Smoke billowed into the sky as a wonderful smell of cooking flesh, both trolloc and hoo-mahn, permeated the air. Pink rippled across a body as a breeze blew through feathers. Once some thought the color shameful, but now all beings in the blight feared it. Dreadlords, Myrdraal, Trollocs, dark friends… they all shuddered at the mention of his name…. Nargbert. The coming of the pink feathered trolloc meant death. The Chosen…. Well, those foolish hoo-mahns rarely looked at Nargbert twice, other in disgust. However soon, Nargbert would join the ranks of the chosen. How could he not, he greatest trolloc ever! Many spoke of his ferocity, his good looks, his never being defeated in battle…
Nargbert had taken a fist out to raid in Kandor. He enjoyed escaping the Overlord life, coming out on small raids. He knew a group of Hoo-mahns and those tasty horse creatures had been trying to catch him for a day now, but no horse could keep up with a trolloc who was hungry, and Nargbert made sure this fist was hungry. He devised a grand plan, raid this small town, capture some food, wheel away, return to the blight. There was nothing those silly Hoo-mahns could do to catch him. However, Narg hated suprises and left Dork’un and his claw as a rear guard. He was offered a greater piece of the food prize for having to stay out of the fighting. However, Dork’un and claw could not help themselves. Frenzy they called it… hungry they called it. Nargbert called it stupid. So while Nargbert’s glorious Fist in town collecting its spoils, no one was there to warn him that somehow the four legged freaks and their hoo-mahns had caught him. Nargbert quickly found out when his Fist was struck from behind.
It was Chaos. Nargbert in a house, hoo-mahns already have a cookpot boiling for him. He was enjoying sampling some of the food they would be taking with them. Nothing like gnawing on fresh leg to make Nargbert so happy. Then the screeching. The yelling of trollocs. Then the running. Nargbert quickly knew he could not control the fist and quickly retreated with them. Many hoo-mahns stayed behind to protect Narg’s food, but some rode out to finish Narg and his trolloc warriors off. They quickly learned a fleeing trolloc still could bite.
So Narg stood on a hill, surrounded by trees fighting the blight, and felt bad for himself. He watched the smoke burn, thinking of how he would turn this into a victory by explaining that he took the weakest trollocs out to be culled. The trollocs behind him had a small fire going, cooking what few spoils they were able to capture for the day. He wanted to backhand them, to fling poo at them, but…. The desire just wasn’t there.
So Narg closed his eyes… breathed. He must still get this shattered first home. He took a deep breath and meant to turn to his troops…. But he caught a scent. One he hadn’t smelled in years. One he hoped never to smell again… but it was there. She had found him… and in all places on a raid… Narg muttered under his breath…