Snowstorm Henk and the Sorrowful Tunnels
Introduction
In Spring 386YE Vaclav Mladenovich Kosti, then Minister of Historical Research, dispatched Snowstorm Henk to investigate the newly uncovered Sorrowful Tunnels in Skarsind. The exploration took longer than expected due to the disappearance of the Imperial Orc researcher during their initial expedition. Shortly after writing a letter outlining their initial findings, they led their team into the lower tunnels and were presumed lost for several months. Fortunately Henk eventually returned relatively unscathed, and was able to complete their assignment. What follows is a transcript of their preliminary notes sent by letter to the minister; their story of what happened after their disappearance into the depths; and a summary of practical information they uncovered.
Preliminary Notes
Following the Spring Equinox 386YE the Golden Pyramid Conclave order engaged in an extensive exploration of Skarsind looking for ways to help the new nation grow. A group of prospectors led by a skilled dowser visited the so-called Sorrowful Tunnels, but were turned away by the unendurable aura of melancholy that saturates them. They were followed, however, by a band of Varushkan miners who reasoned that where there is terrible sorrow and a suffocating aura of sadness there must surely be treasure.
They were proved correct not only once but twice. They found mithril in the tunnels, but more importantly from our point of view they found signs that these passages and galleries had once been home to one of those mysterious creatures known to the Winterfolk as “trolls". Deep runes were carved into the walls, and there were other signs of habitation that gave the impression of being very old indeed.
The Winterfolk say that what is today Skarsind was at one time part of an ancient troll kingdom, and that these tunnels beneath Gildermark might represent an outpost or perhaps a mine (given the presence of mithril). There was apparently some discussion about whether these ruins should be explored or whether the focus should be on excavating the mithril.
I was commissioned personally by the Minister for Historical Research, Vaclav Mladenovich Kosti, to make a study of these tunnels and discover as much as possible about the troll or trolls that once abided there. A supply of precious liao was also provided, and my colleague Marko Siwarsbairn recruited a Winterfolk priest by the name of Tolva to use the liao to provide us with anointings of Wisdom so that we could weather the oppressive aura of melancholy.
Visiting the Mountains
Returning to Skarsind for the first time in a little while made me quite misty eyed, I won't lie. Intellectually I know that this place has been our home for only a handful of years in the great scheme of things but my heart feels differently. Having roots for the first time is a powerful experience, if I might be allowed a moment of personal reflection. We made a point of visiting the Legion's Rookery to pay our respects – my first visit since it was consecrated – and it was a powerful experience. As well as, in a way, a foreshadowing perhaps of things to come.
The trek up into the mountains was tiring, but we were well prepared for the weakness and shortness of breath following our experiences in Sungold Pass. At least this time we were unlikely to be captured by Thule and imprisoned! We'd made adequate preparations and did not rush, letting our bodies acclimatize to the thin air and the cold. Marko insisted that we packed extra warm clothing, and fussed and clucked around us before we set off along the trail up toward the peak. They themselves remained at the “base camp” established by the Varushkans, having their own investigations to be getting along with in the coming months.
The miners from the east had marked the trail with lightstones, and taken a few steps to make the path a little easier which were well received I can tell you. We took advantage of the second camp they'd established outside the entrance to the tunnels. Along with our own band, several warriors had come along to ensure that the agents of the Whisper Gallery would not take the opportunity to try and assassinate us in the wild places above Gildermark. They would not accompany us into the Sorrowful Tunnels themselves. Most stayed behind at the base camp, but a half dozen or so accompanied us to the entrance of the tunnels and resolved to set up additional protections at the second camp.
The Sorrowful Tunnels are old; that much is apparent to anyone who makes the long climb up into the mountains. As near as I can tell they have never been properly explored. There are stories that stretch back to pre-Imperial times of would-be heroes attempting to do so and either returning shattered in body and spirit or, more often, simply disappearing. We discussed extensively how best to make sure our own story does not end in the same way.
The Dolorous Aura
The “Dolorous Aura” is a very unpleasant thing to experience. I made a point of attempting to weather it unprotected by liao – both so that I could try and judge how debilitating it might prove to be and, if I am honest, to test myself against this darkness.
At first it seemed relatively subtle, a nagging reminder of things lost and paths not taken. Distracting, but endurable. It intensified the further we went from the entrance and at the very moment that I could no longer see the opening the full weight of this spiritual miasma fell on me like an avalanche. I found myself weeping, barely able to summon the will to move from where I sat with my arms wrapped around my knees.
The urgent imprecations of my companions could barely penetrate that intense sense of loss and despair to reach me and I was all but unresponsive. Even the voices of those who had gone before did not reach me, although I remember hearing them calling and cajoling me to get to my feet and flee this place. Many of us find the experience of being underground unsettling, because it reminds our ancestors of the time when we were forced to work in mines and they do not like it. Normally I do not find that to be too difficult to deal with but as I sat there consumed by sorrow I could feel them railing inside my spirit.
If not for my friends, who had sensibly received anointing before we entered the tunnels, I can easily imagine I would be there still weeping until there was no more water left in my body and I was naught but a desiccated husk.
I regained my senses back at the Varushkan camp outside the caves. My friends had all but carried me out, and even then it was nearly half an hour before I recovered enough to be aware of where I was. I felt the voices of my ancestors settle and quiet, and then sensibly received the Challenge of Wisdom which served as an adequate shield against the melancholy that saturates the caves and tunnels under Gildermark.
We'd determined that even with the anointing it might be best not to spend too much time in the dark tunnels, and arranged with the guards that if we did not make contact for more than three days they would raise the alarm. We also resolved to ensure that copies of our notes were written up when we returned to the surface, and left with the warriors in case anything unexpected happened.
The Runes
Suitably armoured in spirit as well as body, and fortified by a hot meal, we braved the darkness again. The Varushkans had left several lightstones in the first gallery after the entrance, and it was here we encountered the first runes carved into the stone walls. They were large – I measured them against my hand and some of them were at least two hands tall or wide. They were cut deep as well, at least six inches into the stone. We couldn't determine what kind of tool had been used to make them.
Unlike many of the other runes I had examined – those in the old runeforge chamber under Gildenheim or in the tunnels around Lorenzo's Deep Pockets – they were not inlaid with metal. There was something in their emptiness that tugged at my awareness, and brought a wave of misery over me that the shield of Wisdom turned aside thank the paragons.
Leontes insists that all members of the department can sight-read the runes, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to what had been inscribed here. The most common were the Shears (Yoorn, the rune of Ending) and the Fish (Kyrop, the rune of weakness), but also the Scythe (Hirmok, the rune of Dominion) and the Apple Tree (Pallas, the Rune of Wealth). Poor omens, said Tolva – the Winterfolk priest insisted on accompanying us into the earth.
From this first gallery a spiderweb of tunnels extended further into the mountain. These tunnels reminded me very much of those under Lorenzo's Deep Pockets – the height and width of them suggested that they were carved for something larger than human or orc.
We discovered that while most of the tunnels were relatively level some sloped down or upwards, descending or ascending in long shallow steps four-feet wide and around a foot high, again suggesting something larger than any of us. The further we delved beneath the surface the more complex the workings became. We carefully prepared maps, indicating where we had been and where we still had to go, and the scale of the excavations quickly became apparent.
Divinations
As is traditional when exploring strange ruins, we took the time to consult both the Night and Day realms with magic.
First, given the dark environs made it feel fitting, we consulted the Shadowed Glass of Sung. This ritual answers the question “Is there a specific secret, mystery, or enigma associated with this location?“ Our divination received the not-particularly-reassuring response “What does it mean to be alone? What does it mean to choose to be alone, or to have no choice? What does it mean to know that things end? How long can one be alone before you forget you are alone?” Not precisely illuminating, but fit for the place we were exploring I would say.
Much more useful, arguably, was the Clear Lens of the Eternal River. This divination asks the question “What is the historical significance of this place?”. The ritual unfolded around us and provided considerably more context than we were expecting. “This is the domain of the troll (untranslatable) that came here in the time of Chaos to the high places above the kingdom to await the inevitable, to be alone with their thoughts, to be away from their fellows who sought to drag them into chaos. Self-exiled and ostracised they dwelled here while the stars spun across the sky, waiting for the end, mourning for everything that had been lost, and would be lost when they ceased.”
The untranslatable name came as a rush of sensation, and is hard to put into words. A sense of profound silence, water dripping into water, and the scent of pine needles first thing in the morning and last thing at night. We were left with the impression that this was a name, and started referring to it as “Silent Water” for our convenience.
We're reasonably confident following the divination this is an account of the troll lord who once lived in these caves, and most likely carved them themselves (or had their servants do it). It confirmed the supposition around the historical importance of this place, and how vital it is for the Empire that extracting the mithril here be delayed as long as possible.
An Unexpected Guest
A short time after we'd performed our divinations, we were joined by an unexpected visitor. At first we mistook it for some spirit of the tunnels, but it soon became apparent it was anything but. They had the aspect of an orc, but with feathers instead of hair that immediately marked them as something other. They emerged without warning out of the darkness, and introduced themselves in a mellifluent voice as Elionwy, Whose Wings are a Shield – a favoured herald of the Feathered Serpent that Night magicians call “Sung”. She vouchsafed that she had been sent by her mistress specifically to protect us from the attention of the Whisper Gallery but also would stand between us and other dangers of the dark places under Gildenheim. It wasn't clear what one odd orc-like herald could do, but after asking some probing questions we determined that they appeared to be sincere in their offer. Tolva offered them an anointing but they claimed that they didn't need any protection from “the mystery” here – the shield of their wings was sufficient.
(We noted they did not in fact have wings, so thought at the time that it was just a turn of phrase).
There was a little discussion about whether Sung might want to impede our investigations to preserve the mystery here but in the end we agreed to give them a chance but keep as close an eye on them as possible. Also, they raised the spectre of the Whisper Gallery and its agents, who are known to take a particular pleasure in trying to murder members of the Department. While we found it unlikely that any agents would make it past the guards at the base camp or the second camp, we resolved to keep an eye open just to be safe.
Signs of Habitation
Accompanied by our new companion and guard, we pressed on in our investigations. It was easy to see why the Varushkans believed this place was inhabited. Two levels down from the entrance the tunnels lost their rough appearance and became worked stone. More runes – especially the rune Hirmok – but also carved arches, vaults, and columns. We found stone tables and what must have been work surfaces, as well as several heavy doors made of metal and stone that took all our combined strength to open and revealed only more tunnels and galleries.
We found several rooms and features that made no sense to us. A pentagonal depression six feet deep in a cave with runes of Revelations, Discovery, Thought, Secrets, and Mystery on the walls. We surmised this might have been a meditation chamber of some kind, although why the depression was needed was unclear.
Everything was on a giant scale – there were no signs of anything made for orcs or humans here. Given the weight of the doors, it was unlikely anyone could have moved around here with any particular ease.
After several weeks of exploring what we had started calling the upper tunnels, we decided to try something different and press down as far as we could to see what was at the bottom. With that in mind, we took a few days to prepare and fortify ourselves, ensure our notes were up to date, and began the descent down into the depths.
In the Bowels of the Mountain
Following the initial letter, Snowstorm Henk and his companions pushed further down into the tunnels below the mountains. While the rest of the group returned, the Imperial Orcs researcher was not with them. What follows is the later testimony written by the scholar on his return shortly before the Spring Equinox 387YE.
A Dark Descent
I and my companions spent the New Year deep under the mountains. As I said at the end of my earlier letter, we planned to abandon the inch-by-inch exploration of the Sorrowful Tunnels, and see if we could find our way down to the bottom of this great complex. Descending proved remarkably easy at first – there was a central well-like structure with a stone ramp running around it. At first I was worried it might collapse but like the rest of the structures we encountered it was as sturdy as it must have been on the day the work was completed. At the bottom of this well was a whole additional complex made up of much larger chambers, halls, and galleries, whose grandeur was often almost overwhelming.
The further down we went the worst the effect of the Dolorous Aura became. Even with the anointing the Wintermark priest Tolva had provided, I often found myself drifting off into morose introspection. Fortunately, the power of the virtues was enough – coupled with any orc's natural unwillingness to abandon their fellows – to keep me on track.
I won't give a blow-by-blow account of these explorations. We established a secondary camp with bedrolls and food supplies, and we encountered (and mapped) a lot more empty chambers and then at the end of the third week underground... I fell down a hole.
It was my own fault, I'm sure. At the time I could have sworn I felt a push, but looking back I must have been mistaken. I was paying no attention to what I was doing, busy lost in a conversation with Elionwy, Whose Wings are a Shield (the herald of Sung who had been asked to protect our expedition from the Whisper Gallery agents) and I discovered what I had taken to be a solid stone floor was in fact a wide open well of some kind.
In The Deeps
I have no idea how deep the hole was – I smacked my head on the way down and remember nothing until I came to on a rocky shore. Scattered around me were multicoloured pin feathers, each the length of my forearm. I imagine I have Whose Wings are a Shield to thank for my miraculous survival. Not that they were there when I woke up.
At first I was terrified, obviously. Fortunately most of my supplies were still intact – if a little waterlogged in places – including my trusty back-up lightstone. I applied the medicinal salve to my broken bones and torn skin and silently thanked Siwar for having insisted I take a Sovereign Specific with me into the caves. Then I hollered until I was hoarse, but there was no reply save echoes. Then I wrung out my clothes, and set about trying to find my way back to the rest of the team.
I had no idea how long I had been missing, or where I was, or where anyone else was. Rather than give in to despair, however, I used some of the tiny reserve of crystal mana I had in my satchel to perform Gralka's Gift to the Lost Seeker which confirmed that I was in the Sorrowful Tunnels deep beneath the mountains of Gildermark. While not necessarily useful, it was reassuring that I had not been swept away into some supernatural sinkhole or plunged into the Howling Abyss thanks to the ignominious nature of my demise.
Over the next few... hours? days? I discovered I was in a veritable maze of tunnels, mostly natural but worked in some places. The Dolorous Aura was oppressive but the anointing held. I pushed worry about what would happen when it faded to the back of my mind, and focused instead on rationing the hard biscuits, cheese, and small package of pilf I had in my satchel.
I won't bore you with the details any more than I already have. This whole period is a little... unclear to me, I confess. I slept fitfully and had bad dreams. Lost track of time. As I travelled, though, the dark tunnels became colder. At first, I wondered if I was approaching an exit, but in the end those hopes were dashed. I wandered, lost, and slowly began to succumb to despair.
Occasionally these winding tunnels would open into rough chambers, some of which showed signs of having been shaped in places but for the most part appeared to be raw stone. Here and there, I would encounter runes carved into the wall. Primarily Aesh and the Shears of Yoorn.
Exhausted in body and spirit, I lay down in one of the larger caves, beside a pool of cold black mountain water. There were crystals in the ceiling – lightstones I think – that glimmered and glittered like the midwinter stars back in Skarsind. I lay down near the lake, in the lee of a great stone outcropping, and made my peace with my ancestors.
The cold had begun to eat into my bones – as bad as when we braved the peaks up near the Sungold Pass – and so I decided to use the last of my kindling, and the last of my parchment to light a small fire. If I was to die, lost under these mountains, I resolved to die warm at least.
The little fire burned low, but the warmth was welcome and I drifted off to sleep by its flickering light, unsure if I would awaken again.
An Unexpected Meeting
I awoke. I awoke to find something leaning over me. It was massive – easily twice my height. I thought at first I was still dreaming, my experiences to date causing phantasms of some giant creature out of ancient days to haunt my sleep. It had a face both like and quite unlike that of an orc. Long rangy arms that creaked and groaned as it moved, and squat bandy legs. Its skin was like unworked stone. Its eyes were massive and dark, like orbs of obsidian. It had tusks of discoloured grey, and a cracked and pitted brow. And it was alive, of that much I am sure. It prodded me with a talon the length of my hand, of the same off-white bone as its fangs, and it spoke in a grinding voice like a boulder slipping down the side of a mountain. I didn't understand it.
I did not move, certain that an entirely unexpected death had found me. It didn't move. It just stared at me. I noticed, with a sinking feeling, that the outcropping under which I had taken shelter was gone. Or rather, I suspected, that outcropping, awoken by my fire or perhaps my presence huddled below it, had come to life and now stood before me. A creature of the deep mountains.
What I said I can't quite remember, but the thing rocked back slightly on its granite heels, and next time it spoke it was in passable if archaic Imperial.
It wanted to know what I was, who I was, and what I was doing trespassing here and disturbing its rest. I did my best to explain. With long multi-jointed claws that put me in mind of a strange Spring herald I encountered once it picked up my satchel, emptied it out on the floor, and picked through the remaining contents. It held them up one at a time, turning them over in surprisingly dextrous claws. After it had examined each item it put them to one side. It paid no more attention to my scrolls than it did to the quills and pot of ink, or the pens, or my useful knife.
I considered scrabbling away, but I was too tired. Too resigned. I realise now that what had happened was that the Dolorous Aura had begun to seep into me as the anointing faded. The creature – the troll for it could be nothing else – turned its attention back to me and continued to ask questions in that slow grinding voice, barely blinking. I stuttered answers as best I could, tried to ask questions of my own. After a time the creature became irritated with my manner, and disappeared into the darkness. A few minutes later a fish splashed onto the ground at my feet. I could barely force myself to gut it, but I was hungry enough to eat it raw.
Some time passed, I slept fitfully, and drank a little cold water in the rare moments when I could force myself to shake off the despair that was slowly tightening its grip upon my spirit. Without warning, the troll creature suddenly emerged from the darkness, pinned me in place without any obvious effort, and pressed a circlet of metal onto my head. As he held me in place I felt something shifting around me – something I recognised as a bonding – and then the sorrow that was eating me alive fell away and I felt a burst of energy. The circlet was a magic item, something that restored my spirit and helped me pull myself together. I tried to thank the troll but it ignored me and went back to questioning.
Questions
I was still tired, and I think I faded in and out of consciousness. Whenever I was lucid, the troll was there, asking me questions. It was fascinated by the fact we had come here to learn, and returned to that interrogation several times. Once I had satisfied its curiosity, it began, haltingly at first and then with more eloquence, to talk about itself and that is where the bulk of this report comes from.
The creature refused to give up its name. I think though that it was tired and perhaps a little lonely, as it seemed to relish the opportunity to talk to me about its people and their stories, and the doom that awaited them. About their kingdoms, and their forsaking, and the runes, and the like. After a while I started to make some notes, which the creature seemed unconcerned about. When I started to falter a little, it would disappear for a time and return with a blind cave fish and then continue the conversation. Sometimes, without warning, it would stand and depart, without a word, and it would be some time before I saw it again. I believe for all the loneliness I felt emanating from it, it had only limited patience for my questions and company.
I have no idea how long this lasted. The creature seemed unhurried, and unconcerned. For a creature that had sat unmoving long enough that it had effectively become a lump of stone, it is perhaps unsurprising that it had no interest in rushing the conversation.
Returning
After a time though, I broached the subject of returning to my companions. It considered me for a time – an hour I would guess – before it spoke again. It was extremely unnerving to sit there for an hour being stared at by this massive, unmoving fanged-and-taloned thing of stone and ancient sadness. Then without further comment it simply... picked me up. Tossed me over its shoulder like it might a sack of grain, and began to walk through the darkness with me. It was at this point that I got a feel for the sheer physical strength, the presence of this thing. I knew it could kill me easily, tear me apart as easily as I might shred a piece of cooked chicken. If it wished to.
It moved with purpose, with me bouncing over its shoulder. Its gait was uneven, which began to give me a form of seasickness. I could tell we were ascending, several times mounting curving ramps. I couldn't tell you the route we took, nor entirely how long it took, but then without warning it stopped. It dropped me a little heavily and leaned close.
“Do not come back,” it said. “Take what you want from the upper halls but you and your Empire must leave me alone, little orc. No good will come to you or yours if you disturb me or mine.”
And then without waiting for a reply it turned and disappeared back into the darkness. I was at the base of the well that led up to the mine workings and ultimately to the gate. I had been reported missing, presumed dead, but there was much rejoicing at my return. After reaching the doors, though, I swooned and spent two weeks in bed barely conscious dreaming of being trapped in the darkness. Then I spent another two weeks convalescing before beginning to write my report.
I think it likely that the Dolorous Aura that hangs over the caves and tunnels is a result of the troll that has spent untold years sleeping and dreaming in its depths. There is mithril here, but exploiting it will be difficult. I do not think the aura can be removed - it is too engrained in the soul - but I am no priest. I think it likely that even killing the troll - were such a thing even possible - would not especially weaken the aura. Any extraction of mithril will be challenging - and I strongly advise that we respect the wishes of that lonely inhabitant of the tunnels beneath the mountain.
There is one other matter I feel relevant beyond this report. While I was being carried out of the depths by that troll, that sorrowful creature of ancient days, we passed through a hall filled with statues. Half again my height I would judge – and remember I was bouncing upside down over the shoulders of the troll and in a half-starved state – and clad in metal armour with terrible weapons. Statues not of orcs or humans but of an altogether more practical shape. I would hesitate to speak with certainty, but I would guess that these may have been old constructs, built by my peculiar host. Probably they fused solid long before there was an Empire but if not... then I would wager that this creature would be more than capable of ensuring its injunction to “leave it alone” would be obeyed, and that we should think long and hard before venturing beyond the highest levels of this mine lest the Empire ignite another troll war in the north.
Concerning Trolls
Snowstorm Henk Writes
After returning unlooked-for from the depths, I spend several days in a stupor tended to by my friends. Once I regained a little strength, I was carried down the mountain to the original Varushkan camp by my companions, strapped to a travois despite my protestations that I was recovered enough to walk. Once I had been declared fit to return to light duties by a physician, I set to writing down everything I could remember from my discussions with the creature deep beneath the mountains.
Troll Kingdoms
Centuries ago, the lands across the north of the Empire were variously inhabited or ruled by trolls. There were incredibly few of them, it is not known exactly how many of them there were, but there may well have been two score of them at most, in total. They believed that they had been individually fashioned from stone by the Creator, and they were undying; they could be killed like any other being, but they did not grow old or sicken and die of disease like humans or orcs might.
They appear to have largely lived alone, or in small groups of two or three, but despite this, they were able to create small kingdoms which in many cases endured for centuries. None of these kingdoms seem to still be extant however, even if some of the trolls who ruled over them still survive. The fall of the troll kingdoms appears to have been all but inevitable because of the doom that every troll endures. This terrible curse ensured that everything a troll did would eventually end in ruin. This curse could come quickly and extract its price in days or hours, or it could take centuries. As a result of this, trolls were incredibly fatalistic creatures, morbidly aware that everything they made would ultimately bring only woe to the world.
These early troll kingdoms appear to have fallen one-by-one. Some were attacked by human or orc enemies, others fell to catastrophe. There was little or no attempt to help each other survive this fate, which is perhaps unsurprising given the belief that to do so would likely only hasten their demise. There was great danger in attacking a troll however. If a troll's life ended in disaster, then nothing would come of it, but if a troll was slain, then their doom would fall on those who killed them.
Fashioned From Stone
The trolls appear to believe that their entire race was fashioned from stone by the Creator themselves. While this seems extraordinary, it is impossible to completely rule it out. There are certainly creatures in the realms of magic that appear to be made of stone, though most are relatively simplistic beings in some way. Trolls are far from that; highly intelligent creatures that built their own civilisation that appears to have lasted for centuries or longer.
Physically trolls are usually large creatures all of whom appear to be fashioned from rock or stone. Every troll is different in size and physical demeanour. Some are huge hulking brutes that seem to lack any grace or finesse, but the smallest are no taller than a human or orc and have claws so fine they could easily be mistaken for "normal" fingers. Each troll ultimately had a unique appearance with differences much more pronounced than those between individual humans or orcs. The trolls believe they were all fashioned one by one, by the Creator, so they see no reason why then any two trolls should look similar.
All were undying however. They might weather, like stone wearing away from wind or rock, but they never grew old or infirm and simply endured as the centuries passed. They didn't need to eat or drink anything, but some appear to have adopted the habit by observing mortals. They were not immortal as such - they could be killed - but they did not suffer disease or sickness. When a troll died, its body would turn back to stone. This process was not immediate, it might take hours or more, but eventually the troll would return to the stone from which it came.
It seems that they do not sleep the way other creatures might, but they do dream. If a troll stops moving for a few weeks or months, they could eventually start dreaming. Some trolls appear to have spent decades or even centuries dreaming in this state. It is not clear why they do this, but trolls in this state resemble finely detailed statues - at first. Over time the long exposure to the elements weathers these dreaming trolls to the point where they resemble little more than standing stones. Despite this, the troll is still alive, and dimly aware of their surroundings, and can be roused to conversation or even action with sufficient stimulus.
Master Artisans Without Magic
Trolls were remarkable artisans. In place of fingers, a troll has powerful claws, but these digits are incredibly strong and dextrous. Each claw is jointed, allowing a troll to manipulate things with the same exquisite profession as an orc or human hand, but capable of cutting through steel or stone the way a blow from an ogre might. These natural abilities allowed trolls to master sculpture, and both metal and wood working. They don't appear to have had any skill with clay or similar materials, but with wood, stone and metal they had no peers.
The secret of their power appears to be the extraordinary speed with which they could produce magical items. Trolls appear to have been able to make enchanted items in hours or days rather than months and working metal and stone with their bare hands rather than with fire and forge as a smith might or tools and hammers as a mason would. They needed precious resources to create their works, just like any other artisan, but what a smith might require weeks to make, a troll could produce in hours, provided they had access to the materials needed.
These crafts were the basis of their kingdoms, as well as the cause of them. Few trolls appear to have had any interest in ruling others, but they did have an insatiable need for materials. Some trolls were worshipped as gods, provided with ingots and measures by terrified mortals who sought to propitiate them. Some armed and armoured bands of humans and orcs and sent them to conquer others on their behalf. But some forged their own armies, labouring to craft terrible constructs that could follow orders and fight. Trolls ruled as distant kings and queens over these kingdoms; they took no interest in the lives of their short-lived subjects, so long as the flow of essential materials continued uninterrupted.
Despite their long lives, trolls were utterly unable to use magic. Spells, incantations and rituals were unknown to them, and while some employed mortals to use these powers on their behalf, trolls themselves remained completely incapable of wielding magic personally. No troll ever managed to cast even the simplest spell, despite numerous attempts to learn magic. Perhaps the Creator exacted this price to pay for their extraordinary skill, perhaps it was their claws, so adapt at working stone, metal and wood, were of no use when manipulating magic. Whatever the reason for it, trolls could be affected by magic, they could suffer it, but no troll was ever able to wield magic themselves.
Runes
There are many in Wintermark who claim that their people created the runes - generally the feat is ascribed to Isenbrad, the famous Steinr runesmith. Other common claims are that Isenbrad perfected the runes, without ever really saying what that means. Some Wintermarkers tell stories that mention that Isenbrad stole the runes. Those stories never say from whom Isenbrad took the runes, but the Jotun have a story in which Isenbrad stole the runes from them, but that doesn't explain where they got the runes from. The least ambitious claim is that Isenbrad "discovered" the runes. If what the trolls believe is true then that much at least could still be right.
Trolls predate Isenbrad by many centuries perhaps even millennia - there is no doubt of any kind about that. In their version of history they are very clear that they created the runes. They claim that the runes are some kind of fundamental language of creation - that they encapsulate the words the Creator used to fashion the world. The trolls fixed the form and shape of the Creators voice by carving the letters into stone with their claws.
It would be easy to discount this version of history as just another vain boast, but there is one element that lends a little credence to the claim; the runes are difficult to carve. The curved shapes take great skill to carve in stone. The movements of a chisel favour clean angular lines. It takes many crafters years to master the skills needed to carve a rune. To do it at all is hard - to do it well requires exceptional skill.
But a troll's claw can carve a rune with the same speed and precision that a Freeborn scrivener might use to illustrate a scroll. Creating runes is a challenging art that takes years for a mortal to master - but trolls cut them with the same grace and ease that a League artist moves a brush across the canvas.
Doom
Trolls are doomed. They are all fully aware of this painful and unavoidable truth. Perversely, they are not doomed to die - trolls genuinely appear to live forever unless killed by violence. But everything a troll strives to create is doomed to fail. If they build a kingdom, then it will inevitably fall into ruin, bringing destruction and death to all those it sheltered. If they build a bridge, it will inevitably collapse, plunging those closest to the troll into the raging rivers below. If they build a friendship, then the other party will inevitably betray them.
This doom is not a curse as Winter magic might understand it. It doesn't weaken the bearer, or leave them sick or ill. It doesn't produce clear known effects that can be counted. According to the trolls, their doom conspires with fate itself to bring about their downfall, the deaths of those they love or care for, the ruin of those they seek to help. A regular curse can be broken, lifted or removed. The doom of the trolls cannot be lifted or broken - Winter magic can reveal its presence but do nothing to hinder its malignancy. A troll's doom is part of their essential nature.
Although the doom of the trolls is inescapable, it often falls on others. In particular, some part of a trolls doom attaches to everything that troll creates. Each item that a troll fashions is doomed. In some cases the item itself is doomed to fail - a sword may shatter, a bowstave may warp. More commonly the things a troll makes will not be marked by time but will instead bring about the doom of those who try to carry or use them.
This connection between a trolls doom and fate is hard to comprehend. The trolls believe that hubris plays an important role. The more arrogant a troll becomes, the more devastating and immediate their doom becomes. The more a troll seeks to care about others, the more they ensure that the troll's doom will find them. The harder a troll works to turn aside their doom, the faster it rushes to ruin everything.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, trolls tend to be extremely fatalistic. Every troll knows they are doomed, they know that everything they attempt will ultimately fail. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but ruin is inevitable and the harder a troll works to delay, the sooner it will arrive. Some trolls have raged against their doom, becoming filled with mindless fury at a world that is determined to take everything from them. Most trolls accept the inevitability of their doom with a quiet stoicism, seeking only to find ways to minimise the harm it brings to them and others. Some simply give up, stopping bothering to do anything at all. Somehow mortals always find a way to poke these trolls back to life - even a troll's quest for quiet is doomed to fail.
The trolls blame the Creator for their doom. They claim they were doomed from birth. Trolls don't believe this curse is punishment for some wrong doing. Instead, they claim it is a flaw in their creation. They believe they were the first beings fashioned by the Creator - he made them to be perfect, untouched by age or disease. But in making them immortal, he doomed them. When the Creator realised his mistake, he abandoned the trolls and made orcs and humans. Having learned from his mistakes, the Creator made these new races mortal, so that they would avoid the fate that had befallen the trolls.
It is important to stress that the trolls don't know this last part for sure - they are adamant that they were made by the Creator, personally, but none of them claim to have ever seen the face of Creation. Their beliefs about their doom and their essential nature, and the provenance of the mortal races, are matters of faith to the trolls.
Teachers
Trolls have served as allies of mortals on occasion. They know they are doomed, and their people are fading from the world, but they still wish to leave a legacy behind. When sought out by mortal heroes they have been known to provide advice and occasionally gifts of enchanted items or lore. All trolls are unique individuals however; some wish only to be left alone, whilst others despise those who disturb their peace.
They are often recalcitrant to do this, torn between a desire to shape and guide the younger races and the certain knowledge will bring woe. Any troll who acts as a mentor, must accept that the general Doom of the trolls will always ensure that such aid comes with a price. Thus, many trolls try to keep their distance, hiding their name, identity and nature, influencing events with a light touch or ensuring their nature remains unknown to those they offer help to support. The more directly a troll influences events, the more likely the situation will turn sour.
This natural tendency to hide their involvement can make it much harder to confirm if a figure in a story is a troll. But stories of heroes who learned powerful skills at the hands of another are a recurrent theme across Wintermark and the Marches. Anytime the hero of a story finds a shadowy figure who gives them advice and aid but asks nothing in return, question if that creature is a troll.
If the story involves runes in some way, a rune covered gift, or a gift of runes themselves, that makes it much more likely that a troll is involved. If the mentor figure in the story is reluctant to help, or offers only cryptic advice that is another sign of a troll. The surest sign of a trolls involvement is if the story ends in disaster. That doesn't mean the hero dies, although that is common when a troll seeks to help, it can simply be that the hero's efforts end in failure or bring a terrible consequences down on those they try to save.
Constructs
Trolls are master artisans whose skills are legendary. With any legend it is easy to imagine more than really exists - it is common to believe that trolls can make all kinds of impossibly powerful magical items because it makes the legends of trolls seem more alluring and mysterious than they really are. The truth is much more prosaic; there are very few things that trolls can make that mortals can't and none of those things are magical items. Talismans, magical weapons, rings, armour, staves - if a troll can make an item of this kind, then a human or an orc smith could learn how to make it. Trolls can make such items with impossible speed, but many of their limits are the same as those faced by any mortal artisans.
There are two things that trolls can do that most mortals can't. Trolls overwhelmingly prefer to work in metal and stone, but they can work almost any material. Trolls are able to use materials in unusual ways, crafting armour from stone, weapons from ice, longbows from mithril, or banners from silver and gold. There are legends of mortal characters achieving the same - Isenbrad is sad to have mastered the art of making weapons from ice for example - but this is the same Isenbrad who discovered the runes. Trolls are also able to fashion strange materials, such as forging gemstones or weaving stone into glass.
The one area where the abilities of trolls far exceeds that of mortal artisans is in the creation of constructs - creatures of metal, stone and wood, that move and act as if they were alive. Constructs are common in the Autumn realm, and there are also mortal crafters who can create them. The Urizeni ushabti are constructs, devices fashioned from wood and clay in the shape of a person and instructed to carry out the menial labour of a miner or a farmer, under the watchful eyes of a magician.
Urizeni ushabti are far too fragile to be used in battle and they outside the mountains of Urizen, they break down quickly. The constructs built by trolls have none of these flaws, the smallest are wondrous creations of precious metals and wood that act as untiring servants. The largest are dreadful statues forged from mithril, steel and stone that are monstrous enemies, inhumanly strong, difficult to kill and fast and powerful enough to overpower most mortal opponents. A troll construct is a deadly opponent on any battlefield. It may be that these constructs of war have their own limitations, just as the Urizen Ushabti do, but if so, then the trolls are careful not to share those secrets.
Most trolls fashioned constructs at some point in their life. Some did it to have servants and companions to make their life easier. Some did it to create an army that could build them a kingdom. But most trolls spent years attempting to forge constructs in an attempt to create life. The Creator formed the trolls from stone - and many trolls devoted their life to trying to find a way to reproduce this primeval act. Some secretly harboured a hope that if they reproduce the moment of creation - if they could imitate the Creator and forge new life, then they might finally be able to create a legacy that would last by fashioning something that would escape their doom.
All such attempts have always failed. Even an artisan as skilled and powerful as a troll cannot mimic the hand of the Creator. The constructs the trolls create are a wonder, a marvel beyond any imagining. But they are no more alive than the ushabti of the mountains of the bronze colossus forged by the Towers of Calx and Coom.
Sparing Wordsmiths
Trolls are terse. They don't waste ten words when a pained silence will do. Some of the eldest trolls take the attitude that everything worth saying has already been said. There is no “trollish tongue” - trolls in the Empire speak Imperial, and all the evidence is that trolls from other parts of the world speak whatever language is useful to them. The closest one gets to troll language are the runes, which they use as a script for important writing (something that can prove quite hazardous to mortal scribes, interestingly).
Despite their longevity, trolls are not especially literate; while trolls use the runes to write things down, they do so far less regularly than humans do. Most troll writing is inscribed on stone or metal – paper and wood is seen as too transient. Trolls prefer to inscribe runes on things that will last, like the walls of a fortress or cave. It seems that some trolls instinctively carve a rune into a nearby surface as a way to express their emotions - where a mortal might slam a door or weep a troll is more likely to inscribe a rune into a stone wall as a form of emotional catharsis.
Anything trolls write down at any length is likely to be important and useful – it's more likely to be the schema for a crafted item than a poem or letter.
Darkness and Despair
Some trolls have a preference for dark underground spaces. Trolls have no need to eat - they may not even need to breathe - and they can carve through stone and rock with their clawed hands with ease. As the mortal races expanded and warred with the trolls, some trolls retreated far underground, digging passages and tunnels under the earth. Here they could find some of the precious materials they need to work their arts as well as peace and solitude and hope to escape their doom. The Wintermark people in particular have legends of bargaining for powerful weapons with smiths who live far below the surface of the world.
Most trolls are disinterested in orcs and humans; they are valuable as a source of materials but of no great note beyond that. This feeling can turn to murderous rage if the works of a troll are stolen or destroyed, but even that is not a given. Trolls are well aware that they are doomed, and some have been known to accept the destruction of everything they possess with utter equanimity, as just another manifestation of their inescapable doom.
When trolls do take an interest in other beings, it may be as a way to escape being overcome by morose bleakness. Despair is the great fear of many trolls. Helping humans and orcs, either individuals or groups, can give a troll a sense of purpose and the hope of achieving something lasting. Of course, such collaboration is ultimately doomed, but the doom may not come in a mortal's lifespan, creating the illusion of escape from the cruel talons of fate, if only for a moment.
Troll Kingdoms
Before the rise of the Empire, there were troll kingdoms in many parts of the world. Wintermark history talks of the troll wars when the Suaq, Kallavesi, and Steinr came together to overcome a powerful troll kingdom. Their oral history usually describes this war as one between trolls and mortals, but troll history describes this conflict as between the people of the north and a single troll kingdom, with the clear implication that this is a battle between the people of Wintermark and a single troll. The "armies" of these trolls were formed from mortals equipped with weapons and armour fashioned by the trolls, and led by terrible constructs fashioned from stone and metal to march to war.
In time, all these kingdoms have fallen into ruin. This is hardly surprising - for all their abilities and long life, trolls are still doomed. Everything they build is fated to collapse, everything they forge will shatter, everything they create will end in ruin. One by one the trolls abandoned their kingdoms, when they were defeated by their enemies. Having worked so hard to build something, few trolls have the will to begin again, after everything has collapsed into ruin. Hubris plays a major role in this, trolls believe that the more effort they put into something, the more grandeur their work accrues, the quicker its doom will find it.
If a troll kingdom existed today it could be a major problem for the Empire, but it would never constitute an existential threat. The Wintermark people overcame a great troll kingdom in the north, burying it under an avalanche of snow. A modern troll kingdom could represent a terrible danger for the people of Skarsind or Hahnmark, and might conceivably challenge an entire nation, but there are no troll kingdoms that were ever the match of the Empire in power and strength. A troll army of constructs and mortals armed with troll weapons and armour could threaten a region or even a territory, but it would be utterly outmatched by the combined might of four Marcher armies, let alone the strength the Empire as a whole could bring to bear. Trolls are powerful, but they have no possible way to challenge the scope and breadth of power of the modern Empire - they don't even command any ritual magic.
The troll kingdoms are gone now, much like the trolls themselves. Some trolls undoubtedly still survive. There is no way to tell when a curious dolman on a hilltop might begin to move, or a cave or passage that leads deep underground might open into a vast dwelling carved from the rock and stone. But any trolls that remain are part of the bones of history, a legacy of the world's past that it is waiting to reclaim. If there are any who wish to conquer the surface world and raise a new kingdom, there is no sign of them.
Conclusion
Snowstorm Henk has recovered from their experience, largely, and written down as much as they were able to uncover about trolls. They have been quite candid about the fact they have no real idea of exactly where they spent those long weeks conversing with the troll of the Sorrowful Tunnels, and are confident they could not find their way back if they tried. It might be possible for explorers to try and retrace their path or push down into the lower tunnels to try and find the troll again, but all the signs are that this would anger the creature; its hunger for the company of mortals appears to be entirely sated for the time being.
Further Reading
- Long shadows - 386YE Spring Wind of Fortune (re)introducing the Sorrowful Tunnels
- Skarsind
- Bregasland and the smiths
- Troll wars