Frozen

Thursday, January 27th, 402 (10:03 a.m.) [6]:

“Oh, I’m sure you could find a boat large enough to transport all your things,” Melisana replies, “But I’m glad you’re staying on until Soap all the same.”  She scoops up as much of the hair draining rainwater down her back, wrings it out, does the same with her hat and tucks the impromptu ponytail underneath.

It has been a slow and monotonous leg of the journey, with endless fields on the right and endless swampland on the left.  By mid-morning the rain has turned to sleet and flurries, then rain again an hour later.  And by mid-afternoon the rain has begun to subside, leaving a cold damp chill in the air.  The Candlestick Mountains grow closer as the day wears on, and by late afternoon they are perhaps a day’s journey away.

“It looks like we’re not going to reach the town of Midwich by nightfall,” Melisana informs the others.  “We still have a good ten miles–”

Melisana’s thought is cut off by the sight of something unusual in the distance, off to the left of the path and right at the edge of where the sedge and sediment turns into trees, tangled brush and thick swamp.  The front of the caravan, about a hundred feet up the road, has stopped and some of the soldiers and farmers have gathered around what looks to be an enormous, top-heavy odd-shaped boulder, at least ten feet tall.  The stone is a light grey, differing from the dark grey and black stones common in the area.  It doesn’t take long to realize the landmark is more than just an ordinary rock; as more people gather, the party can still see the upper half of it and come to realize it is in fact a stone figure of some kind.

It is clear from the lack of a pedestal and the awkward, hunched pose that this is not a simple statue.  It is also clear that, despite being anthropomorphic, it is not representative of a human, being much more musclebound and potbellied, with legs and arms slightly longer in proportion to the rest of its body than one would expect to see with a human.  Its head is exceptionally elongated as well, with tufts of hair erupting not only from its pate but its face, shoulders, its back (which is shirtless) and arms.  Its true height is difficult to gauge due to its hunched posture, but it likely would stand twelve feet tall if standing straight.  It has craned its head around as though checking behind him.

By the time the party reaches the figure, they can see its lower half.  The stone giant wears pants that are little more than furs bound loosely by strips of fabric.  It holds a sack in its right hand that hangs down nearly to the ground, the top of which billows out over its fist.  Both his clothes and the sack are petrified as well.  Ashcollar stands there consulting with his men.  They catch a snippet of the conversation: “…it must have been startled.  That’s my only guess.”  Seeing the party [or at least part of it] along with the tail end of the caravan taking an interest, Ashcollar explains the sight, probably the second or third time he’s done so since the discovery as more and more people gather.

“This,” he begins, gesturing at the monstrosity behind him, “Is a troll.  I’m sure you’ve read fairy tales about them, been warned as a child to stay out of the forest for fear of them, but this is the reality.  They are as ferocious and deadly as their reputation, to be sure, but they have one weakness, some of them, that is.  They cannot tolerate the sunlight, not a whit; it turns them instantly to stone, and so they avoid it at all costs.  Or, rather, nearly all costs…we’re trying to understand why this one made such an obvious error in judgment, coming out from the protective cover of the dense swamp forest during the day.”

“Take a look at this,” announces one of the braver soldiers, who has scaled the beast by standing on his partially bent knee.  “In the sack here, there’s a snake poking out!”

Ashcollar is startled by this information.  “Really!” he exclaims.  Turning to those around him, he explains, “It is known that inanimate objects like the clothing you see here freeze when the troll turns.  But another living creature…it was alive, wasn’t it?” he asks the soldier.

“It does have every indication it was alive, the mouth is open, the tongue is out, and the eyes still have the glint of life in them!”

“Astounding!” Ashcollar chirps.  “A living creature petrifying with the troll, that is something new.  Something for the books, without a doubt.  There is a scholar in Soap named Boethus who will be delighted to hear this.  He’s writing a bestiary with all the latest knowledge of creatures inhabiting this realm.  Isn’t science wonderful!” he trails off, lost in thought for a moment.  Then, composing himself, he turns to the men.  “Unfortunately, though, this means we will not be safe camping anywhere near here tonight.  For we know one other thing about the troll, that this petrified state reverses itself when the Sun goes down.  And worse, whatever might have frightened this fellow into the Sun, if that’s what happened, may still be in the area.  Not safe at all.  Please, let’s all get back to the road and carry on to Midwich.  We still have a few hours to go so dinner will be late.”

As the men and women make their way back to the road some of them cast nervous glances up to the sky, where the Sun occasionally disappears behind the many clouds that coat the sky.  Will the party do or say anything here?

J