Bagamdara's Memories of Chronicler Ux's Visit is a testimony recounted by Bagamdara "Elk Wearer", a Forest Troll druid caretaker for a major tributary in Digoveda, in Tearfall 1746. She recalls, in miffed yet fond detail, Field Chronicler Ux Limptooth of Bayvek's brief visit in early spring 1738.
Introductions and Questions About Gott "the Kind"[]
The neighbors had pointed her to me...again. The knee-high goblin, bound in furs and ladened with foreign tools, insisted on speaking with the local troll “historian” and interrupted my fishing for the third time, pleading for answers and waving reams of square leaves yellow as rind rot. As I spoke and lamented my lost fishing time, she wiggled a bleeding stick along her leaves.
"Gott bore but two titles: ‘Skinwalker’ and ‘Kind.’ He wandered as an elk, stalked like a wolf, flew as the crow, and even guided our ancestors as a bear by tracking fish along the rivers. Blessed by the woods from a young age, Gott’s magic and composure were paramount in leading our people away from the Gray Orcs and their great tide centuries ago. Though Gott found refuge, he witnessed mounting challenges for all he led: famine, disunity, injustice, and war.
"Kind as he was to help, he recognized his ignorance in unprecedented times, and so he sought truth. First, he journeyed through the wilds to seek food. Next, he spied upon the invaders, learning of their conquests and inner tumult. Then he swam across the great lake of Gerudia, marveling at the human's many songs and laws. Gott even perched upon the dreary pines over Bayvic...your home, yes?"
"You know of Bayvek!? Have you been there like Gott?"
I shake my head.
"No, though Gott doesn’t mention Bayvic replete with goblins at that time.
"Many and more people Gott witnessed, journeying far and wide to see life’s diversity: great and small, just and cruel, bright and dark. Wisdom leveraged, he returned home to lead, to guide, to temper us into a society of support that might thrive against adversity. All this he gifted freely before disappearing into the woods forevermore."
On the Frozen Forests of Hyyrt[]
“Why not toward Escann to the South, or into the Dwarovar? East and North is quite-"
"Frigid. Cold. Biting."
"Yes! How can you live so-...so-," the goblin dug for her words. "Comfortably?"
"When Jormir awoke, we lived in frost. When Kranmas fell, we lived in frost. When Gott guided us-"
"Yes, yes; you lived in frost." Ux tugged on her fur collar and rubbed her drippy, pointed nose.
I pointed at a mammoth weed bush, the holly-colored leaves outlined in warding red, asking: "Do you know this herb?"
"Oh!" Ux forgot her displeasure in the question’s challenge. "Hiller Grash; a nuisance for bare skin. Turns flesh red as blood for days, and the scratching is-..."
She knew enough, so I clumped the bush with my bare hand and brought it to my lips, the goblin raising a hand in alarm. Trolls find comfort in such savory bites, and our regeneration staves off all but searing flame. Relishing the refreshing sting, I continued.
"Where water and ice are one and the sky burns flesh cold, we know home. Whether hill, bog, crag, or thicket, we build our dens, hunt our game, and weave our family pelts. As Gott gifted: ‘A troll’s heart burns bright because the cold chills deep.’ It could be our home no other way.”
The Great River Lakdalr and Digoveda's Founding Myth[]
"Trolls survive in plenty of harsh terrain, but the land is not endless - It thrives and wilts like the sun." I caught my reflection amid the lazy current, adjusting my cloak’s shoulder as flashes of pink scales shimmered just below the surface. "You’ve no doubt witnessed our people’s sigil..."
"The salmon! Simple, distinguished, tasty too!"
"Gott agreed. The Kind guided our people as a bear, and by his nose they found the Lakdalr. When they arrived upon its foaming rapids, it was said fish swam so thickly that they dammed the Great Salmon River, causing stomachs to swell with sweet illness. As Gott gifted: ‘Better a stomach ache than a placid heart.’
"But the revelry quieted as the fish departed. The river’s bounty united his kin, but famine threatened to divide them. In hungry despair, Gott experienced his first vision of the world beyond, and seeking relief for his people, he braved the Lakdalr for answers.
"But where could the salmon abscond? Assuming a salmon’s form, the perplexed Skinwalker began his journey upstream to find where the fish had gone. Upon glacial watersheds, he found their spawning pools blocked by nature’s whims.
"With his magic, he righted the Lakdalr’s flow, surging home in foam and glory at the head of the great pink tide. All trolls feasted, thankful for Gott’s protection yet again. It was on the Lakdalr’s shores where kin became a tribe, became Ðigoveða.”
Jormir’s Kingdom and the Days of Chilled Peace[]
"Jormir...would that be Ice King Jormir the Idle, succeeded by Kranmas?"
Ire dug into my gut like roots, and Ux sensed my displeasure at a glance.
"Uhm, I mean to say, what I know of Jormir are from relics excavated along Bjarnrik’s frontiers. And they paint-"
"If they are of our Fjord Troll cousins and their bloodthirsty monarch, I can anticipate their perspective. But I shall tell you true: Noble Jormir Once-Thawed, powdered in royal snow, awoke with his Ice Giant subjects into a world that had forgotten the giants’ majesty. From his kingly vantage, he observed the small races adrift on winds of war and change, and in his magnanimity, he pledged non-conflict for the good of all. To this end, Jormir kept his kingdom’s power tempered and reclusive, limited intervention in small folk affairs, and even sealed his kingdom’s terrible heirlooms like the Bow of Bålmir, a corrupting and fiery weapon that will one day be found again to boil the great lakes at Halann’s end. His decisions maintained the kingdom, but it allowed Jormir’s enemies to strengthen.
“The Ice King never learned that lukewarm passivity does not preserve peace. As Gott gifted: ‘Fresh snow melts fastest and shifts easiest.’ Several tribes of small folk revolted during the mounting agitation, and...”
I paused, lamenting the loss of peace that could have been. Ux’s brow furrowed in sympathetic sorrow, her exuberant chattering silent as she transcribed my words.
Kranmas’s Kingdom and the Fall of the Last True Giants[]
“But this was not Jormir's only folly. To his family, he promised everything and expected nothing; Such kindness needs to be reciprocated, lest you give yourself away. Enter his treacherous brother Kranmas. As Gott gifted: ‘Love’s embrace marks the blade’s depth.’ Never chastened for his ambition, Kranmas murdered Jormir for his failure in preventing the small folk rebellions, earning his cowardice thrice in the act: once for shunning Zeinbrött to seize the throne, twice for slaying his sibling in seething weakness, and thrice for wielding the Blade of Ikki, a legendary dagger shaped from coral that inflicts eternal death...and Jormir’s brotherly gift to Kranmas.
“As Kranmas crowned himself, our ancestors stood divided. Those that followed the tyrant on his ill-fated wars became the Fjord Trolls, and we who lamented Jormir’s demise and fled to the wilds became the Forest Trolls. In the name of the giant's lost glory, Kranmas raised armies, silenced dissidents, then marched South to yoke Halann under giantkind, striking down any and all who resisted.
“Kranmas rose by strength, and fell by it to. When his armies were routed, his subjects abandoned their oaths, and the human victors adorned him with chains. His last words into history were curses against the foes he made. Yet as maligned as he is, trolls must learn from him the wisdom to wield strength so fervently against all odds, even if you cannot regenerate from adversity’s scars.”
The Moon Circle of Digoveda[]
By the time Ux’s stomach growled from beneath her heavy furs, the sun danced along its apex; a morning lost to the goblin’s curiosity. I offered fresh salmon for us to share, and she nodded, saliva creeping along her toothy lips. Finally free to fish, I dawned nature’s mantle: paws dug into the earth, white fur enveloped my bare skin, and my nose quivered. Ux’s words muddled as instinct guided my claws. After catching my fifteenth fish, I sloughed the polar bear’s shape and plopped down on the shore.
“When the other trolls said to speak with you, they didn’t mention you were a druid!”
“Like father, like daughter.”
“How did you learn your magic!? From where?! And who-”
“Shhh,” I growled, a last hiccup of ursine impulse rolling from my lips. “Eat, and I will explain. As Gott gifted: ‘Trolls and beasts walk as one.’ Long before the Kind united the tribe of Ðigoveða, the Moon Circle howled. Bereft of guidance after abandoning Kranmas, my ancestors prayed for the strength to live on, and the land answered.
“Like neophytes, we learned and listened: when rivers flowed high and low, which plants bloomed in frost or thaw, and how game migrated. For each benison, we reciprocated, familiarizing ourselves with the forest of Hyyrt. Then power arose among us: kindling sparks from our fingertips, hastened regeneration, invigorating entire acres in a breath, and, as you witnessed, joining the wild in various visages. By Gott’s time, peerless shamans and shapeshifters littered our history: Ocktrox the Archdruid, Arvonista the Render (who scratched our first symbols), Gallagolk the Unitary, and many, many more. Each generation of the Moon Circle followed nature’s teachings - You need only listen and brave its fury.”
The Isleid and Farewells[]
“The Ìsleid means icy path; the road which connects Ðigoveða to the world beyond our forests. As Gott gifted: ‘I journeyed far, and when I returned, the world joined me.’ No troll, no matter how strong or reclusive, can provide for their kin without knowing what is outside their den. So when those from the outside world step into our graces, we accept them. We have little tolerance for trespassers, certainly, but for those who journey up and down our tracts, respect nature’s beauty, and pine for the warmth of community, we protect their passage and never turn them away. After all, I do not think we would have met if not for the waymarkers and lodges guiding you here. Though outsiders sometimes irk me...like you certainly did, I appreciate the company.”
We conversed into the twilight. But as dark and chill came, we exchanged farewells before she continued on to the next step of her journey. That was the last I ever saw of the goblin from Bayvic.
As kindness begets kindness, a Grombari trader on the Ìsleid a few months ago sought out my river to deliver a novelty: a tome. I could not read its contents, but I understood the scrawlings: a familiar stream as beautiful as memory, a stunning and smiling troll wrapped in an elk cloak, and a tiny figure more fur coat than goblin. Each time I gaze upon the pictures, I think of the frustration and joy of that day, and my heart pains with longing. How wonderful a stranger’s meeting. As Ux gifted to me: “Goodbye Bagamdara; I’m glad I met you.”