First time is the Hardest

[Nomgulg]

((Solo quest.))
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Green: This color represents the Trollish language
Red: This color represents the Elven language
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"Stop crying, for Elarion’s sake!" Anarar yelled, "It’s killing me!" .

"Take it easy, Anarar. You’ll make him even more scared yelling at him like that" Thrind calmly replied.

"Bah! Don’t tell me you can stand his whining!"

Thrind shook his head and returned to playing with the dice in front of him. For some reason they always seemed to let him down. Grabbing the two, skilfully crafted wooden dice in his hand he threw them up in the air. With a firm smack they landed on the stone table. "Double three, again" he softly sighed to himself.

"What did you say?" Anarar aggressively blurted at him. Thrind couldn’t understand why his comrade always acted like that. Every time they got the honourable task of guarding an exceptional prisoner he apparently got the need of acting like a total idiot. Always shouting and humiliating the locked up criminal. Though, Thrind admitted to himself, the one locked up this time was a really something different.

A loud bang awakened the slender Elf from his daydreaming. It seemed like Anarar had lost his self-control and had started throwing their cups against the reinforced steel cage. Things really could get out of control if the creature wasn’t tightly secured, he thought to himself. Then again, it wasn’t the creature that looked like posing a threat. In fact, now that Thrind thought about it, the prisoner didn’t looked like being aggressive at all. It was just sitting there, in the corner, softly weeping. In all his years as an officer in the Raiaera army he hadn’t seen anything like it. Most poor souls tried to break free, in vain of course. Some even threatened killing themselves if they weren’t released. Yes, Thrind could remember every single case of suicide within this very chambers.

"What is it with this dice?"

"Can’t you just leave that mind-numbing game alone?" The utter disgust could be heard through his voice. Anarar had never been a great fan of games that involved sheer luck and chance. He liked to be in control. Taking matters into his own hands. It was of that very fact that he managed to climb the ranks within the army so fast. People were always impressed with his approach to things, with the fact that he didn’t know the word "subtle".

"P-please. I don’t want to cause any trouble. Please, let-let me free" a soft, almost unnoticeable, low voice spoke suddenly.
A painful silence followed. Tension was clearly building within the dark dungeon and it was that kind of situation in which everybody wonders who’s the first to speak.

"What’s that? What did you say, filthy Troll!?" the tall, heavily armored Elf immediately replied quickly, kicking against the steel bars hard.
"Anarar, that’s enough!" Thrind jumped up from his seat and yanked his superior back by grabbing his arm. High officer Anarar looked at Thrind as if he had just stabbed a knife through his back. Thrind quickly released the arm and took a few steps back. He instantly knew he had just given Anarar every right to throw him in there with the Troll after this somewhat, disrespectful behaviour.

Though the Elf said nothing.

It seemed there was nothing left of the yelling, aggressive commander. As if that sudden instant, that one moment had changed the man forever. As Anarar slowly walked up to Thrind it became awfully clear that the Elf has surpassed his anger and was now looking at his comrade with fire in his eyes. With a strong pull he took one of the torches off the wall. Holding it in front of him Thrind could clearly see the veins on Anarar’s forehead. "Well well, private Thrind. I see you’ve taken a liking to our guest?"
The ice cold voice made him shiver, never in his life had a commanding officer spoken to him in such a way. Whirling around Anarar headed towards the cage. In a split second the prison creaked open and the captured Troll was dragged out onto the center of the room. Quietly it lay there, as if it knew that any sudden movement could kill him.

[Nomgulg]

Blood spattered over the floor as the hard boot found its way into Nomgulg’s stomach. He couldn’t remember how long the man had been torturing him. He had lost track of time a long time ago. Was he in there for just a couple hours? Or had he been there even as long as a week? The only thing on his mind right now was keeping his organs inside him. Again he could feel a feet closing in, this time hitting him in the face. Nomgulg could feel the warm, salt blood filling his mouth as he lay there on his back. He coughed. The Troll noticed a thin line of blood slowly dripping from the corner of lips all the way down into his neck. A shiver went down his spine.

"How you like that, Thrind? You better be happy that I’m in a good mood or else you would’ve been laying next to him!"

Nomgulg couldn’t understand what the person next to him was shouting. But it was easy to recognize the hatred and angriness in his voice. This person obviously had something against him, the Troll thought, as he stretched out his right arm. Slowly stroking over the floor as if he was looking for something Nomgulg tried to find his glasses. Suddenly a bone-shattering sound echoed through the chamber. Nomgulg could feel the leather boot breaking his fingers. Apparently he had misjudged the situation and his attacker was still keeping an eye on him.

"Looking for your glasses, monster?" a dark voice laughed. There was no more doubt that the torturer was enjoying his sadistic, evil tricks. Nomgulg swallowed some blood as the man spoke again;

"Hmpf. Here, take them! I want you to see me…before I kill you". Again that nerve-wracking laugh.

Slowly and shaking he slid the glasses over his ears. There were some cracks in the lenses but once again Nomgulg could see the two Elves standing in front of him. His attacker had to be one closest to him. The tallest of the two, almost as tall as Nomgulg himself. The man had some blood on his shoes and little drops of sweat were sliding down his forehead. His lips formed a sinister smile.

The long one was absolutely nothing like the other, who was at least two feet shorter. Blonde haired with short but more pointy, slender ears. This one seemed to disagree with the methods of the other, Nomgulg thought, as he observed the Elf sitting at the stone table. Every time he looked at the Troll there was this sign of regret. As if he was sorry for the behaviour of the other.

Suddenly Nomgulg felt an enormous heat near his arm. Quickly retreating his arm he could see the aggressor trying to burn his arm with a wall torch. The wicked smile grew even bigger when the Elf pulled Nomgulg closer, firmly grabbing his long, dark hair. Nomgulg could feel the fire burning his skin and a loud roar followed. Apparently this caught his abuser a bit of guard and he quickly tightened his fist as he punched the man in the face.

"What the hell!?" Anarar screamed while stumbling back a few paces. He dropped the torch and held up his hand beneath his nose. It was quickly covered in blood.
Nomgulg looked dumbfounded at his shacking hand. What happened!? he thought to himself. Never had he needed to resort to such a low level as violence. But this person just brought up something inside of him he hadn’t ever felt before, it came from deep within and seemed to fill his entire body now. From his toes to his nose, from his hands to his feet he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
He reached behind his back and unsheathed one of his daggers. It went not smoothly at all, as the dagger was starting to rust into the sheath from the absence of use for many years. Still shaking in his boots he pointed the dagger at his Elven attacker.

Anarar looked confused at the now armed Troll, staggering little words nobody could understand and then shifted his view to his comrade. "Didn’t you remove his weapons when you caged him?" he asked, unsuccessfully trying to get a grip on the situation. "No I didn’t. I didn’t think those dented old things could pose a threat. But it seems I was wrong" Thrind replied smiling. "You sure were, damn it! Quickly, hand me that sword!"

[Nomgulg]

"I don’t want to hurt you! P-please stay away!"

"Shut your ugly mouth Troll, the ugly tone disgusts me!"

Nomgulg Narod had absolutely no idea how to get out the situation alive. He had struck the big Elf in his face and the man was now extremely furious. Even yelling at his own brethren now, never had Nomgulg witnessed such behaviour. Apparently the two couldn’t get along very well as the more quiet one ignored the tall one’s screams and commands. Nomgulg looked at his shattered hand. The pain was still there, in every one of his broken fingers. In the other hand he was holding the rusty, iron dagger. He never viewed the weapon as he did now. It was actually quite beautiful, with the soft, woollen hilt comfortably in his hand.

Just in time Nomgulg raised his view back up to face his attacker. For Anarar had gotten hold of a sword and was now charging straight forward. Before Narod had any time to react the sharp, long sword pressed itself into his shoulder. And with a gentle pull it retreated from the wound as fast as it entered. Dropping his dagger Nomgulg felt to the ground, covering the bleeding wound with his broken hand. Tears rolled down his cheek as he tried to stop the bleeding.

And Anarar did nothing but laugh. Laugh at the wounded Troll.

Then, the laughter stopped. The Elf looked shocked, for some reason. His mouth was wide open and had turned to a really pale white color. He fell to his knees, the clattering sound of steel hitting the floor echoing through the chamber. It wasn’t until Anarar lay flat on his chest that Nomgulg realised what happened.

"Can you understand what I’m saying, Troll?" the blonde Elf said, with a soothing voice. He yanked his sword from his comrade’s body with which he just saved Nomgulg’s life. Wiping the blood off with a piece of his shirt he sheathed the weapon again. Narod slowly crawled some meters away from the man. It was all too confusing. "What’s going on here..?" he thought to himself. Apparently his savior wanted him to stay alive. Or at least, not dead, for the time being. But what could Nomgulg think of this person? He just slayed his own brethren and now he was talking to him in some sort of gibberish. The Troll couldn’t understand a word the Elf was saying, though they didn’t sound anything like those of his friend, but it was quite a story the man was telling.

"That’s why I’m getting out of here, my friend, and I’m taking you with me!" A huge grin appeared on Thrind’s face as he put his hand forward, as if he wanted to help Nomgulg get up from the floor. A bit shaken, bruised and broken Nomgulg grabbed the man’s hand and raised himself up from the ground. A sting shot through his fingers. His hand was really messed up and could use the attention of a medicine man, he thought. How he longed for his family and friends right now. Leaving the safety of his village, deep inside the thick forest was turning out to be a huge mistake. Another tear rolled down the Troll’s cheek.

But he couldn’t cry any longer as a backpack was thrown against his chest, pressing a lot of oxygen out of his lungs. "Heads up!" the slender man smiled; "I’m sure you want your merchandise back!"

It was his own bag, Nomgulg realised. He quickly put in on and made Thrind a thankful gesture. This Elf couldn’t be as bad as the other, for giving back the stuff that got him arrested in the first place isn’t something that a soldier loyal to the Crown would do. "Thank you, sir…"

"No time for chitchat, we need to get out of here! Follow me!"

The Elf opened the wooden door and rushed up the winding stairs. Nomgulg still stood in the darkened, cold room. He slapped his hand against his forehead. "What shall I do? Maybe that Elf will kill me if I rush after him. But if I don’t, I’ll get arrested again for sure…"