A thistle

The stories and lives of the Grim. ((Roleplaying Stories and In Character Interactions))
Chaindog
Lost
Posts: 54

A thistle

Unread post by Chaindog » Mon Jul 15, 2019 8:40 pm

As a child...

“Mama?” Moonthistle asks as she looks up while clutching her mother’s leg. She looks around the Revantusk village. Another Alliance attack seems to have been pushed back. For the first 5 years of her life, all Moonthistle has known has been Revantusk. The people in it, the visitors, and the invasions.

She asks again, louder this time, “Mama?”

Chaindog scans the village one more time and then looks down as she stows her bow. “Ja my wittle thistle?”

“Why do dey want to kill us all da time?” she asks as Chaindog is kneels down to wipe off the blood spray that ran across Moonthistle’s face. Chaindog sighs knowing a troll’s life has no innocence, but she’s still not happy about it.

“It’ da land dey want. It always about da land. From da old times right up to taday. Since da days of elves an trolls. Dey jus’ can’t seem to live together. Now’a’days we ave too many races ere.” Chaindog says.

As a preteen...

“Mama?” Moonthistle asks. It’s late at night, and Chaindog is on watch standing at the fire near the gate.

“Ja?” Chaindog says.

“What blood am I?” she asks.

Chaindog raises an eyebrow knowing this day would come. Surprisingly it wasn’t about tribes, but blood lines. “Why ja wanna know?” she asks, trying to lead her down a certain path of thought.

“Some of da other kids. Dey were talking about ju da other day. Saying tings, dat ju aren’t a true blood forest troll.’ Moonthistle asks.

“Ahhh.” Chaindog says, “Dat’s right. I am not. I carry da blood of da forest and jungle. Vilebranch, and da Darkspear tribes.

“Then what blood do I ave?” Moonthistle.

“Smartgirl to be asking dese questions. Jur father was Sand and Ice. Dat means ju be all four bloods of da trolls.” Chaindog replies.

For the first time ever, she asks, “Who be my father?”

“Ju should know by now, dat is not da troll way.” She pauses a moment, “but den da old ways don’t be working. Tribes raise da children, not jus da parents. Is how da Revantusk tribe be raising ju. Aye, I know jur father, but I no be telling ju is name. His blood was all me wanted, and it’s what me got.”

“Ju wanted only his blood? To make me?” Moonthistle asks.

Chaindog looks down at her daughter, “Ja. When we crossed paths, me sure it was a sign of da spirits. One me could not be passing up.” Chaindog reaches out and ruffles her daughter’s hair.

Day one of being an adult troll...

A dozen or so trolls stand around in a circle with a dirt patch of ground in the middle. Two trolls in the middle. Chaindog and a shaman. Moonthistle stands outside the circle.

“It be tradition!” yells the Shaman.

Chaindog yells back, “Tradition doesn’t work anymore! Me not letting ja do it!”

The shaman going red with rage yells, “Ju be weak old troll! Ju show no respect to da old ways!” and then spits at Chaindog.

Chaindog side steps the spit as it flies in midair towards her, and then kicks the shaman in the side of the knee. She then spins and leg sweeps the shaman off his feet. Just as the shaman’s head hits the dirt, Chaindog puts her foot his head. She forces his head sideways, and reaches down to grab an overly large tusk. She rips it out of his jaw and flips it in the air to grab it in a dagger stabbing like hold. She brings it down and stabs him in the eye with it. The shaman wails in agony. “Me ad enough of dese traditions.”

The circle backs away in fear, widening to point where Moonthistle is in the circle. Chaindog stands and turns to face her daughter. “Look at me!” she exclaims, “I be tradition! I be da best dere is. I was in da Core, I was dere for each war! And look where we be! Still fighting da dwarves, still defending our lands. Bah, nothing is changing! Is time for something new!” She yells.

Moonthistle just stands there staring at the ground. Unsure of what to do. She asks, “How can I as good as ju? How can I be what we be needing?”

Chaindog takes a deep breath, “Ju canna be comparing juself to me. I be of da old ways. Ju will be a new way. Come now, we pack, is time to try something new. We leave tomorrow.”

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