Tazroth Rocksmiter considered himself an excellent merchant.
He'd had the choice, of course, to become a hired goon instead. Those were the two main career opportunities that every troll aspired to. His mother had tried to convince him non-discreetly about the generous retirement package that trolls could demand as a hired goon, no doubt since she still regretted her choice to leave door duty behind to become an apothecary instead.
He'd considered it, day and night as he smited rocks as a young troll. A merchant's life would open up the world. The freedom to traverse the roads as easily as a dove flying unhindered across the blue sky.
And he would traverse a lot.
Occasionally, a human or elf would shout very angrily at them to leave their land. Sometimes, they'd have other humans and elves with them as they shouted. And sometimes, they'd all be carrying spears and bows.
To this day, Tazroth was still never sure what those weapons were for. After all, they were never used on him or his fellow trolls. It would be silly. And although he viewed the squishy folk, as they were collectively known, as silly, he didn't view them as stupid. And attacking a troll caravan would be incredibly stupid.
No, a merchant's life was a wonderful affair, promising the lifestyle of an adventurer with the comforts of landed gentry. More than jewels and artifacts resided in the famed enchanted carriages of a troll merchant. There were sofas more adorned than thrones, dining tables which never stained and beds wider than the backs of whales.
And then there was being a hired goon.
Being a hired goon meant he could guard doors all day.
And that was very fun.
It would be the most important decision of his life. There were the odd ones who actually switched professions, like his mother, but by and large a troll stuck to their guts. After all, theirs were capable of eating anything from freshly hewn granite to the skulls of their enemies.
Troll guts were strong. And they could be trusted to make the right call.
Tazroth opted to join a trading caravan and never looked back.
Sure, some days he didn't quite feel like landed gentry. He didn't even feel like a troll. He felt like a horse. That was usually when the enchanted wheels on the carriage stopped working. Then he was required to start pulling. Those days were hard. But then he traded with the squishy folk, and everything was okay.
Nothing cured hard work like easy work. And trading with squishy folk was very easy.
His caravan bought things at a low price and sold them at a slightly higher than low price. It wasn't different to what any other merchants did. But what trolls did well was selling their things far, far away from where they bought it.
Tazroth wasn't sure why some squishy folk took insult at that. They were particularly annoyed when the caravan sold things until they had no more money left to buy things from other squishy folk. But that was simply trading. And so Tazroth shrugged.
Humans, in particular, always had a thing to be annoyed about. He never took it personally or to heart. Especially since they still bought from him.
He thought it would be the same with that human girl.
She was angry. She disliked their caravan on her bridge. And she had a sword she didn't use. Just another normal customer.
Except she never bought from him. He'd bought from her. And the price he'd paid was not low. It was very high. Not high relative to other things he bought. But high relative to other seashells.
As he watched her riding off on the back of a very, very slow horse, beside a skipping clockwork doll, he could only scratch his back in relief.
What a terrifying customer.
“Tazroth.”
The troll turned around. It was Mazrund, carrying a jug of water.
“That was tough,” admitted Tazroth. “She was tough.”
Mazund nodded. He drunk from the jug, scratched his back, then looked at the disappearing figure of the girl on the horse.
“You did well,” he said. “Affluent squishy folk are hard to deal with. Those who are wealthy have an acute sense for staying wealthy. Often, it is easier to pry a coin from a farmer than the purse of human royalty.”
“Royalty?”
“I believe that was a princess.”
“Oh.”
Tazroth thought about it. Now it made sense why she seemed angrier than other humans. This really was her bridge.
He wanted to apologise.
“Are you sure?” he asked, feeling awkward.
“I saw her when we sold the superglue to the queen and king of these lands.”
Tazroth nodded, now suddenly remembering. The superglue. That'd been a good trade. It really wasn't worth the 17,800 gold crowns they'd paid for it. But none of them here were going to strike down a good exchange.
“Why would a princess be travelling these roads with only a clockwork doll by her side?”
It was a good question, Tazroth felt. These roads were dangerous. Not for trolls. And maybe not for her, either. Even so, he knew that princesses liked their carriages almost as much as trolls did. It made little sense to him to travel on a horse.
A particularly slow horse, too.
“Who knows?” Mazund shrugged. “Each time I feel like I understand humans, I realise I understand them less.”
Tazroth understood the sentiment. He'd never tried particularly hard to understand humans, but that's because he could see their silliness with his eyes closed. Often, he wondered how they ever advanced enough to complain, as that meant needing to go through the motions of developing language, patience, and not stabbing each other all the time.
“Ah, now I feel less bad about that trade. A princess probably doesn't need more crowns.”
“Yes, and it's more than wealth that princess has. It's power.”
Tazroth nodded.
She was strong enough to defeat a frozen revenant. A cursed suit of armoured death. They could withstand almost any blow. If it wasn't for their weakness to magic, they'd be an entity that could sweep through the land as easily as their caravans did.
Tazroth didn't know if he could defeat one. He'd never tried. But he didn't want to. Neither did anyone else. For over a century.
They knew about the curse, of course. And they knew a frozen revenant dwelled within the seashell. What they didn't know was that the girl would defeat it instead of fleeing while screaming very loudly. That was the expected scenario. The frozen revenant would eventually leave the seashell's side after many years. That was the next time he expected to see it.
Not when it was held before him.
And the result was that they had bargained from a position of weakness.
“She is an astute trader,” admitted Tazroth. “I mistook her for a complete novice who had little idea of the value of what she held. I tried purchasing the seashell for 5 gold crowns. She humbled me by purposefully naming a number as far-fetched as what I'd offered.”
“Indeed. Achieving a good deal is the art of moving the middle ground towards you. By pricing the seashell at 1,000,000,0002 worth of gold crowns, it ensured that even the middle ground was skewed completely towards her. A bold approach, and highly unorthodox. You should be prepared in future for similar tactics.”
Tazroth sighed. He still had a lot to learn. But it was an experience he was grateful for. Few squishy folk haggled with him. Successfully, that is. The angry girl was different. Beginning negotiations by demanding a price which exceeded the total number of coins in circulation had thrown him off.
But it was the threat of taking the seashell to the Adventurer's Guild that had forced his hand. If that had happened, there would have been no chance to procure the seashell. Not at the price they would then have to pay.
And the human princess, he now realised, had known that.
Tazroth had never been more impressed.
There was only one possible reason why an ordinary human girl, even a princess, would not greedily devour a boon of the ocean. And that was if she knew what it truly was. Indeed, her highly discerning questions had proved as much.
The fact that she resisted proved her knowledge of the seashell's identity. And that she realised the price that the Adventurer's Guild would pay for it. Tazroth had no choice but to offer her a competitive amount immediately.
For the first time, he felt utterly defeated.
He now needed to work towards making this a victory. And that would first come by confirming what he already knew.
Tazroth Rocksmiter lifted the seashell clutched in his palms. He examined the pearl, narrowing his eyes as he caught the shape of the figure swimming deep within.
Satisfied, he set the seashell down onto the ground.
Mazund stepped forwards, then upended his jug of water onto the exposed pearl.
“You may reveal yourself now, Demon of the Water. Your prey has long seen through your guise.”
At first, the seashell made no reaction.
But after a few moments, the violet hue on the shell darkened, as did the white clouds swirling within the pearl.
A dark mist engulfed the seashell, which then rose to form the shape of a creature. Its shadowy outline twisted into a seahorse, a coiling eel, and then finally a squid with as many eyes as it had appendages. Within the twisting darkness, lidless pupils blinked where the fog lessened, signifying the whites of its eyes.
Seahorse. Eel. Squid. It was none of these things, of course. The exact identity of the water demon will never be known.
“Modern day heroines, huh?” it said, still in the same feminine voice. “This used to be easier. Toss a boon. Eat a soul. Now it's all due diligence and risk assessment. What gave it away?”
Tazroth waved away some of the mist that crept a little too close.
“A frozen revenant does not share its abode. It can only be master … or prisoner.”
The lidless eyes swept Tazroth up and down. It then glanced at his mahogany club. No doubt it was wondering whether or not a wooden club could hurt it. Common sense suggested it wouldn't. But trolls didn't do common sense. They did enchantments, spellweaves and runes. That club was more deadly than holy water.
“It was a pet,” said the water demon. “Rest assured that it was well treated in its captivity. Will the same be offered to me, I wonder?”
The many-eyed squid vanished, replaced by the image of a gaping mouth twisted into laughter.
“Well, in the short moments that I'll be confined. You bought me like some trifling bauble. But I have suffered worse insults. Go on. Name your boon and I will grant it.”
Tazroth raised an eyebrow.
“For my soul?”
“For my freedom. I consider this an equivalent exchange.”
“Merely consider?”
The water demon's mouth shifted into a single, narrowed eye.
“A boon for my freedom. No more. No less. I declare it.”
Tazroth nodded. The water demon could not lie. It could snake and omit. But it could never lie. The girl knew as much, or at least suspected. Had she dared it, she could have trapped the demon in its own words. A waste for all. A lesser boon granted by an unwilling demon was akin to no boon at all, and Tazroth doubted if she would have entertained the price of freedom.
But Tazroth was a troll.
Therefore, while the release of a water demon would normally be ill-advised, he saw things from a troll perspective. That meant certain prudent considerations simply didn't need to be considered at all.
“You will have your freedom, Demon of the Water.”
“The exchange is agreed. Name your boon.”
“I request the boon of knowledge, to unmask secrets hidden beyond veil and shadow.”
The water demon paused, as though assessing whether it could truly answer.
Slowly, the eye shifted into a smile, so expressive that a set of high cheeks and jubilant eyes could be pictured leering down upon the troll.
“And to what secrets does Tazroth Rocksmiter, scion of a once royal house, wish to learn?”
“Tell me, if you will, of how best to prepare a water demon as an entrée after a hors d'oeuvre of smoked salmon canapés, yet also before a main course of steak au poivre with red wine pan sauce and coriander.”
The water demon's smile faded.
And then—
It gave its answer.
All it saw during its fleeting moment of freedom was the sight of a fine mahogany club falling towards it.
Tazroth Rocksmiter considered himself an excellent merchant.
He'd had the choice, of course, to become a hired goon instead. Those were the two main career opportunities that every troll aspired to. His mother had tried to convince him non-discreetly about the generous retirement package that trolls could demand as a hired goon, no doubt since she still regretted her choice to leave door duty behind to become an apothecary instead.
He'd considered it, day and night as he smited rocks as a young troll. A merchant's life would open up the world. The freedom to traverse the roads as easily as a dove flying unhindered across the blue sky.
And he would traverse a lot.
Occasionally, a human or elf would shout very angrily at them to leave their land. Sometimes, they'd have other humans and elves with them as they shouted. And sometimes, they'd all be carrying spears and bows.
To this day, Tazroth was still never sure what those weapons were for. After all, they were never used on him or his fellow trolls. It would be silly. And although he viewed the squishy folk, as they were collectively known, as silly, he didn't view them as stupid. And attacking a troll caravan would be incredibly stupid.
No, a merchant's life was a wonderful affair, promising the lifestyle of an adventurer with the comforts of landed gentry. More than jewels and artifacts resided in the famed enchanted carriages of a troll merchant. There were sofas more adorned than thrones, dining tables which never stained and beds wider than the backs of whales.
And then there was being a hired goon.
Being a hired goon meant he could guard doors all day.
And that was very fun.
It would be the most important decision of his life. There were the odd ones who actually switched professions, like his mother, but by and large a troll stuck to their guts. After all, theirs were capable of eating anything from freshly hewn granite to the skulls of their enemies.
Troll guts were strong. And they could be trusted to make the right call.
Tazroth opted to join a trading caravan and never looked back.
Sure, some days he didn't quite feel like landed gentry. He didn't even feel like a troll. He felt like a horse. That was usually when the enchanted wheels on the carriage stopped working. Then he was required to start pulling. Those days were hard. But then he traded with the squishy folk, and everything was okay.
Nothing cured hard work like easy work. And trading with squishy folk was very easy.
His caravan bought things at a low price and sold them at a slightly higher than low price. It wasn't different to what any other merchants did. But what trolls did well was selling their things far, far away from where they bought it.
Tazroth wasn't sure why some squishy folk took insult at that. They were particularly annoyed when the caravan sold things until they had no more money left to buy things from other squishy folk. But that was simply trading. And so Tazroth shrugged.
Humans, in particular, always had a thing to be annoyed about. He never took it personally or to heart. Especially since they still bought from him.
He thought it would be the same with that human girl.
She was angry. She disliked their caravan on her bridge. And she had a sword she didn't use. Just another normal customer.
Except she never bought from him. He'd bought from her. And the price he'd paid was not low. It was very high. Not high relative to other things he bought. But high relative to other seashells.
As he watched her riding off on the back of a very, very slow horse, beside a skipping clockwork doll, he could only scratch his back in relief.
What a terrifying customer.
“Tazroth.”
The troll turned around. It was Mazrund, carrying a jug of water.
“That was tough,” admitted Tazroth. “She was tough.”
Mazund nodded. He drunk from the jug, scratched his back, then looked at the disappearing figure of the girl on the horse.
“You did well,” he said. “Affluent squishy folk are hard to deal with. Those who are wealthy have an acute sense for staying wealthy. Often, it is easier to pry a coin from a farmer than the purse of human royalty.”
“Royalty?”
“I believe that was a princess.”
“Oh.”
Tazroth thought about it. Now it made sense why she seemed angrier than other humans. This really was her bridge.
He wanted to apologise.
“Are you sure?” he asked, feeling awkward.
“I saw her when we sold the superglue to the queen and king of these lands.”
Tazroth nodded, now suddenly remembering. The superglue. That'd been a good trade. It really wasn't worth the 17,800 gold crowns they'd paid for it. But none of them here were going to strike down a good exchange.
“Why would a princess be travelling these roads with only a clockwork doll by her side?”
It was a good question, Tazroth felt. These roads were dangerous. Not for trolls. And maybe not for her, either. Even so, he knew that princesses liked their carriages almost as much as trolls did. It made little sense to him to travel on a horse.
A particularly slow horse, too.
“Who knows?” Mazund shrugged. “Each time I feel like I understand humans, I realise I understand them less.”
Tazroth understood the sentiment. He'd never tried particularly hard to understand humans, but that's because he could see their silliness with his eyes closed. Often, he wondered how they ever advanced enough to complain, as that meant needing to go through the motions of developing language, patience, and not stabbing each other all the time.
“Ah, now I feel less bad about that trade. A princess probably doesn't need more crowns.”
“Yes, and it's more than wealth that princess has. It's power.”
Tazroth nodded.
She was strong enough to defeat a frozen revenant. A cursed suit of armoured death. They could withstand almost any blow. If it wasn't for their weakness to magic, they'd be an entity that could sweep through the land as easily as their caravans did.
Tazroth didn't know if he could defeat one. He'd never tried. But he didn't want to. Neither did anyone else. For over a century.
They knew about the curse, of course. And they knew a frozen revenant dwelled within the seashell. What they didn't know was that the girl would defeat it instead of fleeing while screaming very loudly. That was the expected scenario. The frozen revenant would eventually leave the seashell's side after many years. That was the next time he expected to see it.
Not when it was held before him.
And the result was that they had bargained from a position of weakness.
“She is an astute trader,” admitted Tazroth. “I mistook her for a complete novice who had little idea of the value of what she held. I tried purchasing the seashell for 5 gold crowns. She humbled me by purposefully naming a number as far-fetched as what I'd offered.”
“Indeed. Achieving a good deal is the art of moving the middle ground towards you. By pricing the seashell at 1,000,000,0002 worth of gold crowns, it ensured that even the middle ground was skewed completely towards her. A bold approach, and highly unorthodox. You should be prepared in future for similar tactics.”
Tazroth sighed. He still had a lot to learn. But it was an experience he was grateful for. Few squishy folk haggled with him. Successfully, that is. The angry girl was different. Beginning negotiations by demanding a price which exceeded the total number of coins in circulation had thrown him off.
But it was the threat of taking the seashell to the Adventurer's Guild that had forced his hand. If that had happened, there would have been no chance to procure the seashell. Not at the price they would then have to pay.
And the human princess, he now realised, had known that.
Tazroth had never been more impressed.
There was only one possible reason why an ordinary human girl, even a princess, would not greedily devour a boon of the ocean. And that was if she knew what it truly was. Indeed, her highly discerning questions had proved as much.
The fact that she resisted proved her knowledge of the seashell's identity. And that she realised the price that the Adventurer's Guild would pay for it. Tazroth had no choice but to offer her a competitive amount immediately.
For the first time, he felt utterly defeated.
He now needed to work towards making this a victory. And that would first come by confirming what he already knew.
Tazroth Rocksmiter lifted the seashell clutched in his palms. He examined the pearl, narrowing his eyes as he caught the shape of the figure swimming deep within.
Satisfied, he set the seashell down onto the ground.
Mazund stepped forwards, then upended his jug of water onto the exposed pearl.
“You may reveal yourself now, Demon of the Water. Your prey has long seen through your guise.”
At first, the seashell made no reaction.
But after a few moments, the violet hue on the shell darkened, as did the white clouds swirling within the pearl.
A dark mist engulfed the seashell, which then rose to form the shape of a creature. Its shadowy outline twisted into a seahorse, a coiling eel, and then finally a squid with as many eyes as it had appendages. Within the twisting darkness, lidless pupils blinked where the fog lessened, signifying the whites of its eyes.
Seahorse. Eel. Squid. It was none of these things, of course. The exact identity of the water demon will never be known.
“Modern day heroines, huh?” it said, still in the same feminine voice. “This used to be easier. Toss a boon. Eat a soul. Now it's all due diligence and risk assessment. What gave it away?”
Tazroth waved away some of the mist that crept a little too close.
“A frozen revenant does not share its abode. It can only be master … or prisoner.”
The lidless eyes swept Tazroth up and down. It then glanced at his mahogany club. No doubt it was wondering whether or not a wooden club could hurt it. Common sense suggested it wouldn't. But trolls didn't do common sense. They did enchantments, spellweaves and runes. That club was more deadly than holy water.
“It was a pet,” said the water demon. “Rest assured that it was well treated in its captivity. Will the same be offered to me, I wonder?”
The many-eyed squid vanished, replaced by the image of a gaping mouth twisted into laughter.
“Well, in the short moments that I'll be confined. You bought me like some trifling bauble. But I have suffered worse insults. Go on. Name your boon and I will grant it.”
Tazroth raised an eyebrow.
“For my soul?”
“For my freedom. I consider this an equivalent exchange.”
“Merely consider?”
The water demon's mouth shifted into a single, narrowed eye.
“A boon for my freedom. No more. No less. I declare it.”
Tazroth nodded. The water demon could not lie. It could snake and omit. But it could never lie. The girl knew as much, or at least suspected. Had she dared it, she could have trapped the demon in its own words. A waste for all. A lesser boon granted by an unwilling demon was akin to no boon at all, and Tazroth doubted if she would have entertained the price of freedom.
But Tazroth was a troll.
Therefore, while the release of a water demon would normally be ill-advised, he saw things from a troll perspective. That meant certain prudent considerations simply didn't need to be considered at all.
“You will have your freedom, Demon of the Water.”
“The exchange is agreed. Name your boon.”
“I request the boon of knowledge, to unmask secrets hidden beyond veil and shadow.”
The water demon paused, as though assessing whether it could truly answer.
Slowly, the eye shifted into a smile, so expressive that a set of high cheeks and jubilant eyes could be pictured leering down upon the troll.
“And to what secrets does Tazroth Rocksmiter, scion of a once royal house, wish to learn?”
“Tell me, if you will, of how best to prepare a water demon as an entrée after a hors d'oeuvre of smoked salmon canapés, yet also before a main course of steak au poivre with red wine pan sauce and coriander.”
The water demon's smile faded.
And then—
It gave its answer.
All it saw during its fleeting moment of freedom was the sight of a fine mahogany club falling towards it.
