The sounds of battle still rang in Salem’s ears as he stood in the mossy riverbed at killahead bridge. It had been a week and he still remembered seeing his brother caught behind a thrall flying toward the bridge’s hungry portal. He’d shouted for his brother and even pushed off the tree he’d been using to anchor himself to try and snatch Bonely from its magical jaws. But the force of the magic and the portal that went with it vanished the moment Gunmar was through, and Salem had found himself skidding along the riverbed on the other side of the bridge.
“Deya! Deya yeh gotta open it up! Yeh gotta let me get my brother!”
“And risk letting Gunmar out?” she’d responded incredulously, “No can do, bluey. Sorry but whoever’s in there stays in there.” A gentle touch to his shoulder, an attempt at being comforting. “You’re gonna have to move on without them.”
Salem jerked his arm reflexively, mirroring how he’d shaken away the trollhunter’s hand.
“I can’t do that,” he’d said backing away from them all. “I can’t—leave him in there.”
It was then Vendel’s turn to take a sand, leaning on his heartstone staff. “Then you’ll have to leave elsewhere, Salem of Bel’Terum. We won’t have anyone with us who might risk the safety of us all freeing Gunmar just to get one troll out of the darklands.”
Then came the eyes. They eyes of every troll in Dwoza locked on him, judging him, now suspicious that he would unleash the Skullcrusher on them just to get one troll - his brother- back to safety. He’d fled then, giving Vendel and Deya looks of hurt and loss before running again into the woods until, once again, he found himself back at the foot of Killahead bridge.
There he stood, gazing numbly at the bridge feeling lost, alone, and confused. He’d lost everything. His home, his friends, his brother who now sat in a dimensional prison with the only thing that could take them back to Vansia. If he were human, he would’ve cried from the strain of it all, but he was stone and it was hard to draw water from stone.
“What am I gonna do now?” Salem asked softly. “What am I gonna do? I don’t got a home, no friends or family... Oh, Sovereign, what am I gonna do?”
He didn’t know if it was rain or tears, but he felt wet on his stone cheeks and without warning, the tall, turquoise troll pressed his arm to his face and began to sob. He wept for the bone-orchard home in Vansia that he would never see again, for his nephews who’d been orphaned by the world once more, for his brother unjustly imprisoned with trolls too heinous to release, and he wept for himself - a young man turned troll who’d now have to face the world with nonone but his Sovereign as his comfort.
For the first time in his life, he, Salem Bonachard, was truly alone in the world.
“Bonely!” Salem called, his voice echoing across the rubble strewn battle field. “Bonely!”
No answer. The clerical troll could’ve kicked himself but the silence was punishment enough. He’d had only one job - to keep his brother inside while the new moon was out, and he screwed it up. He’d made the mistake of lighting a fire to keep Shyce at the back of the rune circle, and GummGumms had come to see who was there. He tried to keep them out, tried to fend them off, but somehow one got in, broke the rune circle and let Shyce out. That was the last thing he remembered before a sharp blow to the head and the sound of Shyce’s laughter as rubble hit the ground.
It wasn’t until after the battle was over that the stony cleric regained consciousness from beneath the rubble of two dead gummgumms, with his brother nowhere to be seen. Deya and Vendel believed him to have either been lost among the dead or trapped with in the darklands with the rest of Gunmar’s vile army. Bonely didn’t die easily and Sal knew that if he did die, his magic would just reconstruct him and he’d wake up complaining about his aches and pains. The problem was that Bonely’s magic had a smell and that smell was nowhere to be found.
Still, he continued his search until he’d wandered to a patch of land far from the battlefield. Salem’s ears perked at the smell of smoke. Maybe Bonely was here? His excitement vanished as he reached the source of the smoke, and his stomach clenched at the sight. Before him, tents smoldered in the early morning as the smell of fire and the dust of troll stone filled the air. His ears pinned back as he ventured forward.
From a distance it looked like a battle had been fought - perhaps it had- but as Salem inspected the rubble, he found that none bore any armor and some even smelled like young whelps. He fought to keep his stomach in line as he battled the horror filling his chest. This had been a village, possibly maybe even a refugee encampment. Had the gummgumms done this? Had those infernal fiends really sated their bloodlust on likes of mares and whelps? On the helpless and infirm!?
The cleric felt his stone burn with fury and disgust, but his thoughts were interrupted by the mewl of a hatchling whelp. Salem’s ears perked to attention as he bolted toward the sound. Any survivor was better than none - especially a youngster!
Others might’ve seen him as crazy, but this was probably Salem’s favorite time to come to the surface. No direct sunlight to worry about but you still got to see things in mostly full color. It was the easiest time to gather herbs, roots and other surface world ingredients.
But this evening seemed different from most. A new smell had caught Salem’s attention and led him down to what seemed to be an impeccable garden. Or it would be impeccable, if it weren’t for the standing corpses of calsified trolls staring him down. They were large and menacing, stationed around the perimeter like a warning to other trolls.
What sort of beast lived here that could take on such trolls and live to use them as lawn ornaments? Was it another troll? Changelings? A Fearsome Critter of American lore? Anything was possible in this area of the day, so he wouldn’t discount anything. Still, the statues and garden were well cared for and part of him couldn’t help but wonder who exactly made this place?
Carefully, he approached one of the statues. If nothing jumped out at him, he might just be able to figure out who this grave gardener was.
//SO inspired by Sal’s current changeling!MA, I decided to draw him as an official changeling + in his human/keimin form wearing hist troll-sized clothes!
//I think the biggest differences between his troll self and his changeling self is that as a changeling he looks more like a polished sculpture whereas as a troll, he had a much more natural bulk to him. I didn’t do his clerical marks bc I’m still debating on whether or not he’d have the turquoise stone color texture or if the marks would only appear when he uses his magic. Either way, I’m pretty pleased with how these came out! Apparently changeling looks good on Sal! XP
//Just—don’t get hit by his punches. Or his kicks.
//With him being a changeling, he’s gone from a max height of about 9-10′ to a max height of 7′6″ ish. He is not thrilled by being somewhat shrunk. And like a declawed cat, Sal’s willing to use his learning of layflow healing and pressure points with the martial arts training his gained over the years to paralyze any stonfolk who attack him. Think of Tai Lung’s nerve attacks in Kung Fu Panda, and it’s a lot like that, only his strikes cause the muscles around the impact sight to seize and lock up like a bad charlie horse. It’s not fun, lemme tell ya.
Salem reached into his satchel and pulled out what seemed to be a ledger. He then fixed his eyes on the great turquoise troll as he spoke, scribbling a few notes as he did. Another sufferer of nightmares, chronic, no change in days. This made almost a dozen in half as many days! All of which made the trollish healer more and more suspicious of foul play at work.
“Right. Have yeh tried anythin’ teh remedy them?” he asked, pausing in his scribbles. “Potions, tonics, spells, other items?“
He hoped to the other would tolerate his questions. Many hadn’t been too keen on answering, especially since he was still relatively unknown outside of his apothecary. But this was important. If his suspicions were right, something wicked was nesting somewhere about Trollmarket, and he hoped his focus and manner would be able to convey that to this blue stranger.
“A’right, that aughta set yeh up! Thanks fer comin’,” Salem said cheerfully as a feminine troll left his apothecary with another skin salve. He sat back behind his crystaql studded countertop and sighed contentedly.
His apothecary had been open for a little over a month, but it seemed to have become more popular with she-trolls than the healers he’d been aiming for.If his brother were there, the stout troll would’ve probably said he’d gotten into the wrong business and that the lanky troll should’ve gone into beauty instead of healing. The thought was both amusing and depressing. He hadn’t seen or been able to find his brother since the night Deya had sent banished GummGumms through Killahead.
Still there was hope! He’d found an old tome on troll lore, the he kept to the side of his counter under some geodes, in which detailed different information on the darklands, Killahead, and a thing called a “fetch”. No one knew but the lanky troll had been searching for one in hopes of possibly locating his brother with it, and he hoped no one would find out. After all, ties to the darklands and a public panic were the last things Salem and everyone else needed at the moment.
“Be they herbs, teas, salves, stones, or some other magical, medicinal ingredients, you can find them here at Brightstone Remedies Healer’s Apothecary!” — Advertisement paid for by Salem Bonachard.
