsmith looked to his left, seeing the shade had reformed next to him. It was standing with his arms around an invisible tree, mimicking his every motion. Just like before, smoke rose from his every body part, dissipating into the atmosphere.

You could definitely say that.

Not to worry, though. There’s a solution.

What kind?

Just remember Agern.

His eyes widened. Of course! The crazy old man had turned into some kind of smoke monster after he had killed everyone else in that village. Must have had some kind of effect on him, as he nearly broke his pickaxe into two with just one swing.

The question was, though, how could he do it?

“Ya give a good point, mon,” the troll said, stashing the map back into the backpack as Ballad looked back towards him. It halted, glancing from the inventor to where he was staring at.

“What were ya lookin’ at?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe ya.”

“I speak the truth.”

“What did ya see?!”

“I am not answering any more inane questions!” he said, glaring back at the duo.

The purple leader sighed, shaking its head as it lowered its sword. It the shrugged, walking towards the dwarf corpse.

“Whateva. The boss can get somethin’ outta ya.”

“Hear that, milk-drinker?” The green troll finally said, gripping Ballad’s coat, “ya comin’ with us.”

“I am NOT GOING ANYWHERE!” he shouted, thrusting his fist towards his stomach.

Suddenly, his arms seemed to rupture, gashes forming on them underneath his clothes. Just as his fist connected, his entire body became enveloped by smoke as his eyes turned a fiery white. What would’ve normally been a regular punch to push back became a piercing strike, forming a massive hole where the troll’s stomach used to be as his fist tore right through skin and bone. Blood and gore flew everywhere, with the inventor’s black fist covered in the red goo.

Before the green skinned troll could even properly register what had just happened, it found itself being lifted into the air. Some kind of newfound strength had filled the inventor’s veins; something no potion or any kind of adrenaline could achieve. He then pulled, and without even two seconds having gone by, the troll felt his torso beginning to separate from his waist.

It could only scream as it felt itself get split into two, with the last thing it saw being the inventors rage-filled eyes plastered upon a blackened visage.

Word Amount: 1723

Using Tier 2 Transformation: Emotional Discharge. Have around 2 SP left.