Skirmish (Fangdarr): Trolls

Skirmish (Fangdarr): Trolls

Follow along each week for Skirmishes of characters of the Orcblood Legacy Series. These are real events that take place during the story’s timeline but are not detailed in the book.

Fangdarr rolled to his side, unable to get comfortable at his makeshift encampment. Sleep had not come easy since his departure from the only kin he had a few nights prior. The young orc had nearly returned to their home countless times, save for his stubborn pride rooting him in place. Instead, Fangdarr swallowed his tormenting emotions, tossing restlessly each night under the thick canopy of Lithe Forest.

A heavy sigh escaped him, staring at the small specs of whiteness poking through the screen of darkened leaves above. Fangdarr closed his eyes, denying the night their golden glow. As he rest, only the sound of breaths with the rise and fall of his chest and the slow sway of a breeze to be heard, the orc replayed the haunting visions of his mother’s headless corpse falling to the ground at the hand of her human tormentors. Even alone in the wood, the proud young warrior refused to express his true feelings.

His memories were interrupted at the sound of rustling bushes nearby. Fangdarr lifted his head curiously. Most likely an animal, he thought. Soon, the steady sounds of footsteps could be heard, though they were light against the soft ground. Were it not for the occasional twig and crunch of leaves, the orc would never have noticed. Fangdarr was already to his feet, Driktarr in hand and eyes scanning the darkness.

Breaking through the dense foliage came a pair of figures Fangdarr did not recognize. Their smiles widened beneath the long tusks protruding from their upper jaw, spread in wicked eagerness. Despite their sinister expressions, their body language showed no threat. Still, Fangdarr remained on the defensive.

“Eh, look what we got here, Gam’ja. It but a wee orc,” spoke the first in an unusual tone. Fangdarr had heard tell of their kind from Tormag, though had never experienced them himself. Now, he was finally able to confirm his adoptive father’s mimicked accent when speaking of them. Trolls.

“Haha, so it is, Bon’zo. He look a bit lost, ya tink?”

Fangdarr tightened his grip. Their vocal flair seemed contradictory to their intent. It was hard for the orc to understand due to the thickness of the troll’s accents. Nevertheless, he asked, “What you want?”

The intruders looked to one another, then laughed in a shrieking cackle that pierced through the quiet forest. Once their humor had ended, Fangdarr could see the pair of crude, sharpened-stone knives in each of their three-fingered hands. Their expressions only looked more severe as the encampment’s small fire cast flickering shadows over the contours of their stretched skin.

Fangdarr did not wait for his assailants to strike first. He raised his axe and howled with vigorous ferocity, charging for the pair. Gam’ja and Bon’zo returned his roar in kind and took to defensive stances. The orc closed the distance quickly, his powerful legs carrying him with long strides. As he approached, the trolls realized his abnormally large stature but gave no pause. They remained fixed on their opponent, daggers held in reverse grips in wait for their prey.

Just as he had done against the men that had slain his poor mother, Fangdarr planted his foot in the last moment and spun his greataxe in a wide horizontal sweep. Bon’zo managed to put up a dagger to block, but the weight of the orc’s weapon was too great when paired with Fangdarr’s impressive strength. Bon’zo’s eyes went wide in immense pain as Driktarr passed through his ineffective parry and continued to cut a deep gash into his dark-skinned torso. Blue blood sprayed from the wound, painting specks against the orc’s own blackened skin, before the troll fell to the ground.

With the momentum of his strike drained, Fangdarr could not hope to cleave through Gam’ja as well. Instead, the troll’s raised weapons intersected the axe as the creature’s head rushed forward quickly behind. Fangdarr stood a head taller, keeping his neck out of range, but Gam’ja’s tusks rent against the orc’s exposed arm and ripped through his skin. The orc growled at the pain, bearing his fangs. With the daggers still entrapping Driktarr, the troll continued to thrash his head, scraping and tearing more flesh on Fangdarr’s arm.

Fangdarr steeled his resolve and kicked Gam’ja’s knee, dropping him and his blades low. With his weapon free, the orc slammed it down on the troll’s skull just as Gam’ja’s wicked expression had looked up to him. Driktarr embedded straight into the forehead of its victim and deep into the troll’s brain. Fangdarr pushed the axe—and the corpse attached to it—to the ground. He planted a foot against the troll’s shoulder as he ripped his entrapped weapon free, spraying blood and flinging brain matter and bone fragments onto the grass below.

Before the orc could even breathe a sigh of relief, he felt a sharp pain in the side of his thigh. Upon looking down to inspect the source, he witnessed Bon’zo’s wide grin paired with another dagger whistling through the air toward his ribcage. Caught by surprise, Fangdarr couldn’t hope to parry the blow. Instead, he twisted his waist as quick as possible in an attempt to prevent the dagger from hitting its mark. The orc’s brow furrowed in pain as he was only partially successful, feeling the sharpened edge of Bon’zo’s dagger slicing across his skin.

Fangdarr threw a desperate but heavy punch into the troll’s face as he leapt back. Bon’zo stood a short distance away, one dagger still in hand. Fangdarr looked at his thigh and pulled the knife free before tossing it behind him. Now, he stood breathing heavily and bleeding from multiple wounds. His black blood glistened in the light of the fire as it slid down his muscled body. The orc looked to Bon’zo and his eyes grew large in shock.

He had not noticed it before, but the wound that he had landed on Bon’zo’s chest had completely healed. Are their weapons like mine? He could not know for sure. In any manner, his own wounds were starting to take their toll. As Fangdarr was about to charge forward in rage once more, he watched in horror as Gam’ja too started to rise. The creature’s shattered skull began mending itself of its own accord, answering the orc’s previous question. It seemed they needed no weapons to heal them, rather they regenerate on their own—even mortal wounds.

How am I to defeat such opponents? Fangdarr did not have time to ponder as Gam’ja instantly dashed forward—even before his wound had fully mended—followed closely by Bon’zo. The orc waited for his attackers this time, remembering the tactics his dwarven mentor had taught him. His rage was insanely difficult to suppress, but Fangdarr trusted in Tormag’s instruction. Driktarr cocked back behind his shoulder, lying in wait.

Gam’ja closed first, both daggers leading the way in hopes to impale his large adversary. Fangdarr held his stance, his plan in mind. The troll exclaimed in victory as he felt both daggers pierce through the orc’s abdomen all the way to the hilt. But such was Fangdarr’s intention. The orc had chosen to disregard the short-sighted leading troll, expecting the all-or-nothing blow. Fangdarr’s target was not Gam’ja, however, but the trailing Bon’zo.

Bon’zo couldn’t hide his own glee upon seeing his ally’s weapons sink into the orc’s body. In his distraction, the troll failed to notice Driktarr sailing downward into his shoulder, cleaving him deeply and launching him back. The troll’s body fell into the small fire of Fangdarr’s camp and instantly immolated in a raging inferno. Bon’zo’s screams of agony pierced the forest as he rolled on the ground in an attempt to extinguish himself. But it was no use. Within a few short moments, the troll’s corpse halted its thrashing yet continued to burn.

Fangdarr was caught by surprise at seeing the troll conflagrate so intensely. As his wound’s began to heal from Driktarr’s enchantment, the orc realized his opponent’s weakness. Gam’ja’s attention had turned to his friend upon hearing the shrieks of pain. As his gaze returned to Fangdarr, whose wounds were now stitching themselves closed—even pushing the stone daggers out from the orc’s abdomen from the magical restoration—Gam’ja went wide-eyed in terror. This time, it was Fangdarr whose face was etched with the sinister grin.

“Aw no, mon. Please, we was just playin’,” Gam’ja begged, dropping his weapons. As the troll backpedaled away from Fangdarr, he tripped over the burning corpse of his friend. Luckily, the flammable oil that had seeped from Gam’ja’s wounds was only on his head, else he would have suffered the same fate of Bon’zo. He continued his begging and pleading as he crawled away backwards.

Fangdarr stomped forward, a ceaseless harbinger of death in pursuit of its final victim. His wounds were now freshly healed, leaving white scars to contrast brightly against his blackened skin. As he approached the helpless troll, Fangdarr realized just how formidable he was, especially at such a young age. He reached the troll, who had backed into the base of a tree and was now whimpering.

Staring at the pitiful creature in disgust, the orc’s hand clasped tightly around the troll’s throat, stifling Gam’ja’s whines as his airway was pressed shut. Fangdarr carried the troll back toward the fire with ease, despite his captive’s desperate wriggling. Holding the troll in front of his face, Fangdarr whispered to Gam’ja, barely audible over the roaring flames that still licked away at Bon’zo’s charred carcass. “Play time.”

Gam’ja’s eyes went impossibly wide in terror and the bulging pressure building in his skull as Fangdarr slammed his face into the fire pit. The orc held the troll down in the insatiable blaze that had come to life, though eased his grip in order to hear the agonizing screams as Gam’ja was forced to endure his flesh searing from bone.