Night of the Trolls

[Eileen the Crow]

After his battle with the giants, the Chosen Undead's day had gone by...not quite pleasantly, not quite safely, but reasonably well all things considered. He was able to make good progress, at least proceed another few kilometers into the mountains. He had climbed up hills, edged along some cliffs, and generally just gotten deeper, he had no idea where he was going, and had yet to see anything of great use or import, yet there was still more mountain to get through, he could keep going, he was bound to find something eventually. There clearly were other intelligent beings here, and if he traveled a lot, he would eventually get a feel for the geography. The undead was reasonably certain he could retrace his steps after all, but the sun was setting, darkness was starting to come, to bring an additional chill to the air. The Chosen Undead could likely still bear through it, but it would just be all around better to find some shelter for the night. Yet, that would be easier said than done, given the hostile conditions. So, the zombie started to look around, and eventually he found a decent place. On a cliff not too far from his position, he found a small indentation in the mountain. There was no roof, but the rock went around it on all sides except for the one wide opening. It provided shelter from the wind, and limited shelter from the snow, very limited. It would do.

Then came the next challenge, making some form of shelter. Ultimately, he could do without a roof, he had solid enough walls, and even a bed wasn't too necessary. Honestly at this point he was fairly certain a bed would feel too soft given how long he'd slept on stone, dirt, rock, and wood. What the Chosen Undead truly wanted was some fire, some heat and warmth, but naturally he had left the forest behind some hours ago, and had no means of starting one, which was a bit of a problem. Then, he remembered his sword and shield, specifically he remembered how he had gotten them. Could he make a fire that way? Specifically could he make fuel for a fire? That was an interesting question, and he knew a way to one up even that! He knelt down, getting to one knee as he extended one metal clad hand. It was time to get to work, and once again he reached into that strange substance, this strange, magical power that had so amazed him when he first used it. Once again it flowed from him as he went to work, as he worked to manifest it, manifest it as something much bigger than he had made before. A glowing, shimmering light formed, it was bigger and brighter than that made when he had conjured sword and shield, but that was to be expected! More and more of the light focused and flashed, rippling through the colors. Minutes passed, three...five, ten..until, there was one final flash...and the fire was left there.

It was a small fire, just a small circle of stones, with flames flickering along inside of it, simple really. There was only one thing strange about it, the long, black, soot stained sword embedded into the firepit. The flames danced and twirled about this sword, filling the room with a lovely, relaxing heat. Of course, it was just the aesthetics of it, he didn't think he could remove that soot stained sword even if he tried. It would be useless anyways, far, far worse than his Sunlight Straight Sword. It was just...a reminder of Lordran, of Astora. It was a small comfort, warmth and the look of something that had helped him preserve his humanity, something that had indicated a stop, a place to rest, a place of safety, warmth and relaxation. Already, it was taking some of the chill off, the feel of a nice, warm fire was a wondrous thing really, it could bring peace to even the most troubled mind, and the Chosen felt himself relaxing, sitting next to the fire, snow melting around the bonfire as the heat spread through this little nook of the mountains. As was the case, his guard went down near a bonfire, it had been a place of safety for as long as he could remember. Yet, he was about to find that many things that once had been true, were not true in the Omniverse.

The light of his fire was attracting notice in the night, and he was about to receive a rude awakening, as to just how different this new realm was, from his own home.

[Eileen the Crow]

Figures encroached upon the small nook that the Chosen had tucked himself into, figures drawn by the flickering firelight that radiated out from this small roofless cave. There were about seven of them all told, a small hunting party, a small scouting party, capable of raiding, hunting or whatever else was needed. The figures were tall, the smallest just over six feet, with long, thick limbs, they each had a number of spears strapped to their backs, as well as axes at their hips, three of the figures had a spear off the little rack and held in their hands. The light of the fire blinded the Chosen, he was facing towards the exit of his little 'cave' but the fire made it impossible to see anything that stood outside the firelight, outside the entrance, but peering inside. They could see the corpse though, see him resting in front of the fire, they looked at each other, and one of the spearholders nodded. He hefted his spear and drew his arm back, boots planted as he tensed himself, and then cast the spear! The long weapon, four feet of wooden haft, and half a foot of shining, polished metal, soared through the air, and the Chosen didn't even see what hit him.

He saw a glitter of metal, and then the spear flew through his bonfire, and slammed into his helmet. There was a loud, metallic clang as he fell backwards, sliding along the damp stone, a loud, ugly scraping rising as his plate mail scraped on the stone. The chosen himself was seeing stars but, that had been an attack! He had been attacked while resting at a...no, not an actual bonfire, it was just a fake, an imitation he had created, and he had let it lower his guard! The metal clad figure surged back up to his feet, right hand rushing to the hilt of his straight sword, in time to see three of the trolls rushing into his little shelter, axes drawn and whooping as they closed in on him, clad in furs and leather! The first one came around his fire and let out a whooping growl, his axe coming down for a hard strike, a strike that was deflected with the straight sword. The two weapons clashed as the Chosen's left hand lashed out, curled into a tight metal fist. It struck the troll straight on and sent him staggering back, but the other two were on the swordsman! His sword flashed quickly, both hands gripping it. His shield was on his back, he didn't have the time to grab it, and so he two handed the straight sword for extra speed and control. The undead's sword went left, batting one axe aside, just to swing down and right to deflect another, and then flicking left to deflect another swing.

These trolls were much faster than the giants, that was for sure, faster and more skilled, the Chosen was being pressed back to the wall, forced to give ground as the clang of sword on axe filled the air. Yet, there was a third, who was standing up after the hard hook he'd been given. He came in from the Chosen's left, rushing to aid his friend, axe coming in high! The swordsman didn't have the time or speed to block three axes at once, he was being pushed to the limits of his skill just fending off two axes, he had to do something, and fast! Fortunately, fast thinking was something that got hammered into your head quickly in Lordran. So he did the only thing he could think of with his back to the wall, two trolls in front of him and one coming to his left. He slammed himself left. His sword flew right to deflect one last axe stroke and to push his shoulder forward, so that when he dove left, his shoulder would slam right into the troll's chest. It worked rather well. He slammed into the troll, and pushed it backwards, he wasn't the strongest, but he was strong, and was able to shove it back, avoiding the axes of his friends. Then, he stopped as the third troll staggered backwards from the push, trying to get his balance back. The beast wouldn't need to worry for long as the Chosen whipped his sword around, and cut into his neck. He didn't quite sever his foe's head, but he definitely cut through his throat! The troll's hands dropped the axe and went to the severed throat, but the others had recovered.

A heavy axe blade slammed into the back of the Chosen's head, sending him sprawling forward, hitting the stone ground hard, his shoulder thudding into the body of the troll he had managed to slay. He quickly moved to get up, but not before a heavy boot pressed down on his back, pushing him back down onto the ground. That wasn't good, he twisted his head, craning to peer over his shoulder, to see the troll lifting his axe, intending to bring it down on his helm as hard as possible to try and stave in his helm or even split his skull! The axe rose higher, and as it rose the Chosen's mind raced. If he didn't move now he'd be dead!

[Eileen the Crow]

Moving hard and fast, the Chosen braced himself against the dead troll. Disguised as a roll, his shoulder thudded into it, while the troll above him pushed down harder with his boot. Then, with the chosen now pressing against this dead troll's thick corpse, he pushed, he heaved! He pushed against the troll and slid across the floor, the troll above him stumbling as the armored figure below him suddenly shifted, and then the Chosen rolled. The boot slid off cleanly as he moved to his back and the troll stumbled forward, arms going forward to catch itself, before the Chosen's armored fist slammed into a fur covered knee, bringing a bellow fury and pain, before he shoved hard, and the troll rolled into the fire! The creature shrieked in dismay as the fur started to smolder and smoke, but the second troll practically leaped onto the Chosen Undead, swinging axe down and slamming it into the breastplate! Now it was the Chosen's turn to give a sharp cry of pain, the axe splitting through the mail to embed itself against his ribs. That would more often than not bring the near end of a fight with any normal, living human, but he was no living human. His hands gripped the wrist of the troll, whose beady, golden eyes widened in surprise, before the Chosen twisted, rolling to his side and forcing the troll to topple.

He went down with the Chosen, his axe pulling free of the zombie's chest with a sickening sound, before the Chosen was leaping back up, but the sound of boots arrived, as the rest of the group of seven rushed into the cave. They saw one troll dead, another burning in flames, flailing and shrieking, and the other just picking himself up off the ground. There in front of them on the other side of the cave, was the Chosen, his hand going through the strap of his shield his sword lifting up and ready. One of them threw a spear with a roar, and the Chosen brought his shield up. The hard tip slammed into the groove of the shield of the silver knights and then bounced off, before the Chosen rushed forward. His straight sword thrust out and landed in the shoulder of the third troll, bringing a cry of pain as it twisted, the sword pulling free as it slammed its axe towards the chosen. Yet, his shield was out now, and he caught it on the silvery metal easily, a harsh clang and a strong impact running down the Chosen's arm. Immediately he thrust again and this time his sword went into the troll's gut, stabbing into him as the creature let out a shocked gasp of exhaled air. Then the shield slammed into the troll's face and knocked him backwards, falling down onto his companions, but the four trolls were coming at the Chosen from the left and right. The cavern wasn't massive, but there was just enough room that that would be a very dangerous proposition for the swordsman. Yet, dangerous fights were part and parcel for him, and he just readied his shield, the sunlight straight sword held firm in his grasp. He would show them the skill that had led to his victory in Lordran.

[Eileen the Crow]

The second troll's body flailed and writhed, providing a grim, macabre sideshow as the four remaining trolls faced off with the walking corpse of a swordsman. His shield was raised up, the silver lined device ready in case any of them threw more spears, but that was not happening. Instead, two of them held onto their spears, gripping them in their hands as they advanced, the other trolls had their axes out, and had formed into pairs, spear and axe, and spear and axe.. It was a simple but effective plan, two advancing from either side, with the bonfire occupying the center of this little nook he was boxed in. The Chosen had to admit, these trolls were smart, this was going to be difficult, and it already was painful, that wound to his chest was aching, even if his dried, corpse of a body didn't exactly bleed much. He was likely going to take more hits before this was over, what he wouldn't give for his old Estus Flask...he should really look into making that with this weird rainbow magic, but for now he had a fight to win!

The pair on his left struck, the spear user thrusting forward sharply. Naturally the Chosen Undead caught it on his shield, but the axe wielder came in, axe slashing in low towards the swordsman's hip. He hopped backwards, shield moving down, but it clipped his side, scraping against the armor, damn good thing he was wearing that, but the other pair was striking at him as he tried to defend against the first two. His right arm swung his sword out, and he managed to deflect the axe, but the second spear did hit. It slammed into his helmet and rocked him to the side, twisting to his left to face the first pair. They were quick to strike two, the spear slammed towards his chest, towards the gash in his breastplate, and struck home. It pushed into that gap and made it wider, thrusting into his chest as he gave a groan of agony, and then the axe came in from above. It slammed into his helmet, creating a long, heavy dent as he staggered to the side, the spear ripping out of his breastplate, just for the spear of the right hand pair to attack, another axe slammed into his helmet, sending him spinning around, for the other troll's spear slam into his chest, forcing a new rip into the hard, heavy steel, it slammed him back, but his backwards movement was halted quickly. The first spear wielder slammed forward, and into his back, narrowly missing his spine as he was impaled between the two of them, gasping in agony. His hands tightened on his sword and shield, clenching hard to keep his grip as the two trolls pressed harder. If he was a fleshier being his lungs would probably be filling up with blood right about now!

Right now the only reason he wasn't dead yet was because he was...sort of already dead. His teeth ground together as he fought through the pain, he needed an opportunity, some way to get free and change the location to something more favorable. However, first he had to loosen the grip of one of these trolls, and there was one of them right here in front of him. His sword lashed up suddenly, the steel straight sword lashing out and embedding itself in the surprised spear user's gut! His leg lifted up and kicked out against the troll's hip and sending him tumbling backwards, sliding off the sword, leaving a sickly smear of blood. The axe wielder went to try and grab the spear haft but he was too slow. The spear user tumbled backwards, the speartip leaving the Chosen's breastplate as he hurtled forward, his left arm lashed out and his shield slammed into the side of his head. The sudden charge pulled the spear from his back and he ran around the curve of the cave, dashing into the narrow entrance to this little shelter. He heard the whooping of the three remaining trolls, and suddenly he whirled around, his sword flicking out to slash across the stomach of the troll that was rushing right on his heels. The troll, one of those with an axe, tried to skid to a stop, but his compatriots were actually behind him, they had all thought he was running for it, and with adrenaline coursing through their veins they had all pursued. Anger from dead comrades and excitement were a heady mix. He tried to stop, but his comrade, one with a spear, slammed into him, and pushed him forward. That steely sword pushed into his gut, impaling him as he gasped out, the one behind him giving a surprised gasp as he felt the sword tip pricking him, but of course, there wasn't quite enough force to impale both of them.

With another troll down the Chosen leaped back, pulling his sword free of yet another corpse, his shield coming up as the troll clutched his stomach and toppled forward. His two comrades advanced over his body more cautiously, the passage wasn't wide enough for them to advance side by side, and their numbers were down, just the two of them, versus this strange steely swordsman, but now they didn't have a choice. He was blocking the exit after all. For his own part, the armored warrior wasn't about to let them escape, it was just standard policy in Lordran, kill anything that attacked you. With shield up he watched them, the spear user was in front, he had better reach, but the Chosen had better defense. He started to advance himself, his shield up and ready. Of course, the Silver Knight shield couldn't cover all of him, his dented, helmeted head peaked out the top, and his legs and the bottom of his stomach were exposed too. The troll went for his legs, jabbing towards the joints of his hip. His arm swung down, the shield blocking it with a clang before he stepped in. The spear slid down as the distance closed and his sword came up to thrust towards his chest. The troll used what little space there was and shifted to its right, avoiding the thrust and stepping back to thrust again this time for the exposed right shoulder of the Chosen Undead. Knees bent, taking him down below the spear thrust as his sword came back, before he rammed forward. That shining shield slammed into his stomach, and sent the troll staggering backwards from the impact, before he then stepped forward, his sword thrusting out again and this time embedding itself squarely under the ribs!

The troll yelled out his pain, and his spear swung around in a clumsy death stroke. It slammed into the Chosen's head, sending him staggering to the side, his shoulder hitting the right wall. The troll was pulled back by the last one, who advanced slowly with his axe ready. The corpse shook his head and stepped back, getting himself ready again. The troll had little choice, he couldn't out defend this heavily armored corpse, and so the only option was to get aggressive! He rushed the knight, axe slamming into his shield, but that wasn't the main attack. His fist lurched forward and slammed into the Chosen's head, knocking him onto his back. A boot stomped onto his helmet as he hit with a metallic, heavy crash, and then the troll was past him running out into the snow. There was a roar back at him, and he realized the things could speak. "This isn't over!" The Chosen just picked himself up, looking out into the dark night, wind swirling outside of the narrow entrance to his little cave. His body was aching from multiple wounds, and the bonfire wouldn't heal him like it usually did. Still, he was alive, another battle was won, but it wasn't behind him. The knight had a terrible sinking feeling, that there was more yet to come.