Crazywolf


Vengence of the Elves

Crazywolf stood a mere four feet above the ground, his black hair tossing wildly in the winds. This was to be for the trolls, the mortals who had slain so many of his ancestors. He pulled the brown bundle closer to his chest and tucked the long satin cloak around his face. Slowly, almost cautiously, he trudged up the winding dirt path toward the secret entrance of the troll caves. “Who goes there!” Demanded a rather corpulent, elderly troll. “Naught but a human child lost from the village.” Squeaked Crazywolf in a tiny voice. The troll was taken a back. “Courage you have, child. What business have you in the caves of trolls?” “I am lost,” said Crazywolf, “I ask only for permission to stay one night, is it mine?” No human had ever come to the mouth of a troll cave before, or if one had, he would run at first sight of the vile beasts that dwell within. Yet this one, this human child, asked to be let in, asked to the face of Dran, the gatekeeper. “Do you not fear me?” asked Dran, puffing up his bloated chest and breathing a hot, musty odor into the face of Crazywolf. “No.” He said simply, “I do not fear anything.” Dran had to laugh. If nothing else, a fearless child would make for entertainment after a full meal. He stared with momentary amazement into the eyes of this discovery. “Right this way,” offered the troll, and he extended a gray hand into the darkness. They passed several dark caverns, many twists and turns, and one long, winding tunnel after another. At the caves entrance there was a type of hole, then the area lightened, but was still dark. As Crazywolf walked deeper into the cave his wild, green eyes shifted form one rocky ledge to another, looking for the perfect place to set his trap. At the end of they’re walk they reached a carved out gash in the wall, and following that an open room. The smell of carrion reached Crazywolf. There were several crudely put together tools that lay in piles about the feet of each troll. In the center of the room a tremendous altar stood with thick, troll hands reaching down toward the life-giving soil, or perhaps down toward the caves themselves. The rock walls were chipped and bare, robbed of they’re beauty by greedy, mining trolls. And seated near the center or the chamber, just before the statue, sat the massive, sneering troll king. Nearly twice as big as the others, with thick, sagging skin, lengthy, white hair, and cold, black eyes. “Now.” Came a voice like the clattering of hoof beats on stone, and the trolls fell silent. “What have you brought me?” “A stray child, my lord, not just a child but a boy with out fear.” Explained the gatekeeper in a hoarse whisper. The pompous old troll looked Crazywolf over closely. He was of an age for trolls, and he was not so easily fooled. He sniffed at Crazywolf’s black hair then ripping the cloak from him to expose the point at the top of each ear. “Fool!” He bellowed. “This is an elf!” A gasp went up among the crowd, for they knew that all the elves of Calinia were gone long ago. “Please,” said Crazywolf with a laugh that came up from his toes. “Do give my mother some credit, I am only half elf.” The troll gazed into the wild eyes of Crazywolf and for the first time in the trolls long, retched life he felt fear. Crazywolf seemed to be looking threw him into his darkest dreams. He lifted a hand over his head and then from the concealed brown package he flung a crystal orb onto the rocky floor and the room filled with heat. The long tongs of the fire licked the walls and the firemadins danced the floor of the troll caves. The troll tossed in agony and Crazywolf laughed a loud. He laughed from the very bottom of his lonely heart. He laughed a wicked, evil laugh, then into the curling, choking smoke, he disappeared.

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