a child approaches, bewildered by the troll infront of them
(btw i love this bog so much, it simply just,,, seems like gunmar)
Gunmar is understandably alarmed.
There are a limited number of young creatures INTENDED on passing through the fetch. Gruesomes, Helheeti, antramosntrum eggs and stalkling rooks. Sometimes, a human child is passed through, and replace with a changeling adult; their limbs warped and twisted to fit the rough shape of their familiar.
But Troll whelps are not meant to be here. The Darklands is a place of cold and death. No place at all for new life.
His guards approach, leveling their spears, but only on ceremony. Gunmar raises his hand, and at his signal, they return to their posts.
Slowly, Gunmar lifts his aching bones from his throne, starting down the steps on all fours until he's closer to the whelp.
"Don't run." He says in his sternest, commanding voice. And then, "Come here."
He extends a hand to the child, the gesture of any elder troll faced with a lost youngling.