The Dream of the Jötunnsdrottninggen
You 'awaken' in a strange place, a forest up high in the mountains. Trees whose leaves are like glowering sapphire faces sprout up from the harsh marble stone beneath them, and snow blows down from steely clouds. Creating a haze that obscures the distance, but you can already feel there is nothing there. A terrible nothing in all directions except the path before you. A small carved road into the rock that leads up to a nearby cave. The entrance is blocked by a crude wooden door, and a rough hewn chimney in the rock above allows smoke to drift out into the abyss. This place is not 'real.' Yet...
Here you are, buffeted by cold gusts of wind. Your hand, which you'd forgotten you had, searches through a pocket you only now recall possessing, and you withdraw an invitation. It is written in an odd language that you can't read.
But you know it guarantees passage here.
You approach the door, your feet feeling heavy all the while. Like you've been wearing them for too long. The moment you reach up your hand up searching for a doorknob, the invitation catches fire. In a second it turns to ash, and the heavy wood swings open on its own. Revealing a long passage cut roughly from the pale stone. At the end of which is a curious little cave lit by a roaring fireplace partially obscured by a cooking spit. A homely space full of bags of chestnuts, flour, mud, and things that writhe unseen. The floor is covered in rugs woven from coarse black hair, the walls layered with bone shelves. In one corner of the room, a number of strange creatures stand upright, staring blankly off and swaying ever so slightly. Against the wall opposite to the fireplace atop an impressively robust bench sits the master of this place. It casts a long shadow.
It is closest to an Uruk, even larger than an Ogre but smaller than a troll. But... Odd. The features are closer to a human, but all twisted and misshapen. It has a huge nose, big eyes, a tufted tail that curls around the room uncaring of lawful physics, gigantic feet, and hands with three fingers that could crush your present form in a single grab. But there is no crude simulacrum mind. It sits covered in woven hair clothes, humming to itself and knitting with... Something you can't quite make out. The needles are made of sound casting a silvery glow across the walls, and whatever it is using as thread cannot easily be described with simple words. It glints in a way like wrong mathematics, something that only makes sense in a dream.
It looks up with a hideously wide grin, revealing yellowed teeth fit for an elephant. “Oh ho, someone accepted the invitation. Come in come in, make yourself at home! What is mine is yours soul-kin, and while I have little, I share freely.”
It rises and turns over to you, leaving the needles and the inscrutable weaving continuing to knit in mid-air.
“Now, come here, let me see the real you beyond the flesh of dreams... Hm.” It hums a moment. You wait as it looks you over, the strong smell of the fire crackling away behind you filling your nose. “You'll do. I thank you for coming and- humour me a moment. I wish to know things. Share, exchange. Make contact. Humour me with questions, and I shall offer you my boon. How does that sound?"
. . . ?
For a moment, time and space muddle into a thing that twists your perceptions. It is like you've always existed. But then...
“Watch close now.” The Troll thing snaps its fingers and you feel a degree of choice blooming in this space. “It is an unideal way to commune, but with this you should be able to inform me. Or to piss about and waste my time. Up to you, really.”
- “Lame.” You say.
The Troll huffs aloud like a protesting boulder. “Well excuse me princess, dream programming isn't all that easy!” - “Cool.” You say.
"An unideal method. But one with utility.” - You don't say anything at all.
“The process is limited,” *The giant thing shrugs, arms brushing against the roof. “We are pioneers. We can't make an omelette without cracking a few formats.”
“Regardless, I need a feel of things. We are all in the same boat now and it is prudent to work together.” With that, the troll turns back, and sits back down on the bench, their knitting beside them. “So, ask what you will. My interactions are limited, I must derive them from what you would take. And... Do not think I do this without compensation. I offer you my boon, if you should choose to accept it. Or you can simply wake, close the connection. So... What do you want to know?”
For a moment you feel nothing. Then, a bevy of options appear before you.
- You ask; “Where are we right now?”
The troll nods. “Consider it... A dream within a dream, a crude Simulacrum of reality, but one under my big thumb here.” It twists the hand, the nail of the thumb large and sharp enough to scalp a particularly scrawny man. “I ordered it myself to allow interlopers into my hidden place. But only if I permitted them entrance. Consider it a very crude version of the Drama God's dungeons. Any with the skill and the art might make such a place. Though, sharing it is another matter.” - You ask; “How am I here though?”
The troll nods. “You are dreaming in such a way I let you in. All I had to do is make an avatar. Uh, don't... Look down.” - You look down.
You immediately regret this as you are not in your own body. Instead you are wearing the body of the very troll in front of you, which explains why your feet felt so heavy. You can't even do anything with the tail dragging uselessly behind you. At this, your host laughs crudely. “I warned you. There isn't much to work with, and for better or worse the flesh I wear right now is... The least disconcerting I have. Oh, were it my intention to hamper you I'd have put your mind-self in something absolutely depraved! But it is not.”
- You ask; “What is it that you want?”
For a few seconds the troll considers that question, then it shrugs. “Were I to lie to you? I'd laugh, and cry aloud; CHAOS CHAOS CHAOS! But... No. Creation is what I care about. This world we find ourselves in, it is a collage of many things. We have no formal obligations as Outsiders. But I feel we have a duty to contribute. A fair price for a continuation of ourselves.” - You ask; “To what end?”
“In a time you will see. You shall see a great eruption and my death. If of course you survive to that point. If you do, I fear I will curse you to live in interesting times, as you are blessed with new and interesting friends. Those are long term objectives though. For the time being you can consider me your enemy. Or your friend. Or, preferably, a frienemy. Willing to work together in exchange for shared interests. Failing that I do have a weakness for baked confections and in freely share my talents.” You can tell there is a disconcerting absolute sincerity in her words.
- You turn to the strange creatures huddled in the corner and ask; “What are these creatures?”
The monstrous outsider perks up with a broad smile. “Ah, my grandchildren in waiting, the basis of all my works in this world. Come, I will show you.” The first is like a more monstrous but smaller version of the Troll, with an even more hideous smile of blackened teeth. “The Hag, kinfolk and protectors of the fairies as much as a nightmare for foolish men.” The second, a bristled muscled thing somewhere between mortal woman, bear, and bed of kelp. “The Nyxie who shall inherit the ponds and rivers, protecting them from interference as much as punishing those who intrude without proper offerings.” The third is the spitting image of the master of the dream, but a little shorter, and covered completely by hair. Revealing the huge hairy ears and robust musculature. Perhaps it is the lack of a mind or some perverse innocence, but this thing's look is much less disturbing than their grinning maker. “My true kinsfolk in the purest extant, the mountain folk and Jötunnsvelggen. Brave before encroaching fools, but eventually turning to stone in open sun.” The host stops, and shudders. “I'd prefer we not talk about the mistakes, as for here, lastly...” It stops, and turns to the final creature, short with wide eyes and pale skin, all round and quaint. “Gentlekin, this is a moomin.” - “Elder gods,” you mutter.
“There's more.” - You say; “No.”
The creature nods, putting out a pipe you feel wasn't there a moment ago. “Many more, and hopefully the one you won't see. All sorts which are not finished yet. Great diggers, sea-trolls, Tarasques, which if fate is merciful will remain hidden in this place. Unused and forgotten.” - “Why are you making these things?” You ask.
“All Uruk are derived from archtypes, hidden within themselves that they might partake in them. Given time and adequate caloric they make new forms of themselves endlessly. You might consider these ones... Prototypes. Not even possessed by zombie consciousnesses. For now I make them for myself to serve as waiting vessels, but in the future I shall contain them in the Uruk mind, and they shall diversify their actions. Not all shall get along within their number, even without true soul-minds. Especially the Moomin. You might consider it an anti-Uruk, more interested in helping mortal races than harassing them. Still need to work out the kinks though. Most are short lived and they keep eating one another.” - You ask; “Why are you making them?”
“Too much has been lost. Things shall be lost further in the future. It is necessary we contribute to the world we find ourselves. After all, without the Hero there is no Event, without the Event there can be no Hero.”
- You look your host in the eyes and ask; “Who are you?”
The troll rolls their eyes. “I have many names, you may use whichever ones you please. All serve the same purpose. That I am Me.” - You consider, and ask; “No, what are you?”
“A Troll, obviously. :),” it adds cheekily. Your head hurts slightly. - You ask; “How did you say that last... 'Thing?'”
The monster turns away a moment, frowning. “Dreams are not like normal tongue-speaking. You can get away with much more here. If it pleases you I can show you how to speak in the same way. How does that sound?” - “No thanks.” You say.
“Very well.” - “I would like to learn.” You say.
“Very well. Close your eyes and twist your tongue, ho ho! It is best to flex those muscles in a safe place...” You learn to do... Something. - “>:).” You murmer.
The troll laughs. “(:<, and don't say I never taught you nothin' right?”
- You ask; “Why are you a... Troll?”
“The Trolls here are not proper trolls. The only way I'm changing that is if I crawl inside the concept and make things as I would.”
- You ask; “What is the purpose of this? Why did you even invite me here if our communication is limited to my input? Why?”
“Why?” The troll-creature scoffs. “Why not? You are constrained by the prison of why? I simply do. But, why are you doing this?” - You say; *“I want to become powerful.”
“Ha hum! Good and simple. But remember, all power rots into nothing one day.” - You say; “I want to live a new life.”
“Don't all people want that? Perhaps. Just remember you've died once. Even if you have plans you'd best set up a will.” - You say; “I just want to enjoy myself.”
“Hm ho, that is fair, that is fair. It might be hard, but I think I respect that best. The best understanding of things merely is; 'to be.'” - You say; “I don't know.”
The troll nods sombrely. “No one truly knows. All we can do is make the best of the cages we inhabit.” - You say; “I want to make a better world.”
They laugh, but they hardly sound happy. “What is 'better.' Every elder god, every lesser god, all tyrants muddle things up working towards a world they think is better. I will not stop you, but remember to not bind this world with your own choices.” - You say; “I want to make things worse.”
“Ha! Aren't you a little rat. At least you're honest.” - You say; “I want to make up for the things I couldn't do last time.”
“Yes. That is decent. I didn't live long enough to be a grandparent last life. So I suppose I share that desire.” - You say; “Something else, I can't say because it isn't here.”
“The dreaming is limited, yes. So long as you are honest with yourself? That is all that matters.” - You, without shame or remorse scream;
“I WANT TO SNOG CHARLIE!”
Your host sighs. “You do you friend. : /”
- You ask; “What are your actual plans? As an Oustider out there in the real world?”
The troll's tail loudly slaps against the ground. “For the moment? Not much. Not until we reach a serious breaking point. It all falls on the rest of our peers. To what they will do. When that happens I will decide if I need to be violent or if I will simply be. Regardless though, either way I will explode somewhere in the lower atmosphere to really shake things up. Literally. Consider it a nuclear option if I'm forced into it.” - You consider and say; “Isn't that a bad idea? And suicide?”
“We are all going to go someday. Besides, if things go well it will actually diminish the worst of the Uruk threat as it is. Unless everyone decides to dawdle and I have to do the version that is; 'Ensure the Ecumene collapses, and all numbers become as mud and music in the ears of their false god.' I'd much rather do the 'ensure new chaos and opportunity flourishes before the next Outsider arrives' version.” - You say; “Yikes.”
The troll laughs. “I call it a nuclear option for a reason.” - You say; “Radical.”
“Damn right.” - You say nothing and nod your head.
“Do what you will with that.”
- You ask; “Aren't all Uruk men? What are you?”
“Where do you think my tail came from?” The troll laughs though it doesn't reach their eyes. "In namelessness and formlessness there are powers of great use. I can be he, I can be she, though ultimately I am neither. Slumped off a lot of the original body and that was among the things lost.” - Feeling like this is a bad idea, you ask; “But what happened physically?”
“Hm. All that extra flesh and skin and muscle and bone returned to the first state; the state of mud. Then I rebuilt myself, bending and twisting like bread. Hurt a good deal at first but eventually you got the gorgeous ken doll you see before you. Though, to tell you the truth I was almost finished and plucking off extra fingers and fat, I left a pinkey behind. For a joke about this exact topic... I should show you, words are difficult to describe it."
Withdrawing a chestnut from a nearby bag, the troll tosses it on the ground. For a few minutes, you stand there, waiting for whatever is such bait is required for. Then, from an almost invisible hole a hideous laugh emerges. ''Hee hee haa haa hoo hoo.'' The noise crinkles, and a... Strange monster emerges. It has two legs, no arms, and a single eye. Like a rat is sneaks out of the wall and tries to pounce on the errant offering, only for the troll to hurl another walnut. It strikes the uruk-thing, making it shriek and retreat back into the crevice. “This is the accidental recreation of uruks in their purest form. They're closer to an infection than an infestation. Gassed them three times already, and they just keep coming back!” - You, wishing you hadn't inquired, ask; “What do you... call them?”
“Annoying. The reason why I don't leave extra bits of myself lying around anymore, especially after the thumb incident. Why? Do you have a name for it?” - You say; “Gnomes.”
“That feels like a racial slur. Aren't there gnomes already?” - You say; “Dingalings.”
“Hm. That could work.” - You say; “Dickheads”
“Self explanatory I suppose.” - You say; “I don't.”
“So may it remain unnamed. Hopefully when I end this dream they'll fade completely from existence. The last thing I want is a bad joke to turn into a plague.”
- You ask; “Do you have any rumours or information to share?”
“Aye, I do. Let me think...”
“There is truth in all languages. Even the innocuous ones.”
“Vestiges of the underground endure. Things that aught to writhe now walk and seek to reach the light of day.”
“What was will be again. Always in echoes.”
“Slay the gods. Shatter their pillars. Devour their disciples.”
“The False God likes horses. A little too much...”
“They say; Your parents are real easy.”
“The moon is singing.”
“I saw a gremlin the other day. Horrible creatures.”
“The dreaming spaces and the waking world are closely linked. Abuse that as I have.” - You shake your head and say; “I don't have any questions.”
“Well, aren't you an odd one? Or did you exhaust the rest of my dialogue tree and run out of things to say?”
When no more needs to be asks and nothing else needs to be revealed, the lumbering Uruk claps their hands together. “Good good, ho hum... Thank you for this it is... Useful to me. Now, in additional to my thanks, you may have my boon if it pleases you.”
- You refuse and say; “No thanks.” And reach the end of the dream.
“Very well.” - You refuse and say; “Piss off.” Then, you promptly skip to the last line.
The troll bellows a laugh. “Right back at you.” - You question and ask; “What is it?”
“Something small, something I crafted for my grandkids. Not useful, not yet, but in time perhaps...” - You accept and say; “Very well.”
“Good good. Hold out your hands and listen close, I shall only do this once.”
With that, the troll grabs the still knitting flying sowing needles, cutting apart a small strip of the strange substance they weave. For a few moments you feel... Strange. Like you could break out into an outrageous musical conflict. Then it passes.
You have learned; { Urukksmál }
'A nascent language still in formation, antithetical to mathemagics and disruptive of conventional counting. Though, outside of issuing orders to a very very very very small number of Uruk and opposing Ecumene agents deep in enemy territory, it can do little. For now, anyway...'
“A small thing, but should you meet me in the future it will be of use.”
- You say; “Thank you.”
“Nah, I'm merely happy to have someone learn.” - You ask; “What? A half-formed language? Right now it can barely disrupt an equation”
The Uruk scoffs, “Nothing is mere language. Word is code and code is law. For now, it is fledgling. But if it spreads? Oh ho! It could cause quite a bit of chaos. A new element, outside of Ecumene things and Elder Gods. Chaos. Use it wisely.” - You ask; “Hold on isn't this just Icelandic?”
Meekly, the troll shrugs. “It is something else, something a little older and a little stranger. But any similarities? That is our little secret.”
“Now...” The Troll rises. “Our time is over. Time for you to wake up.”