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krwordgazer wrote: Earth A breath of fresh air A torch A body of water A void (physical, emotional or spiritual) Finding your center or where you belong The once trampled grass stained with blood was already beginning to grow again as the new Spring season began. There was an uncanny sense of peacefulness on a field that was only weeks ago drenched in the blood of elf and man. The skies were blue, fragile clouds rolled across the skies, carried by gentle winds, dissipating as the warming sun rose higher into the sky. Birds were flying about, chirping their songs, gathering twigs, building nests. Young deer were staying close to their mothers as they fed on the grass. There was peace. No sounds of man. No sounds of elf. Only the sounds of nature. Far beneath those very fields, there was anything but peace in the depths of the earth’s soil. KLANG! KLANG! KLANG! His hammer struck time and time again against the anvil. KLANG! KLANG! KLANG! He was forging a sword – just like he usually did – day in and day out. However, unlike most of his masterpieces, this one had been hammered too many times. The once beautiful steel was now slanted, marred and charred black. They had hunger for experience. They had hungered for more than what they had. Damn the hunger. Damn the desire. He hammered more furiously. KLANG! KLANG! KLANG! He had been one of them – one that had taken the small, digging apes and bonded with them. Their travels had carried them for so long – they saw many generations of these pets come and go – unless they used their magic to influence them – so that they eventually became as long lived creatures. They – both insect and earth digging apes – had evolved – even learned speech. The insects now called Preservers were helpful – but the trolls were too independent. Desired their freedom. We had hoped to reunite with our people. But the trolls. They had other plans. The trolls rebelled – slashing open the guider’s cocoons. The chaos. It threw us not only out of place. But out of time. KLANG! KLANG! KLANG! The same desire that they had desired was what the trolls desired… KLANG! KLANG! KLANG! The humans were not… friendly. They were primal. Fearful. Deadly. Extended friendship led to a brutal slaughter. Running. Scattering. KLANG! KLANG! KLANG! He wiped the sweat from his brow – along with the tears that burned at the brim of his eyes. The High Ones had fled in every direction losing touch with one another. They did what they did before to survive – they changed their shape – and adapted. They called him Trollforge, but long, long, long ago his name was Tawaim. He was one of them. A High One. When he had fled he had followed the trolls and followed them as they cowered in the woods. He had taken the form of a wolf and protected them – despite their betrayal. He had watched them grow – watched them evolve – he had been selected to take care of the group of them before the Palace crashed. When the trolls managed to dig underground, returning to their primitive roots, he adopted the shape of a troll. It was if it were engineered into his genetics to keep an eye on these trolls. He shared his knowledge with them that he had learned as one of his many other forms on so many planets. He taught them how to use the forge. He taught them how to make swords. He taught them how to bend steel to their very whim the way they, as High Ones, had bent stone, flesh and plants. The trolls had began calling him “Trollforge” – a name he had adapted and kept. While generations of trolls passed, no longer immortal on the World of Two Moons, whether it was disease or something else – none ever questioned, none ever wondered – why Trollforge himself had never aged. He had returned to the surface after many generations for a breath of fresh air only to see the world had changed. The sun burned his eyes. More distressing was the fact that Tawaim found that he could not get out of the troll shape. For generations he had remained in this form and now he found himself bound to it. He was furious at first. But as the High Ones had always done, he adapted. He returned to the troll caves and lived among the trolls. KLANG! KLANG! KLANG! Coming back to the present, Trollforge saw that he had hammered relentlessly at the sword in his hands, now distorted. He threw it aside and shook his head. He turned to face the torch on the wall and removed it from its place holder as he walked down the small cavern. He passed several troll maidens who were at the small underground lake, which had been the primary source of water – both for drinking, as well as cooling the forge. The female trolls all watched as Trollforge walked past them, sheepish smiles on their faces. There was hardly a female troll within this small kingdom that had not desired Trollforge, if nothing else for the mystery he presented to them – though most could never understand his obsession with the one called Purespring – an elf from above the ground. There was clearly a void in his spirit – anyone could see it. Whatever this Purespring had done must have been impressive. The trinkets he made for her were often the reason so many females fought amongst one another – thinking every time it might be for one of them instead of that elf. And every time they were wrong. Over and over. Again and again. He opened the troll door and came up to the surface world. He surveyed the land around him. They were gone. They really did it. Shadow had convinced his tribe there were others out there. There had to be, Trollforge agreed. He walked across the field and cut through the forest. There were no sounds of human drums. They were gone too. In search of others. Quiet, save for the sounds of nature. It would take some getting used to. He knew where he was going. He had walked the path many times. He stopped when he had reached it. Purespring’s grave. He kept so many secrets. The truth of his identity and what she had meant to him. He never quite understood what it was. Not until he overheard Shadow’s tribe speaking of Recognition. It was something the High Ones never had to endure. This thing called Recognition. Apparently there was something built into the very genetics of the High Ones that passed down to their children that when their numbers were low – something turned on to find a mate that would yield itself a child of amazing qualities. Like two halves of a circle coming together to form one. In that moment, he thought he found his center – the purpose for life, once again. From the first time he had seen Purespring – he felt it. Perhaps because he knew that the numbers of his kind had dwindled to nothing compared to the once over populated planet that he had come from. Yet, from what he had heard – Recognition was mutual. How did she not feel it? Or had she? No. There was no way. Shadow’s tribe had explained while he listened in, that Recognition was impossible to fight; that causing it would cause extreme illness and possibly death. Yet Purespring was always so full of life. So … alive. Could it be that he had been an Elf when they first came to the World of Two Moons? But now he was stuck in this troll form – so in her, he saw the genetic material that created Recognition – but in him – there was no way to mate, for he was stuck in the troll form – and thus spared the burden of Recognition. He would have changed for her. He tried for days and nights to change back to how he had once looked. But fate’s cruel hand delivered this curse upon him. Eventually, somehow, the sensation began to pass. Perhaps because he had accepted his fate as a troll. So the need for Recognition soon faded as well. But every time he saw her, he heard the name “Bren” whispered into his soul. Even when Recognition seemed to be completely cleansed from his veins, he could still hear those words and see her – and just be in awe. But the gnawing sensation of Recognition had faded to a distant buzz in the depths of his heart. He smiled as he touched the grave-marker he had made for her. And for the first time, perhaps ever, a troll leaned his head back and howled for a love he never got to know; a love that he would never forget.