Dear Reader,
In this stream, I was specifically asked about the current books that I was reading. I must admit, I gave a lackluster answer. Me, the queen of description can't talk about books I read, yet I can navigate my way through complicated scientific papers describing immunity, microgravity experiments, or genetic shifts in wheat. I don't think this is a problem in my expression, but rather my emotions while actively speaking. The best thing for me to do in this case, is to go back and try it again. Inevitably I do get better at it. So I will make you this promise. The next Valheim stream, I will go back to the subject and describe the books I am reading in much more detail than just "It's a good fantasy." For now, come and join me in Dragons & Red Shirts where I give you a look in at my writing by playing games and then writing about what happens during that game.
Writers also need to challenge their own views and ways of thinking, much as scientists do. This gives us "the whole picture" as it were. So this week the story is a little different. You've been looking at Valheim from one viewpoint, but what if you saw it just a bit differently? Can I convince you that this vision is just as valid? What will you feel as you read and listen to it? I wish I could know what you think as you do, for that is my job, to make you take your own journey, even as I describe Grillains.
—
The aroma drifting in the air was different than it usually was. It was smoky, with a touch of dead animal. He sniffed the air carefully. It was the kind of smell that made you hesitant because it could be dangerous.
"Do you smell that?"
"Smell what? Smell what? Smell nothing!"
Wide, glittering eyes stared up at him even as the little grey creatures wandered around his feet. Their long fingers explored the greenery at his gigantic feet, sometimes plucking the fruit. Theirs was a beloved, tentative relationship. He'd never hurt them. They knew that, but he was so big they were just a bit wary of him anyway. Silly, scatterbrained things. If it wasn't right in front of them, it may as well not exist. Giving a huff and a stretch he stood up. His head topped many of the trees in the forest. His little friends, the animals of the understory, the shrubs and rocks, trolls had a unique perspective on all of them. He wandered off, looking for breakfast. This generally consisted of an eclectic range of vegetation and whatever happened to have died around him. His little friends sometimes killed things and didn't bother to eat it so he took care to scoop up the meat for himself.
He was three bites into a hunk of raw meat when his current batch of little grey friends stiffened, straining to hear something he could not. It happened frequently enough that it did not alarm him. They were sensitive, these odd little wrinkled beings. This time though, it was more than just a momentary alert. A few of the smaller ones called out and ran off into the trees, arms waving in alarm. He hesitated, lowering his food. They would come back, if they could, to tell him what they saw.
After a time he noticed that all of his friends were beginning to be agitated. The little grey ones, the big brutes, even the shaman rattled their bones and rumbled with agitation. He stood and picked up a log. Still, he hovered. Which way to go? He stepped carefully, going cautiously in a random direction. And he heard it. A thump. And another thump. Like something striking wood. A little streak of grey appeared at his feet.
"Forest Forest Forest Forest!" it screamed, incoherently angry.
"What about the forest?"
But it would not listen. His growl echoed across the hills.
"Show me!"
The command managed to turn the little creature back the way it came and it began leading him. He had to go slow until the sound of thumping became clear. Now he saw it. A tall tree toppled in the forest. A tree in his forest was being chopped down!
Everything that they had here, all the trees, all the rocks, all the hillsides, all the creatures, all the bushes. This was their home, all they had ever known. He defended it against the swamp goers and in return the land gave them everything they needed to survive. A tense relationship existed with the skeletons. The undead were...weird. They would attack his little friends with no hesitation at all, but they smelled like they too were a part of this place. He attacked them when they got too obstreperous, otherwise he'd leave them alone.
This creature though, whatever it was. It did not belong. It smelled strange, it was bigger than some of his little friends, smaller than others and it wielded its weapon with deathly intent. His footsteps increased as he spied it. Just in range, he swung his log taking out several trees himself but it was worth it to watch the little thing run in what appeared to be abject terror.
"What are you doing here? Get out of my forest! Get out! Thief! Despoiler! Cretin!"
He chased the strange smelling invader. All the way to the meadows. Which seemed strange, this wasn't usually his territory and he would have thought he'd see another troll here. The invader kept running and in an abundance of caution he turned away. His thumping footsteps retreated back toward the trees, figuring that was enough. He was, therefore, surprised to feel a sting on the back of his arm. He turned, plucked it out and looked dumbfounded at the fiery arrow in his palm. Another fire arrow flew through the air and sank into his chest. That one really hurt! The fire scared his little friends into gibbering terror. They whooped, the bigger, older greys streaming toward the source of the arrows, most of the younger greylings ran in mad circles trying to stay away from the fire.
The pricks of the arrows lent speed to troll feet. He launched himself through the trees with little regard for anything in his path. He did not stop at the edge of the meadow. He was encouraged when the invader looked to be tiring. Then it made a big mistake. It tripped and he was on it. The log came down and smashed the invader into the hillock until it just didn't move anymore. A shadow formed over the body and he knew it was over. The invader had been defeated. He hovered, torn by his feeling of victory and the pain the arrows had left behind. With a huff, he stomped off, back toward his forest.
It was a scary precedent, seeing this weird creature in his forest. He had a vague recollection of seeing places, built by others, now falling down and abandoned. Could those others have survived? Were they returning to these forests? There was one he could ask. A guardian of these big forests. The God of the boar and the háls. The one who could make the forest move.
The sacred site of Eikthyr was distressingly empty when he arrived. The ground and surrounding area were covered with distressing remnant bits of bone and broken trees. His large finger scraped the altar stone with uncertainty. But he was gratified to hear a response to his call.
"Old Stomper. What do you do here? You are far from your territory."
"I come seeking wisdom Eikthyr. You who know the meadows. I have seen an invader who shoots arrows of fire and strikes at my trees."
"Ah yes. The murderer of Sif. I have seen it. Odin is returning humans to these lands to defeat us. This human has chosen your lands to get resources from. Have a care. She has a wicked hand with her bow and axe."
"I have felt her weapon, and struck her down, but Sif! Sif is dead?"
"Do you doubt it? When the invader returns, look sharp. She wears Sif's skin as armor. She has declared her intent to do Odin's bidding, returning control of Valheim to the humans. Take care Old Stomper. Take great care or we will all find ourselves second to the humans."
The voice of Eikthyr faded, leaving Stomper in anger and confusion. He returned to his forest slowly. The afternoon wore on but he heard no more thumping of the human's axe. Instead he skirted his own territory into Sif's and there on the coast, he discovered the truth of it. No more greylings inhabited this area. Her cave was abandoned, dusty with her absence. The shields, so carefully prized from the hands of skeletons hung in her cave, but they too were dusty and forgotten. It could not have been long. Her musky scent lingered, though she was not here.
Night saw him curl up in her den, thinking fondly of the way she liked blueberries and how she was just a little awkward sometimes. His heart ached and his broken, abused skin stung. This would not go unpunished. The next day he woke with purpose and strode out to meet his foe. The greyling army was happy at this turn of events. They shrieked as he told them his plan to decimate everything the human built and then kill her over and over again until she never came back. For him, they ran ahead and began hunting for her.
The human was out again today, and he heard not only the thump of her axe, but the ping of a lode of copper being attacked. What could a human want with a lode of copper metal? His growl again echoed through the forest, ringing off the trees. He saw her dart from the corner of his eye and followed her. She was fast! The deer took no chances with this human, he saw them flee as she ran past, barking in terror. He slowed as he approached a construction he did not recognize. There was a big wall all around what were now rebuilt human dwellings. This place which had once had the wind blowing through it was alive with fire and new wood. He walked the perimeter of the wall reluctantly. Could he just keep her in there? It was possible. But the second his back was turned he felt the sting of her arrows goading him to return once again. The greylings helped him, chasing her back inside her wall, but not before she took down a good handful of them. He bashed the trees close to the wall in order to see her place better, but this had an unintended effect. She had a clear line of sight to him now and her arrows pricked him with terrible accuracy! Groaning in pain, he turned his back on her, intent on finding relief deep within the forest. She refused to give up the battle, however, and chased him.
This tiny human creature. With only an axe, arrows, and a pick. She was tormenting him, destroying his home, killing his friends. He came back again and again, chasing her all the way back to the wall and inside her territory. Each time, she would climb on a rickety collection of wooden pieces in order to get high enough to get the best shots at him. Stomper could see that Eikthyr had spoken true. The human wore the skin of Sif. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until her head popped off! The battle lasted through the night, until the very early hours of morning. He managed to destroy part of the wall as the sky brightened slightly and he entered the compound intent on wiping out everything when disaster happened.
Breathing hard from running back and forth all night, Grillain sighted down the end of the arrow. This one had to count. The arrow burst to life as it left the bow and slammed right into the beast's chest. It staggered him and he swayed.
"One more. I just need one more!"
Down on one knee, Stomper looked at the tiny human.
"Why?" he called, "Odin, why?"
There was no answer for him. The last arrow found his heart and he knew, the darkness would not only claim him, but many of his brethren. This warrior would lay waste to all they had known and loved.
Grillain almost collapsed in relief as the troll fell. She climbed down from her rickety perch. It had been a brilliant plan, keeping him coming back for more until she could destroy him. She stood over the troll triumphantly. His eyes followed her as his breathing weakened.
"I will destroy every troll on the face of Valheim, just as I destroyed you."
She watched his lips form silent, unintelligible words and then the light in his eyes faded and vanished from Valheim forever.