“If Mörken should learn of the Triquetra’s existence, he will attempt to alter the past,” said the council’s leader.
Fearing the worst, the council of elders sent for Muzhichik, the forest troll.
“Muzhichik, son of Lorem, you have pledged your life to protect this forest and its people. Will you now step up to this latest challenge?” the council’s elders asked.
“As my father and his father before him, I will guard the forest until my last breath,” the troll answered.
Taking his leave, Muzhichik gathered a few items from his tent, then disappeared into the forest’s tree line.
“Damn Mörken and his Troth. My people have stopped worse scum than those elven insects,” muttered the troll, making his way through the trees.
By midmorning, Muzhichik had left the deep forest. He began the climb to the shrine overlooking the ancient forest of Ãlskad.
“If the Troth attempt to take the ridge, their bodies will lie scattered on this slope,” the troll remarked.
Muzhichik secured the shrine and began the long wait to see if Mörken would be foolish enough to attack.
With the land enveloped in darkness, the troll stood guard and watched.
“Campfires. Not very smart. The Troth are an arrogant race, and it will be their demise,” Muzhichik muttered.
The morning brought shrill cries from the ridge’s base.
“Time to teach the bugs a lesson about messing with forest trolls,” Muzhichik said.
Soon Muzhichik’s prophecy came to pass as wave after wave fell to the troll’s attacks.
“It’s a good day to die,” cried the troll as his weapon struck dark elves’ skulls.
“Go, you scuttling vermin. Send more, and they will join their brethren,” cried Muzhichik to the fleeing Troth.
A second wave of attackers came at night only to meet the same fate as the first.
The morning light brought calm and the stench of rotting corpses.
“That will provide a fine deterrent for any other fools who may wish to meet their maker,” the troll mumbled.
No fires lit the sky, and the land lay quiet that evening.
“The teacher has taught his students well,” Muzhichik said.
Battles raged in all directions, but no Troth attempted to climb the ridge.
“Those who lived will speak of the demon who guards the shrine. In time, their story will become myth. That myth will protect the shrine after I am dust,” Muzhichik said with a wry smile.
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