The Homecoming 45.

Out Of Town...

"This is going to hurt, but I've got to take them out" says Mira Reinholt the mage to the troll, who just grunts in response. The once powerful mage continues with "Probably best if you drink the rest of that brandy" followed by "It'll definitely help".
The troll does so, and when he's finished the bottle. He shudders in pain as the mage Reinholt removes the bolts and arrows sticking out of his back, followed by the axe.
"Hold on" says the exiled Vexilian mage, who takes hold of the broken spear shaft in the side of the prone troll, and in one move, pulls it out with expertise.
The troll is in the midst of yelling in pain, as he feels like he's going to black out. When all of a sudden, he no longer feels pain anywhere. The only thing he feels, is an aching tiredness throughout his entire body.
"There you go, all better" says the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, who then adds "You'll probably want to wait a few moments before sitting up".
The troll from the nearby mill grunts, and after a few moments, and a number of deep breaths, he rolls over and slowly sits up. He starts feeling around, and finds no wounds on himself that he can see.
He looks at the man in the black hooded cloak kneeling beside him in the lane, and says "Magician?". "Something like that" says Mira Reinholt, who then asks the troll "Your name?".
"Tarong" replies the mill worker "Well Tarong, i guess that lot won't be bothering you ever again" says the once powerful mage with a nod of his hooded head further down the lane.
The troll grimaces as he sees the bodies lying everywhere, one of them smouldering, or what's left of that one. All of them the soldiers and the local constable who tried to apprehend him for murder. Infact a number of murders, that took place along the south road to Poldaér during the winter.
The mill worker winces, as a body comes flying into the lane from behind one of the buildings, rolling to a stop next to one of the ones already lying there. It's the last of the soldiers who tried to put up a fight against the two men who came to Tarong's aid.
The second one, the one in the full suit of heavy plate armour comes around from that side of the building. The troll glances at the man in the black hooded cloak beside him who quietly says "I'm Mira and that's Farque" he quietly adds in a murmur "Don't call him a knight, he doesn't appreciate that".
"You in one piece then?" asks lord Farque as he looks down at the troll sitting on the ground "I am" replies Tarong, who introduces himself, then thanks his two rescuers.
"Well Tarong, if i was you, I'd get the fuck out of town" says the undead warlord, who continues with "You might not of killed the local constable and these soldiers here, but you're the reason they're dead. And whoever the lord or lady of Almaeré is, they won't be happy".
"They attacked me for no bloody reason" mutters the mill worker, who goes to stand up, but he's a little unsteady on his feet as he tries to get up off the ground. Until the one named Farque takes a hold of his left hand and helps him up off the ground.
Tarong blinks in surprise at how easily the large, heavily armoured human helped him stand up, as if the mill worker didn't weigh a thing.
"How did you do that?" asks the ten and half foot tall troll, who weighs a thousand pounds "It's a gift" dryly says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who then adds "Like i said, it's probably best if you took off".
"Where will i go?" asks Tarong, who looks around at the town he's spent nearly half his life in, having come here from the northwest, when he was in his middle teen years.
The deathlord of Farque shrugs his heavily armoured shoulders. The swordmaster Reinholt glances at him with a raised eyebrow, and quietly murmurs something in the elven language.
The lord of the death realm doesn't do or say anything for a moment or two, as a lost looking Tarong looks around at what's just happened. Then the undead warlord slightly nods his full helmed head yes to the Vexilian mage in exile.
"You can come with us if you want" says Mira Reinholt, the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands, continues with "We're going south to Poldaér".
"That might not be a good idea" says Tarong, who continues with "Like you said, the earl won't be happy with me" he pauses as he looks down at the two humans, then adds "He definitely won't be happy with the two of you".
"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine" says the Vexilian mage in exile, who is glad they came this way, as he didn't think it was right that an innocent individual was going to be executed for a crime he didn't commit.
"And you'll be safe with us for a while" says the highly skilled swordmaster, who pauses as he thinks of the times the unexpected has happened, as he's traveled throughout the Southlands alongside lord Farque and others in the group.
"Well, maybe you'll be safe" adds the once powerful mage "That's for fucking sure" says lord Farque in dry tone of voice. The mage Reinholt nods his hooded head, then says to the mill worker "Besides, traveling south, you might actually be able to clear your name if the actual perpetrator is caught".
"You think so?" asks Tarong "I do" says the mage Reinholt "Enough yapping" interrupts the undead warlord, who gestures around them, as he adds  "The locals are getting nosey". As people look out of doorways and windows, into the lane, to see what's just taken place outside their homes and businesses.
"Get going" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who continues with "We're leaving town". "I've got to get some things from my place" says the troll, who though feels a slight aching, soreness throughout his body, from what he assumes is the result from being healed by spellcraft.
Hurries to the nearby bridge that goes over the stream to the right, which he was heading to, when the earl's constable, and soldiers caught up to him.
As Tarong jogs towards his house, Mira Reinholt and lord Farque follow behind him. The two of them are quietly conversing in elven. With the Vexilian mage in exile explaining to the deathlord of Farque, what he found out by reading the mind of the local constable, before he set the man on fire.
The undead warlord nods his full helmed head as the spellcaster, who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, dryly tells him "The earl should probably thank me for getting rid of his constable" the mage Reinholt continues with "That sir Laudác was as corrupt as they come, not to mention lazy".
"Does the earl know he came up here specifically to bring in the troll?" asks Draugadrottin, as he's also known by, to the people of his lands, faraway to the south.
"No" is the reply from the Vexilian mage in exile, who continues with "Though he did tell a few others he knows down at castle Almaeré he was coming up here to either bring in the troll, or kill him". "Probably those who are implicit with his corruption" dryly says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who then adds "That's how fucking things seem to go".
"Correct" says the the spellcaster who was once the most powerful mage of his generation, found anywhere in the Southlands.
As they approach the house that Tarong has just hurried into, the swordmaster Reinholt says "He didn't bother investigating those deaths along the road" the mage who is in exile from his homeland of Vexil, continues with "You were right, he just went for the easiest target".
The lord of the death realm nods his full helmed head, then he calls out in trollish to Tarong "Hurry up in there troll, we better get going".
After putting on a new vest, and leggings. As the one's he's wearing, are all torn up and bloody. Tarong stuffs more clothing into a large pack, as well as some foodstuffs from his larder. Mostly bread and cheese, and a jar of pickled vegetables, as well as a ham hock he was intending to have for his supper tonight.
He gets a pot helm his father gave him many years ago, and sticks it on his head. Then he takes the axe he has leaning in a corner, as he looks around at his home that's been his for the last three years.
Then the mill worker, who before Malmeré the miller hired him, worked as a forester, cutting down trees and hauling the logs to town, to the mills, such as Malmeré's.
Has one last look around at his home, before hurrying back outside when the one called Farque, calls out to him again in the troll language, to hurry up.
Tarong steps outside, and says "This way" as he points the way to a shortcut to the southside of town, and the road that leads south to the town of Poldaér, the largest settlement in the Almaeré fief, and in all northwestern Druvic really.
As the three of them, the one troll, and the two humans, who are obviously not local, as Tarong has never seen the strangers before until they showed up and saved him. Make their way to the southside of town, the mill worker says in his native language "How do you know trollish?" as he's hardly ever heard a non troll speak it, let alone perfectly, like the man named Farque speaks it.
"I learnt it when i was younger" replies the undead warlord, who nods his full helmed head at the figure in the black hooded cloak walking beside him, and tells Tarong in the language of the trolls "Best to speak common, since Mira here can't understand a word we're saying".
The troll nods his head, and continues to conserve in the common language when he's got something to say. Though at the moment, he's fallen silent, as have the other two, as they hurry out of town, heading for the road that heads south to Poldaér.
They cross a narrow wooden footbridge on the east side of town, that flexes under the weight of the troll. Then cut across a small yard behind one house, then go between a row of buildings, to the last bit of open ground, leading around to the south of town.
They across a knoll, going through some trees, to get down to the road itself, about fifty yards from the town. The trio walk alongside the road, while behind them in the mill town. Both lord Farque and the troll Tarong can hear people shouting, and yelling. Calling out to others, telling anyone who'll listen, what's just happened in the long lane near the north end of town.
"With all that hollering back there, i figure the entire town will soon know what's just happened?" asks Mira Reinholt, lord Farque nods his full helmed head yes, before he walks out infront, and tells the Vexilian mage to keep an eye on the road behind them.
As the heavily armoured deathlord walks a dozen yards infront, the mage Reinholt who walks beside the troll, says to Tarong "Big axe there, have it specially made for you?".
"I did" replies the troll, who continues with "I was a forester before working in the mill, so i had one of the smith's in town make it for me".
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, then says "That helm is troll made" followed by "Get it from where you're originally from?".
Tarong answers yes, then tells the once powerful mage that his father, an armourer in the hill country, in some of the unruled lands to the northwest of the kingdom of Druvic, made it specifically for him.
As the troll tells the once powerful mage of how he came to Druvic as a teenager to work. Hopefully in the airship building yards in the capital Leeabra, where a fair few trolls live and work.
But not getting further than the Almaeré fief, where it was easy for him to get work as a forester. Trolls are always wanted for work, for their immense strength and their ability to work long hours.
The mage Reinholt recalls what he knows about trolls, from first hand experience. As well as what learnt about them during his studies at the mage college of Vexil.
There's two types of trolls, civilized and wild. It's fairly obvious that Tarong is civilized. As he speaks common as well, if not better than a lot humans, especially the common folk here in Druvic.
And like all trolls, he's tall and large. With only ogres, and giants being larger when it comes to the races who are bipeds.
A lot of the civilized trolls end up working in shipyards, both air and sailing ships. Or they end up being mercenaries, or joining armies in the nations they live in.
The highly skilled swordmaster has fought alongside, and against many a troll over the years. And he knows how rough they are, and how difficult it can be to defeat them.
Though for all that, and though he'd hate to admit it. He'd rather have an ork, such as Dorc da Orc on his side in a fight.
Just for the simple fact that orks are plain crazy. Whose insanity, and natural inclination to fight anything and everything, most often themselves. Make them a true terror on the battlefield, or in a scrap.
The mage Reinholt has seen Dorkindle fight larger trolls, killing them with ease. More than one at a time too.
The once powerful mage remembers the large ork telling him about one of his friends in his tribe, a smith, who fought a trio of wild trolls in the massive mountain range that separates the southern polar region from the Southlands. And how he killed all three trolls, even though he lost both of his legs in the process. It's why he's now called No Legs Munga.
The swordmaster Reinholt wryly smiles as recalls the number of times Dorc da Orc would crack up laughing every time he'd tell him the story how he found his friend Munga with his legs chopped off, with three trolls lying dead around him.
And they were wild trolls too! Far larger, meaner, and more aggressive and violent than their civilized brethren. The once powerful mage has encountered the wild kind over the years. And they're way more difficult to deal with than civilized trolls.
Standing back, and killing them with spellcraft is the best way to deal with wild trolls, is what the mage Reinholt has found out over the years.
The highly skilled swordmaster looks up at the troll walking beside him, who asks him what he and lord Farque are doing in the Almaeré fief, here in northwestern Druvic.
The mage Reinholt who tells Tarong, that he's from the city-state of Vexil, and Farque is the lord of a land, faraway to the south in the Southlands. And that they're traveling to the capital Leeabra, then further east in the kingdom of Druvic.
That they've been delayed as they took a slight detour that has seen them end up here in the northwest of the kingdom.
Slight detour alright, Mira Reinholt sourly thinks to himself, the spellcaster who is in exile from his homeland of Vexil, silently adds, from one side of the kingdom to the fucking other thanks to that damn druid's circle.
The once powerful mage along with the troll, continue to chat throughout the afternoon as they walk south along the road to the town of Poldaér, while lord Farque walks out infront of the two of them . . . . . .