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[Rimetrolls] Green Night


Xarkly
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RIMETROLL EVENTLINE:

GREEN NIGHT

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Spoiler

 


 

Green Night had finally arrived.

 

For as long as the Rimetrolls could remember, they had celebrated Green Night - the night on which the northern lights shone over the Rimeveld for the first time after the summer snows. They shone beautifully tonight, with the pale emerald folds rippling through the star-dappled sky. The weather was clear, and the air blissfully cold - for Trolls, at least - and the massive ice spikes that cloaked the Rimeveld gleamed as they reflected the shine of the northern lights above, bathing much of the Rimeveld's valleys in a teal light. For centuries, the Rimetrolls had gathered in the Rimeveld's central valley, which the ice spikes lit up like beacons, to feast and celebrate. There would be rolling competitions down the slope, Muma would famously play the ice chimes, and all the families would have a snowball tournament.

 

But now as Oxx - Chief of the Rimetrolls - stared across the valley, what he saw curdled his blood. A bare handful of Trolls had crawled out of their caves for the occasion, and whereas before slabs of ice and stone were laden with the finest dishes that the Trollwives could cook up, now they were starkly empty. It had been some time now since the Descendants in the south had destroyed the Rimetroll farm - or, more accurately, destroyed the enchantment allowing food to grow in the Rimeveld's inhospitable cold - and the Rimetrolls had gradually been starving every since. No one had yet died from starvation, but the situation was growing more dire by the day. The only solution was for Trolls to venture south and steal food from the same Descendants who had destroyed the Rimetroll's farm.

 

At first, Oxx adamantly opposed the raids: a very long time ago, before most of today's Rimetrolls were even born, they had committed to living a life of peace after they had been gifted their farm. They had sworn to leave behind their violent past of raiding and killing, and instead lived peacefully in the Rimeveld, forgotten by the greater world, living their days in blissful peace with not a care in the world besides rearing their family. But now that their farm - their sole source of food that had fed them for centuries - Oxx was horrified that they were forced back to the old ways. Once again, the Rimetrolls were forced to take up weapons and venture south.

 

"So close," he grunted sadly to himself as he stared up at the northern lights. "So close." For the longest time, the Rimetrolls had been monsters - they had been beasts, an evil to the Descendants, that were feared for their past raids. But then, once they had been gifted their very own farm as a peace offering, they had left behind their identity as monsters. They had their own families, their own loved ones, and no wish to hurt or kill others. They had been so close to forgetting what war, what violence, even meant.

 

But now it seemed to be their only means of survival.

 

Their farm and its enchantment had been a gift from a civilization of humans long ago as a peace offering to end their raids, and now that civilization was long dead, and the Trolls themselves had no idea how to rebuild it. So the Trolls raided once more; the elder Trolls, the precious few old enough to remember their old way of life, taught the younger generation how to steal from farms, and how to kill Descendants.

 

Even as he lay back on the snowdrift he was sat on, Oxx's belly rumbled violently, but he himself did not care to raid like the others. It might have helped his people survive a little longer, but that was it; a little longer. Without a permanent food source, it was only a matter of time until their people died out, whether through starvation or through war against the Descendants. Already, the Rimetroll population had dangerously dipped from so many falling during the raids."

 

"This is the end," he realized. The Rimetrolls would slowly - but surely - die out, now. There was nothing he could.

 

Sighing, he pushed off the snowdrift and found himself meandering up through the valley, past the ice spikes glowing under the northern lights, and ignoring the desperate gazes of the hungry Trolls he passed. Digging his long arms into the slopes of the mountains, he flung himself up the slopes, ascending to the top of the valley. He paused on the ridge once he reached it, where the Rimeveld's harsh wind swept over it. The wind disturbed the surface snow of the mountain all around him, constantly hazing it like white smoke. From the ridge, he stared out to the south, where he could see a sea of dark pine trees in the distance and, deep in that sea, the faint lights of the Descendant cities. It was there that so many of their number had died trying to feed themselves, and it was those Descendants that had destroyed the Rimetroll farm and started this war.

 

With a start, Oxx realized that he was not alone on the Ridge, and turned his head to find a rotund Troll cub - barely five or six years old, by the looks of his size - curled up in the snow, staring out towards the Red City.

 

"Runk," Oxx muttered in greeting as he recognized the Troll cub. "Wot you doin' out here?"

 

The cub didn't take his beady eyes off the distant skyline. "Waitin'. Pappy back soon."

 

Oxx's heart sank in his chest as he turned back towards the city. Runk's father had gone out in one of the raiding parties to the Red City, but that had been weeks ago. He had not returned, and Oxx very much doubted he was going to. He could have offered the child some reassurance, some false hope that his father might yet return, or instil him with some sentiment of revenge. Instead, though, Oxx just sat down on the ground next to him.

 

He knew there was nothing he could say to make anything better. There was nothing he could do to save Runk's father, or any of the other Trolls.

 

Slowly, he narrowed his eyes into a glare at the human cities in the distance.

 

The only thing he could do, he decided in that moment, was to make them pay.

 

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