Persistence was the key for this troll to enter into your office; persistence was the measure through which you killed them. Complaint after complaint fell out of the offender’s mouth, venom-tipped words flung at your pressed suit, freshly cleaned, and you felt their spittle find homes on your cheek more than once. With each insult, your fins were a bit more flared, your knuckles just a bit whiter. You had been so kind to invite them into your office to hear their pleas, so kind and generous to offer them a fin for their woes, and this was your thanks? A list of complaints that would take you sweeps to sort through, and a blame for all of their hardships. Certainly this didn’t all fall on your shoulders, you explain to them through gritted teeth. You do your job the best you can and seek to placate all who enter your office space. But it was not good enough for the troll, who now enraged, slams their fist on your desk.
Your guard jumps to attention, leveling their blade with the sneering grimace of the troll before you, but you throw your hand up, insisting that you can take care of this yourself. You try once more to placate the angry troll before you, but a fist meets your lip and your fins wither as you feel a trickle of blood peek through the broken skin. You calmly dismiss your guard, who passes the troll a regretful stare, before they exit the room without a word. Not one for conversation, that one.
Realizing the severity of their error, the troll attempts to pack up their things and hurriedly exit behind the guard, but your hand is on their collar, and you’re dragging them back. They yelp out a plea for help, and it makes you laugh, your golden canines smeared with your rich royal blood as you grin at the troll. “No one will save you, fool. No one cares to save you. You are just another number; just another dismal, forgotten, unmarked grave.”
You show no sign of relenting as you emit only a fraction of your strength to make a hole in the wall with their skull, hissing out a mockery of their complaints with each subsequent slam. When you feel their grip against you start to loosen, you cease, bringing their drywall and blood-smeared features to yours with a smile. You waggle their finger at them with a condescending tut of your tongue; they didn’t think that you’d just let them die that easily, did they? Oh no, you have much more in store for them!
Skewering their body with your trident, beating their features into a bloodied pulp, disfigurement, dismemberment; why, they’ve earned the full treatment of your services. And it was all because they couldn’t keep their filthy little hands to themselves, wasn’t it! Wasn’t it ?!
Hours pass as you destroy every nicety the troll has ever had; breaking their horns over the corner of your desk and using their jagged edges to carve your sign into their chest, and then puncturing their lungs with the thick keratin. Breaking near every bone you could find, though that was a given, considering how roughly you used their body to destroy near every piece of furniture in your office space. A sharpened letter opener served as a perfect tool to separate head from shoulders and as you heft the bloody trophy free with a spray of color, you realize that your office door had gently swung open, a worried Phiron peering over the shoulder of the finely dressed female lounging in your doorway.
You drop the grisly prize with a smile, smearing the troll’s blood through your hair as you carefully fix it, seeming to ignore the corpse on your floor, and the blood that soaks your clothes.
“Ah, Draugr. I hadn’t been expecting... company. To what do I owe the pleasure?”