02-27-2012, 06:38 PM
The thin bridle straps were tight in Karl’s hands as he all but dragged the donkey back towards the town. It had woken up angry because over the course of the night it had rained a little bit. The tall man wondered how much easier the land of menskr really was, contemplating if he would actually be able to fit in. Vinr, his leader, had informed him that the best way to be like one of his own kind was to be stupid and get lost easily. There had been no lessons on leading animals.
He had spent a few moments rifling through the goods on the cart and he had found a few things that he knew: a few spearheads, freshly smithed, which he had put into his satchel; a lamp that he still did not know how to operate; a thick wool blanket which he wished he had looked for the night before; a few horseshoes. The cart had a wide assortment of other iron goods and some oval, brown objects that were soft to the touch and about the size of a dog’s head. When he tore one open he found it had a fluffy white interior that crumbled if he played at it.
It felt strange to walk in the open, no trees overhead, no shadows to lurk through. The road was loud, the wheels of the shoddy cart louder. It set him on edge, knowing that if any creature of the wood was to creep along the wild’s edge they could so easily set upon him. He asserted that if he felt that way, he was doing a good job of being human.
The trail wound in a big knot that spliced in several directions. Cut wood with markings upon them was hanging from other cut wood that was stabbed into the ground at their center, as if to keep the road from coming unwound. He was not sure where the other paths lead but he knew the direction of the town and so that was the road he took.
The donkey had finally begun to cooperate and Karl loosened his tug upon the reigns as the two of them marched towards the land of menskr and their ilk, a land of iron and farms, where they stacked wood atop other wood and never moved away. They dug themselves into the earth and buried their heads in the soil like ticks, sucking the life from the world around them. Cutting the trees all around them and raising the same animals over and over, watched as they tugged the grass too quickly for it to grow. How they stripped the fur of sheep without the skin, winding the fur into cloth as if by magic.
It seemed to Karl that for all the work that menskr did, they lived in terrible unhappiness. Gilfr wandered the woods, cut only what they used. They pushed into caves and made love to the earth, watching the child of the love grow all around them. Rarely did they even have to hunt the animals because man walked the same paths every day so near to their home, fat and large as a deer but so much easier to stalk.
He remembered the nights of he and his clansmen buddle tight with each other, skin bare and marked with the brown of their lover whose bosom they rested atop. Only in the summer months would they sleep under the tears of the sun, draped in thick blackness. When snow tumbled off of the clouds, the gilfr used their one and only stationary home, Hillir, the Mouth of The World, a cave not far from a life-rich lake. His family waited for him there, expecting retribution upon the menskr.
Kerling, old woman, sooth speaker, story catcher, troll-wife, had been stricken down by a thin knife, her body bound to tree, her red mingling with the green at her feet. A bauble old the Kerling the man had taken, but left within her his blade. It was not unknown between the menskr that the people of the wood would not, could not touch nor bear the sight of cold-iron and so Vinr knew the killer left it as a message. Humans felt that they might rape their woods, take from them their elders, steal from troll-folk their pride and purpose. Anger rumbled in the hearts of Karl’s clansmen, trembling in their souls like an earthquake. And so, set forth Karl to set right the minds of men and prove the worth of a troll.
Smoke trickled into the sky ahead and Karl knew that he was almost to the settlement of the menskr. The smell of their waste was on the air and the woods began to fill with their refuse. The true mark of mankind was that they left all of their filth in one place, and then chose to live amid it.
The troll-son was greeted by a large wooden structure as he crossed the border of the town. Several horses rested inside, troughs of water and wheat for them to lazily much upon. How would the best be chosen amid them if there was no struggle? A portly man with a shiny head, a feast Karl considered failing his mission to fell and devour, wandered from the building and stood before him. For a moment Karl wondered if all menskr were so tiny, standing at least four hands shorter than he.
“Isn’t that O’Douls cart?” the chubby human asked.
Karl took a moment to clear his throat, fearful of using the language of man. “Yes, cart is his, yes?”
From the look that the man gave him, Karl was fearful that his disguise might have already been ruined. “Well, where is O’Doul then?”
“Oh, he is across the trail, under stones.” He tried his best to be honest.
“What? What do you mean he’s-“
“I have bring cart back!” Karl shouted excitedly.
“Yes, I see that, but-“
“You are having cart, yes? You take and I go to town?”
With a groan the stable-hand slowly drug himself around the cart and inspected goods, lazily flipping over the wool and tilting the lantern in the light. He came over a bag and casually opened it, but Karl could not help but notice the twinkle in the menskr’s eye. The troll-son knew this look, familiar with the lust in his twitching fingers, the wetness of his lips. The man had found the object of his hunt, and now all that was left was to kill it and drag it home.
“You have found something you like, yes?”
The stable-keeper nodded shortly, trying not to give away his excitement. “Yes, yes. So you say you’re giving away these goods, right?”
The massive man nodded enthusiastically, ready to sell his lie at any cost. “Yes, yes! I am here for the business of old girls and revenge!”
The man cast him a queer look, but ignored whatever blather the foreigner had to offer in exchange for the fat sack of coin the trader had left behind. “Oh, yeah, I see. So I take the cart and you go into the town. That’s the way it is around here, you see? It’s a fair trade,” he assured him, ready to snatch the coin and buy his fair share of bread, ale and women.
“Is my want, yes yes. I can go into town now? I am take shoe of horse, lantern and spear-stabber.”
The stable-hand had long since stopped trying to understand what the giant had to say and fell into a pattern of nodding and smiling. “Of course!”
Karl’s massive arm reached over the short, old man and collected a handful of horseshoes and the latern. With a too-wide grin and a tip of the hat he strolled into the town, casting a shadow longer than any other man could ever dream to.
He had spent a few moments rifling through the goods on the cart and he had found a few things that he knew: a few spearheads, freshly smithed, which he had put into his satchel; a lamp that he still did not know how to operate; a thick wool blanket which he wished he had looked for the night before; a few horseshoes. The cart had a wide assortment of other iron goods and some oval, brown objects that were soft to the touch and about the size of a dog’s head. When he tore one open he found it had a fluffy white interior that crumbled if he played at it.
It felt strange to walk in the open, no trees overhead, no shadows to lurk through. The road was loud, the wheels of the shoddy cart louder. It set him on edge, knowing that if any creature of the wood was to creep along the wild’s edge they could so easily set upon him. He asserted that if he felt that way, he was doing a good job of being human.
The trail wound in a big knot that spliced in several directions. Cut wood with markings upon them was hanging from other cut wood that was stabbed into the ground at their center, as if to keep the road from coming unwound. He was not sure where the other paths lead but he knew the direction of the town and so that was the road he took.
The donkey had finally begun to cooperate and Karl loosened his tug upon the reigns as the two of them marched towards the land of menskr and their ilk, a land of iron and farms, where they stacked wood atop other wood and never moved away. They dug themselves into the earth and buried their heads in the soil like ticks, sucking the life from the world around them. Cutting the trees all around them and raising the same animals over and over, watched as they tugged the grass too quickly for it to grow. How they stripped the fur of sheep without the skin, winding the fur into cloth as if by magic.
It seemed to Karl that for all the work that menskr did, they lived in terrible unhappiness. Gilfr wandered the woods, cut only what they used. They pushed into caves and made love to the earth, watching the child of the love grow all around them. Rarely did they even have to hunt the animals because man walked the same paths every day so near to their home, fat and large as a deer but so much easier to stalk.
He remembered the nights of he and his clansmen buddle tight with each other, skin bare and marked with the brown of their lover whose bosom they rested atop. Only in the summer months would they sleep under the tears of the sun, draped in thick blackness. When snow tumbled off of the clouds, the gilfr used their one and only stationary home, Hillir, the Mouth of The World, a cave not far from a life-rich lake. His family waited for him there, expecting retribution upon the menskr.
Kerling, old woman, sooth speaker, story catcher, troll-wife, had been stricken down by a thin knife, her body bound to tree, her red mingling with the green at her feet. A bauble old the Kerling the man had taken, but left within her his blade. It was not unknown between the menskr that the people of the wood would not, could not touch nor bear the sight of cold-iron and so Vinr knew the killer left it as a message. Humans felt that they might rape their woods, take from them their elders, steal from troll-folk their pride and purpose. Anger rumbled in the hearts of Karl’s clansmen, trembling in their souls like an earthquake. And so, set forth Karl to set right the minds of men and prove the worth of a troll.
Smoke trickled into the sky ahead and Karl knew that he was almost to the settlement of the menskr. The smell of their waste was on the air and the woods began to fill with their refuse. The true mark of mankind was that they left all of their filth in one place, and then chose to live amid it.
The troll-son was greeted by a large wooden structure as he crossed the border of the town. Several horses rested inside, troughs of water and wheat for them to lazily much upon. How would the best be chosen amid them if there was no struggle? A portly man with a shiny head, a feast Karl considered failing his mission to fell and devour, wandered from the building and stood before him. For a moment Karl wondered if all menskr were so tiny, standing at least four hands shorter than he.
“Isn’t that O’Douls cart?” the chubby human asked.
Karl took a moment to clear his throat, fearful of using the language of man. “Yes, cart is his, yes?”
From the look that the man gave him, Karl was fearful that his disguise might have already been ruined. “Well, where is O’Doul then?”
“Oh, he is across the trail, under stones.” He tried his best to be honest.
“What? What do you mean he’s-“
“I have bring cart back!” Karl shouted excitedly.
“Yes, I see that, but-“
“You are having cart, yes? You take and I go to town?”
With a groan the stable-hand slowly drug himself around the cart and inspected goods, lazily flipping over the wool and tilting the lantern in the light. He came over a bag and casually opened it, but Karl could not help but notice the twinkle in the menskr’s eye. The troll-son knew this look, familiar with the lust in his twitching fingers, the wetness of his lips. The man had found the object of his hunt, and now all that was left was to kill it and drag it home.
“You have found something you like, yes?”
The stable-keeper nodded shortly, trying not to give away his excitement. “Yes, yes. So you say you’re giving away these goods, right?”
The massive man nodded enthusiastically, ready to sell his lie at any cost. “Yes, yes! I am here for the business of old girls and revenge!”
The man cast him a queer look, but ignored whatever blather the foreigner had to offer in exchange for the fat sack of coin the trader had left behind. “Oh, yeah, I see. So I take the cart and you go into the town. That’s the way it is around here, you see? It’s a fair trade,” he assured him, ready to snatch the coin and buy his fair share of bread, ale and women.
“Is my want, yes yes. I can go into town now? I am take shoe of horse, lantern and spear-stabber.”
The stable-hand had long since stopped trying to understand what the giant had to say and fell into a pattern of nodding and smiling. “Of course!”
Karl’s massive arm reached over the short, old man and collected a handful of horseshoes and the latern. With a too-wide grin and a tip of the hat he strolled into the town, casting a shadow longer than any other man could ever dream to.