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| - The bald young troll dragged the raptor's carcass down to the beach, careful not to draw the attention of its pack mates. Nearby, a large green tortoise looked around nervously, keeping an eye on the distant pack, always protective of her master. Settling down, Maclimes removed his skinning knife from his pack, and began the gruesome business of flaying the beast's hide. The creatures had been a major nuisance to his allies at Grom'gol, and he was determined to help thin the raptor's numbers. But as a beast of the land himself, he refused to let any part of the animal go to waste, and was careful about setting aside any useful bones or organs, used in a variety of voodoo rituals and construction. The troll had the poise of an animal, always alert and cautious. His chest and legs were covered in thick leather armor, and his face was covered by a dark helm. Around his neck hung a necklace of teeth, from all manner of creatures. Orc fangs, human molars, tiger canines, and even a small kodo tusk adorned the grim totem that served as reminder to him that he was, at heart, a killer. After calmly finishing with the raptor, he carefully bagged up the remains and headed towards Grom'gol. After selling these excess wares to the trolls there, a small campfire was lighting up the small section of the Savage Coast, not too far north of the Orcish encampment. A few small animals were drawn to the smell of cooking meat, but Ashelae, the great tortoise, kept them at bay while her master tended to their meal. He crouched quitely, his ears alert, as he slowly turned the spit that held the leg of a raptor. Behind him, towards the ocean, a twig snapped, and the troll leapt rapidly to the right, spinning as he came down. Before he had even looked up to the sound, his bow was loaded and pointed in it's direction. There, standing on the beach, the waves washing over her ankles, stood a lone troll. She was beautiful, by the standards of the Darkspear, and stood wearing a simple dress of traditional troll make. Older than Maclimes by around 20 years, she had a look of endless sadness about her. The hunter loosened the tension on his bow, and lowered it towards the ground. She raised her arms, as if to embrace the bald troll, but he backed away warily. “Who you be?” he asked in his native tongue, still keeping his distance from her. She lowered her arms in defeat, looking offended at his question. “Do ya not reco’nize me? Ya knew me well, back when ya was small.” He arched an eyebrow in confusion, though his brow furrowed with anger. “What you mean by that?” In truth, his memory of his younger days was hazy, although he never really questioned why. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever been a child. He was simply a hunter. Nothing more. Nothing less. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees in the sand, letting the ocean current wash over her legs. She began sobbing intensely, her salty tears mixing with the salty water, as incomprehensible words attempted to escape her quivering lips. Maclimes looked over his shoulder, confused, at his pet turtle. Ashelae, of course, said nothing, but lay calmly in the sand nearby, looking sad as well. Her great eyes seemed to almost be pleading, and that was enough for the hunter. He had learned to trust the judgment of his companion over the years, and so dropped his bow into the sand. He approached the older woman and, stooping low next to her, laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, as the sobbing stopped. While her tears still softly flowed, they stared in silence for a moment, until finally Maclimes spoke. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember much from back den. Tell me, who you be?” “Oh, Maclimes. What have they done to you?” she choked, drawing a look of surprise from the hunter at the mention of his name. “I’m Leshia She’Lorie. I’m your mother.” The hunter fell over backwards at her words, landing on his rear into the surf-tossed sand. “My what?” He attempted to regain his footing, a foul look on his face. “I don’t have no mother.” A strange, sad smile crossed her face, making it hard to tell if she was about to cry or laugh. “Of course you have a mother, you silly little troll. What did you think, that you popped up outta the ground like that?” He hesitated, attempting to find the answer in his mind. In truth, the question had never occurred to him. He had no past, and had never tried to find out why. Given his naturally inquisitive nature, this suddenly struck him as odd. Why had he never wondered? “They did a real number on your brain, my poor boy,” she whispered, the obvious sadness now showing through. “But it’s comin’ back, isn’t it? Here, let me help you remember.” She reached up, one finger extended towards the hunter’s forehead. To his credit, he did not back up, but let her touch him. Everything started to get fuzzy, as Maclimes slowly fell backwards. With her free hand, she caught him around the waist, while keeping her other hand on his head. Cradling him close to her body, she whispered into his ear. “Remember, my son. Remember.”
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