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Description
It was ridiculous, she knew, to look over her shoulder so often, and with such urgency and fear. The worst had already passed, and there was no need for such caution. It had been nearly three weeks since she had come upon that damnable Troll, and Mirianna still, still had nightmares.

The bounty had been clear enough - fifty silvers and her choice between a new staff, or a pair of respectable boots. The items weren't of the best quality, but definitely salvageable in terms of enchantment. Really, the money had interested her the most, as her pockets had been rather short of late, and she still had several orders to fill at the apothecary. It had seemed like easy money at the time; hunt the big bad Troll, saw off his head, and roll about in coin for at least another month.

All her bravado and arrogance had not prepared her for the reality of the situation, however.

It was easy to tell where the Troll's lair was - he had holed up in an impressive cave, at least a mile deep and stretching out in various branches through the rocks. Thankfully, Mirianna had no trouble in following the correct path; she had covered her nose and mouth with her hand, her eyes watering blindly as the putrid odor of rotting flesh hit her like a sack of stones. She felt dizzy immediately, but pushed herself forward through the tunnels. Soon she had to forgo the hand to her nose - the flies had grown so thick that she had no choice but to swat them away, sacrificing a calm stomach for a cleared path.

Soon enough she found the center of the rot - a pile of bodies, male and female alike, stacked neatly atop one another and tucked, almost mindfully, into a shallow alcove in the wall. The flies were thick, but it wasn't difficult to discern the peeking bones, the jellied skin, the ragged hair. The smell.

She gagged several times, but pushed on.

Eventually she came to a central chamber, and she had to wipe the sweat from her eyes before she could take the whole room it. It was no overly large, perhaps twenty or thirty feet wide, about double than in depth. The ceiling was high, but not high enough that the large fire in the center did not uncover the rock shadows above. She glanced upward, taking note of the hole in the ceiling itself, easily sucking the fire's smoke up and out, leaving the air around clear of the stench of burning beat and moss. Across the walls, sitting on natural shelves of stone were various pieces of armor (taken from his victims, she was certain), a scattering of multicolored glass jars, blankets, food stores, several jugs of what she assumed was alcohol, and what looked suspiciously like a spare change of clothing. Mirianna took careful stock of all these things, wondering if any of them were valuable, when she finally noticed the sound.

It was difficult to pinpoint at first, the crackling of the large fire in the center of the room being a decent distraction, but once she had caught even the smallest note of it, she could not pull her ears away. Carefully she stepped into the room, keeping to the edge of the wall as she hunted the elusive noise. About a quarter of the way around the fire, she finally realized what the sound was.

Someone was humming. It was a soft, musical stream of sound, careful and deep, pausing occasionally for breath. There was a rumble to it, marking it definitely as male, and if she had not been so focused, Mirianna might have even found it to be a pleasant thing.

That was until she recognized a second sound, hidden beneath the humming. It was even softer, and sounded wet, like pulling your foot out from the sucking mud.

Marianna eased her way along, listening to the noise, and could not help the gasp that escaped her when she finally managed to peer around the blinding light of the fire.

There was the Troll, massive and frightening, hunched over an angled table. There was a human tied down to it, upside down so her face stared straight up into his, though Mirianna could clearly see the woman was dead. Her eyes were clouded white, little droplets of blood sticking to the lashes, clotting in her hair. The kill was fresh, the blood still flowed.

And blood there was aplenty - dripping down the edges of the table, some across carved rivulets in the wood to gather in those little glass jars. The rest was, to Mirianna's horror, dripping off the Troll himself. Up to his elbows he was covered in it, a splatter from a nicked artery made a speckled pattern across his bare chest. He flicked his tongue out to catch a drop that had managed to land on his lower lip.

The wet, sucking noise continued, and Mirianna realized that the Troll had a knife, and was carefully removing the woman's organs, one by one, and stuffing them into their own little jars as well.

Mirianna wanted to cry. She wanted to be sick. Gods, she felt like fainting when the Troll lifted an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow, and only succeeded in smearing the blood across his forehead. But mostly, she was angry, because as horrible as the scene was, Mirianna was nothing if not observant, and she did not miss the scratches and bite marks on the dead woman's skin, or the way that her slender legs were splayed so loosely apart, or the blood that caked the inner thighs.

It made her angry enough that Mirianna drew her staff from her back, one hand curling to hurl a bolt of Frost at him. Only the spell never went, instead seeming to revert back into her and freeze her lungs solid.

The Troll had looked up at her, and he was smiling.

Before she realized it, Mirianna was back outside of the cave, and well on her way to the main road. She didn't stop until her legs seized and her lungs stopped working. She fell to the ground and cried, the terror of those blood red eyes and yellow, gnarled teeth so focused on her making her entire body shake.

It was almost sunrise by the time she managed to stand, and make her way toward town.

Three weeks it had been, and still Mirianna felt a chill when she thought about the Troll. It was ridiculous, she knew. She was in civilization, safe from him... Hell, he hadn't even bothered to chase after her.

She held onto that resolve, her chin lifted high as she forced her feet forward, around toward the gryphon's pen, when she heard it - there was a soft humming coming from somewhere.

Her legs halted, and she cast her eyes around frantically. All too soon she saw his eyes, red and glittering, and that terror rose up in her again. She wanted to run, she had turned to, but he was too close this time, and he had chased her far enough.

A large hand reached out to her, claws abnormally long, curved and sharp, his finger lifting her chin up so she could look him in the eyes. Mirianna felt her back thump against the back wall of the house, amazed that the guards had not seen them yet, too terrified to call for their aid. She was going to die, she knew it, could feel it.

Slowly he leaned down to her, his breath rank and thick and smelling of blood as he breathed out, his lips curling over those hideous teeth in a leering grin.

"Ovu..." he hissed, the sound both deep and rumbling, and it made all of Mirianna's limbs shiver, "...kupatikana wewe."

His voice had taken on a sing-song, taunting and light. Mirianna closed her eyes, just as she felt his hand fully grip her jaw. The smell of death lingered, and all her senses went black.

- - - - - - - - - -

O.o yeah... was supposed to be a short little drabble to accompany the picture. *sigh* figures.

MORE OVU.

Some of those piercings are *smachitpower 's fault. So, technically, they belong to her. DON'T STEAL THEM. SHE'LL HUNT YOU DOWN.

Anyway. Yeah. I'm now officially out of my mind, so I'm gonna.. ya know.. GO AWAY.

Description
It was ridiculous, she knew, to look over her shoulder so often, and with such urgency and fear. The worst had already passed, and there was no need for such caution. It had been nearly three weeks since she had come upon that damnable Troll, and Mirianna still, still had nightmares.

The bounty had been clear enough - fifty silvers and her choice between a new staff, or a pair of respectable boots. The items weren't of the best quality, but definitely salvageable in terms of enchantment. Really, the money had interested her the most, as her pockets had been rather short of late, and she still had several orders to fill at the apothecary. It had seemed like easy money at the time; hunt the big bad Troll, saw off his head, and roll about in coin for at least another month.

All her bravado and arrogance had not prepared her for the reality of the situation, however.

It was easy to tell where the Troll's lair was - he had holed up in an impressive cave, at least a mile deep and stretching out in various branches through the rocks. Thankfully, Mirianna had no trouble in following the correct path; she had covered her nose and mouth with her hand, her eyes watering blindly as the putrid odor of rotting flesh hit her like a sack of stones. She felt dizzy immediately, but pushed herself forward through the tunnels. Soon she had to forgo the hand to her nose - the flies had grown so thick that she had no choice but to swat them away, sacrificing a calm stomach for a cleared path.

Soon enough she found the center of the rot - a pile of bodies, male and female alike, stacked neatly atop one another and tucked, almost mindfully, into a shallow alcove in the wall. The flies were thick, but it wasn't difficult to discern the peeking bones, the jellied skin, the ragged hair. The smell.

She gagged several times, but pushed on.

Eventually she came to a central chamber, and she had to wipe the sweat from her eyes before she could take the whole room it. It was no overly large, perhaps twenty or thirty feet wide, about double than in depth. The ceiling was high, but not high enough that the large fire in the center did not uncover the rock shadows above. She glanced upward, taking note of the hole in the ceiling itself, easily sucking the fire's smoke up and out, leaving the air around clear of the stench of burning beat and moss. Across the walls, sitting on natural shelves of stone were various pieces of armor (taken from his victims, she was certain), a scattering of multicolored glass jars, blankets, food stores, several jugs of what she assumed was alcohol, and what looked suspiciously like a spare change of clothing. Mirianna took careful stock of all these things, wondering if any of them were valuable, when she finally noticed the sound.

It was difficult to pinpoint at first, the crackling of the large fire in the center of the room being a decent distraction, but once she had caught even the smallest note of it, she could not pull her ears away. Carefully she stepped into the room, keeping to the edge of the wall as she hunted the elusive noise. About a quarter of the way around the fire, she finally realized what the sound was.

Someone was humming. It was a soft, musical stream of sound, careful and deep, pausing occasionally for breath. There was a rumble to it, marking it definitely as male, and if she had not been so focused, Mirianna might have even found it to be a pleasant thing.

That was until she recognized a second sound, hidden beneath the humming. It was even softer, and sounded wet, like pulling your foot out from the sucking mud.

Marianna eased her way along, listening to the noise, and could not help the gasp that escaped her when she finally managed to peer around the blinding light of the fire.

There was the Troll, massive and frightening, hunched over an angled table. There was a human tied down to it, upside down so her face stared straight up into his, though Mirianna could clearly see the woman was dead. Her eyes were clouded white, little droplets of blood sticking to the lashes, clotting in her hair. The kill was fresh, the blood still flowed.

And blood there was aplenty - dripping down the edges of the table, some across carved rivulets in the wood to gather in those little glass jars. The rest was, to Mirianna's horror, dripping off the Troll himself. Up to his elbows he was covered in it, a splatter from a nicked artery made a speckled pattern across his bare chest. He flicked his tongue out to catch a drop that had managed to land on his lower lip.

The wet, sucking noise continued, and Mirianna realized that the Troll had a knife, and was carefully removing the woman's organs, one by one, and stuffing them into their own little jars as well.

Mirianna wanted to cry. She wanted to be sick. Gods, she felt like fainting when the Troll lifted an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow, and only succeeded in smearing the blood across his forehead. But mostly, she was angry, because as horrible as the scene was, Mirianna was nothing if not observant, and she did not miss the scratches and bite marks on the dead woman's skin, or the way that her slender legs were splayed so loosely apart, or the blood that caked the inner thighs.

It made her angry enough that Mirianna drew her staff from her back, one hand curling to hurl a bolt of Frost at him. Only the spell never went, instead seeming to revert back into her and freeze her lungs solid.

The Troll had looked up at her, and he was smiling.

Before she realized it, Mirianna was back outside of the cave, and well on her way to the main road. She didn't stop until her legs seized and her lungs stopped working. She fell to the ground and cried, the terror of those blood red eyes and yellow, gnarled teeth so focused on her making her entire body shake.

It was almost sunrise by the time she managed to stand, and make her way toward town.

Three weeks it had been, and still Mirianna felt a chill when she thought about the Troll. It was ridiculous, she knew. She was in civilization, safe from him... Hell, he hadn't even bothered to chase after her.

She held onto that resolve, her chin lifted high as she forced her feet forward, around toward the gryphon's pen, when she heard it - there was a soft humming coming from somewhere.

Her legs halted, and she cast her eyes around frantically. All too soon she saw his eyes, red and glittering, and that terror rose up in her again. She wanted to run, she had turned to, but he was too close this time, and he had chased her far enough.

A large hand reached out to her, claws abnormally long, curved and sharp, his finger lifting her chin up so she could look him in the eyes. Mirianna felt her back thump against the back wall of the house, amazed that the guards had not seen them yet, too terrified to call for their aid. She was going to die, she knew it, could feel it.

Slowly he leaned down to her, his breath rank and thick and smelling of blood as he breathed out, his lips curling over those hideous teeth in a leering grin.

"Ovu..." he hissed, the sound both deep and rumbling, and it made all of Mirianna's limbs shiver, "...kupatikana wewe."

His voice had taken on a sing-song, taunting and light. Mirianna closed her eyes, just as she felt his hand fully grip her jaw. The smell of death lingered, and all her senses went black.

- - - - - - - - - -

O.o yeah... was supposed to be a short little drabble to accompany the picture. *sigh* figures.

MORE OVU.

Some of those piercings are *smachitpower 's fault. So, technically, they belong to her. DON'T STEAL THEM. SHE'LL HUNT YOU DOWN.

Anyway. Yeah. I'm now officially out of my mind, so I'm gonna.. ya know.. GO AWAY.