Wilderness, Weathertop, & Wild Things RPG

[Primrose Bolger]

Broga was hunkered down by the fire. It had burnt down with only a few blue flames licking up now and then. It was the sizzling coals that had him fascinated. He poked at them with a charred stick, watching the small sparks carry up into the night air. ‘Brother!’ he shouted, sending another shower of glittery embers toward the overhanging branches of the trees about the camp. ‘Pretty fireflies! Ain’t they something?’ He stirred the fire again, smiling as Grimm approached.

‘Somethin’ alright,’ growled Grimm, snatching the stick from Broga’s hand. ‘You get any more of them sparks caught in the leaves and we’ll be burnt outta this nice little place we got goin’ here. Be lookin’ for another place to stash our goods. Hate to think what the Orcs’d think if they saw us hauling a coupla bags a coins around.’ He crouched down beside his frowning brother. ‘Might think we been dippin’ into what’s theirs, holdin’ back.’ Broga shook his head slowly. ‘Gotta nice little thing going here,’ Grimm went on, nudging his brother. ‘Let’s not mess it up.’

Crack! . . . snap! . . . twigs breaking . . . varied mutterings from large beings unseen as yet in the darkness . . .

Grimm stood up from the fire, muttering himself. ‘Looks like the neighbors have arrived,’ he whispered to Broga, giving him a hand up. ‘Wonder what they want?’ Broga whispered back. Grimm’s eyes were on the large rock across the little clearing. He could just see two lumbering figures moving into the moonlight.

-o-o-o-o-

The fire had been stirred up and chunks of wood added to it. The four Trolls sat on the large, flat topped rocks they’d rolled near the flames, talking about the talented nose of Arald and what had been sussed out through its olfactory prowess. ‘Elves, eh?’ reflected Grimm, taking a long look at the vaunted honker.

Dim shook his head enthusiastically. ‘So what do ya think, you two,’ he chortled. His meaty fist slapped against the flat of the other hand. ‘Bet you two would like to do a little Elf bashin.’ ‘Come on, now,’ he went on, winking at Broga. ‘You know we’d have fun!’

Broga was starting to nod his head as Dim spoke, a leering smile cracking the leathery planes of his face. Grimm, however, was less eager to latch onto the plan. He stood up, a gruesome frown crackling his brow.

‘Not to rain on your little plan and all. Elf-bashing’s something me ‘n’ my brother happen to excel at . . . BUT.’ The others looked up at him, muttering already at what was coming next. ‘I’m gonna bet,’ he went on, ‘that the chief knows about these Elves and such. He’s got spies out – you seen that maggoty looking creature comes round ever so often. Fen, somethin’ or other.’

‘Yeah . . . and so?’ one of the others asked.

‘And so . . . like I told my brother a little earlier,’ Grimm said, planting his thick hands on his hips. ‘We gotta good thing goin’ here with the Orcs. What say we tell ‘em what your nose tells you? Tell ‘em we want to be in on it if they’re plannin’ something.’ He looked round the lumpish group. ‘Come on now,’ he said starting off toward the Orc camp. ‘Who’s with me?’

A short time later, the four Trolls stomped into the Orc camp demanding to see the chief. ‘Tell him there’s Elves about . . . and nothin’ good’ll come of it if they ain’t seen to!’

In the face of overwhelming trollishness, the scrawny Orc guard fled to deliver the message.