The forest trolls have been encroaching on Elven lands almost since the founding of Quel’thalas. In what is now the Ghostlands, the Shadowpine of Zeb’Sora and Zeb’Nowa particularly have been a thorn in Dame Auriferous’ side. They’ve been raiding the Farstrider Enclave’s supplies, trapping and torturing our scouts, and being a general nuisance. The Dame has decided to put out a bounty for the adventuring types; 6 silver pieces for 6 Shadowpine ears. I figure at 2 silver per troll, the trip is well worth my time. What I didn’t realize, however, is just how bulky these trolls are.
I’ve been sniping at them for a few hours now, and have found I’m lucky to fell them with three arrows. The damned beasts must have moved their hearts to frustrate me, because I’ve had to take to puncturing lungs for sure kills instead. Now, hidden behind a tree, I watch them and wait for another chance to pick one off. Unfortunately, I am not a Rogue, and my hiding skills are sub par at best – it’s not long before I’m spotted by a Catlord. “Stoosh!” he yells, sending his ghostclaw bounding at me and catching the attention of a Hexxer, who also heads in my general direction. I loose a silent curse and dive to the right, only to find myself face to face with a large white tortoise. Having one’s nose snapped off of one’s face before death by gutting has to be the most ignoble way I can think of to die.
Well, short of at the hands of a Gnomish warrior.
I push myself into a crouch against the wall of a nearby hut and draw my sword to parry the claws of the lynx as it pounces. I kick it back and follow with a slash, scoring an ear as the Hexxer lays a curse on my soul. I glance at the turtle to reassure myself he hasn’t joined the fray yet and and notice a rope tied around his neck secured to their meat rack. No wonder my ears are still attached to my head – he’s bound for the stewpot.
“I’ll help you if you help me, friend,” I pant, barely dodging another swipe from the cat. He leans against the rope and snaps his jaws as the lynx finds a seat on my stomach. “Good enough for me!” The rope gives way beneath my blade, and the tortoise leaps away from the meat rack into the side of the lynx, knocking it off me. Now freed from the very real danger of claws in my gut, I drop my sword and notch an arrow. It sings through the air into the right eye of the caster, and he crumples into a green pile where he stands. Why was I not trying for head shots earlier? Annoyed, I turn to the battle between my new turtle friend and the Catlord, now frenzied by the loss of his companion. Notching another arrow to my bow, I chant a cantrip before letting it fly into the center of the troll’s back. He roars in pain as the arcane energy spreads through his muscles before another arrow joins the first to silence him forever. The battle is won, and I’m not dead. It takes a moment for this to fully sink in.
And now I find myself facing an injured tortise that saved my life in return for my saving his. Without a second thought, I kneel beside him and, pulling the linen bandages I had been stockpiling from my pack, begin to bind the wounds. I reflect on the words of Halthenis as he taught me how to mend the wounds of a companion animal. “Sometimes, the Taming spell isn’t needed, Revenan. A simple gesture of goodwill, a caring touch, or a common foe have been known to bind a wild beast to a Hunter more assuredly than the strongest spell devised.”
“Don’t call me Revenan, Halthenis. I am Revn now, you know that,” I had retorted. But I asked anyway, “What do you do, then? The beast just follows you around whether you want it to or not?”
“Often. I wouldn’t fight it, though. Consider yourself blessed, instead. It’s chosen you, rather than being chosen by you. That’s a high honor, don’t you think?”
Even at the time, I’d had to agree. With the wounds bound, I leaned back on my haunches and considered the turtle. “We have a dilemma, my friend,” I murmured. “You need the bandages to stay put for a few days, but if you simply return to the waters they will fall off. Likewise, I am not as almighty as I had thought by myself. However, I believe I have a solution to both problems.” I reach in my pack again and pull out a small loaf of bread, and offer a peice to the turtle. “You are welcome to travel with me, at least for a time. Once your wounds are healed, you may return to your pond, or continue on with me.” He munches contentedly on the hunk of bread and blinks slowly at me. I chuckle.
“Very well. Follow if you will. I am going to find a safer place to eat.” He follows of course. He knows I have food now, and most animals are driven by their stomach as much as by their brains. “I think a trollish name would fit you. What would you say to Utakku?” He must not mind, since he’s trying vainly to reach my pack as we walk, and I grin down at him. “Utakku it is, friend. I hope you stick around a while.”
