Secrets from the storyteller
EshSecret: Defense at the Gate
As told by the Great Storyteller, Peyton Plindy
Sit and hear a tale of one of our greatest heroes. Our Story takes place toward the end of the long and horrific Fourth-Time War, during a long period of seesaw battling when Faeries and El-Faeries constantly raided and attacked Woodsy Trolls; Woodsy Trolls skirmished with Mountainsy Trolls; Humans slaughtered Rock-Goblins by the hundreds and Rock-Goblins returned the favor by slaughtering Humans in equal numbers.
It was the time we now know as the Great Stalemate, a bloody period that lasted ten years.
In the tenth year of the Great Stalemate, which is when our Story begins, there was an unexpected shift in the winds of war. We don’t know whether this shift was due to clever guiles, as some say, or to the creation of a new, dark Magick, as others claim. What we do know is that the Faerie Lord somehow managed to seduce and persuade the feckless Gluellers to switch sides. And while the Gluellers were moving their armies to join his, the Faerie Lord also seduced the shiftless Hill-Dwarves to switch sides and join his forces.
But our Story is not about these great betrayals by Gluellers and Hill-Dwarves that threatened all the Goodly Races. No, our Story is a simpler one that starts with a simple Woodsy Troll who kept a small farm on the outskirts of Devonwicke on which he grew his vegetables. On the day our Story begins, this Woodsy Troll was kneeling in his field, picking Long-Beans and dropping them into a Creeper-Vine Basket hanging from his shoulder. It was a peaceful day, but as our Woodsy Troll knelt and worked, the dark murmurings of ancient Bearded-Oaks came floating to his ears on the winds.
Enemies come, murmured a great Bearded-Oak.
When the Woodsy Troll looked up, the tree rustled its branches to convey a sense of urgency.
Enemies come, the Bearded-Oak repeated. They come.
There was anger and fear in the tree’s voice and so the Woodsy Troll did not doubt for a second that the tree was speaking the truth.
“How many are coming?” he asked.
As many as there are leaves on me, the Bearded Oak responded. Disgusting Faeries and their unnatural Half-things. And ugly Gluellers, too.
The Woodsy Troll instantly recognized the significance of the Oak’s last words. Gluellers had been their allies throughout the war but now they were marching with Faeries against them. A great betrayal was unfolding!
“How soon will they be here?” he asked.
Before sunset, replied the great, old tree.
Well, it was already mid-afternoon, which meant the enemies were nearby. The thought made the Woodsy Troll dizzy with fear. He was not a soldier and he had no experience with war, but he quickly realized that he had to do something to warn the others of the impending attack. Summoning his courage, he climbed to his feet and made haste, hurrying through the savannahs and across fields, making his way toward the city. When he finally reached the walls of Devonwicke, his face red from running and his eyes bulging with fear, the Folks who spotted him immediately called on him.
“What is it?” one of the crowd cried.
“The enemy is coming,” he shouted back.
“Where?” another cried. “Who? How many?”
“Thousands. Faeries and El-Faeries.” His voice caught. “And Gluellers, too.”
Immediately, there were exclamations of fear and anger and dismay among those in the crowd gathering around him. Faces blanched. Ears grew red. Hands trembled. Then, a youngish Witch spoke up to ask an important question.
“From which direction do they come?” Glitt asked.
The Woodsy Troll paused and thought before answering, “Well, a tree gave me the news so they must be coming through the forests, meaning from the east.”
The wise, young Witch nodded gravely and then she asked, “Did the tree say when they would arrive?”
“Before sunset,” was his answer.
Folks in the crowd gasped.
“We’re dead,” someone exclaimed.
“There’s no hope for us,” another agreed.
“There is always hope,” Glitt replied calmly, “though we will need to buy time. A few brave souls must draw our enemies to the front gate while the rest of us flee out the back. If we can reach the high hills before the enemy recognizes what’s happening, they will be hard-pressed to mount an attack up rocky slopes against a force on top.”
Although The Woodsy Troll was not a soldier, he instantly saw the wisdom of this plan. He also understood that it was a desperate plan. A grasping at straws. And it was in that desperate moment, when the only hope was a fool’s hope, that a courage took hold of him that he had never felt before. This sudden surge of courage surprised him and, though he was terrified, he also felt resolute.
“I’ll stand at the gate,” he proclaimed. “Draw the enemy to me.”
“Excellent!” Glitt cried. “You shall be in charge. Stand here and wait, and I will find ten soldiers in the city to join you.”
“It shall be done,” was his simple and yet famous reply.
The rest of the Story everyone knows. Ten brave soldiers joined him, five Humans and five Woodsy Trolls. Their names are enshrined forever in our Stories. When the great, Faerie armies approached the city gate, the brave Woodsy Troll himself stepped forward to face the Faerie Lord’s most trusted and devious lieutenant, an evil Faerie named Learred.
“Drop your swords and surrender,” Learred commanded.
“We desire to negotiate terms of a surrender,” was the Woodsy Trolls’ reply, as he sought to buy time.
Learred cackled evilly as he spit out an arrogant reply, “If you desire terms, here are mine. You will immediately march out every creature living in Devonwicke, to kneel for beheading. If you do this quickly, we may spare the womenfolk and children to be slaves. All men-folk must die.”
This angered the Woodsy Troll, who drew his short sword.
“As long as I breathe, you will touch no Folk of Devonwicke,” he cried.
Learred’s face contorted with rage as he screamed, “Fool, you will be the first to die!”
Then Learred drew his sword and shouted a word of Magick that caused the blade to burst into flames.
“Attack!” he cried to his army behind him. “Kill them!”
With screams of rage, the warriors behind Learred drew swords and attacked. The brave defenders of Devonwicke stepped forward to meet the onslaught but the numbers they faced were too great. Cruel blades cut through the air and sliced into flesh and bone. One-by-one, the heroes fell. The last left standing was our Woodsy Troll, his back against the gate as he slashed desperately at the enemies who swarmed around him.
Then, a particularly large and fierce Glueller charged at him with a long, heavy sword and the blow he landed pierced the Woodsy Troll’s chest. The giant Glueller hurled the weight of his body against the hilt of his sword, driving it through the poor Woodsy Troll’s body and pinning him to the wooden gate behind him. His head slumped and his short sword fell from his hand. Then a particularly cruel-hearted El-Faerie took a step toward him, doubtless intending to cut off his head, when, to everyone’s surprise, the fallen Woodsy Troll raised his head. Opening his eyes wide, he spoke loudly and clearly, in a voice that all could hear.
“I am killed,” he said, “but I am not defeated. For your cowardly betrayal, I curse any Glueller who steps through this gate. I curse any Glueller who fights for the Faeries. I make this curse with all my heart and I bind it with my blood.”
Then he moaned and his face grew as white as a corpse, and then he died. Immediately afterward, a remarkable thing happened. Humiliated and embarrassed, every Glueller turned and abandoned the battle and, with their defection, the Faeries and El-Faeries retreated. As they disappeared into the forests, Humans and Woodsy Trolls emerged from the city and reverentially they removed the body of the fallen Woodsy Troll from the gate on which he was pinned. They carried his body into the city and the next day they buried him with all the honors of a great hero.
Soon afterward, the Race of Gluellers revoked their alliance with the Faerie Lord and when they did so, the Hill-Dwarves also came to their senses and abandoned their evil alliance with the Faeries. Within a year, the horribly destructive Fourth-Time War was over, the Faerie Lord was defeated, and forever the good Woodsy Troll whose famous name was Gidden, the Defender of the Gate, will remain in our memories, the hero who changed history by his one, great act of courage.