It was midday in Mossflower Woods. An ugly creature roamed the paths, its bare, furless skin tinged a sickly gray, its loincloth barely covering it, the ugly, wart-covered face stuck in a snarl and the malicious eyes staring long and hard at a squirrel.
You or I, we might call this strange, disgusting creature a Troll.
The Troll snuck up behind the squirrel, and bashed him over the head, eating the body and transforming itself into an exact replica of the squirrel, if only physically.
Then, it strolled on over to the squirrel's abode, climbing in to be greeted by his victims family. When the children hugged it, it spouted a stream of amazing obscenities at them from its (I am ashamed to admit this) enviably diverse vocabulary, scaring them and shocking the poor squirrelwife.
Transforming back into its usual form, scaring the poor beasts further, it then proceeded to eat them as well. When it was done, it let out an evil chuckle as it slipped away from the drey, off to terrorize more beasts.
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Later on, the Troll came to Redwall, shortly after having ambushed, eaten and stolen the guise of an otter.
"Hoi!" it shouted to the walltop sentry, "lemme in, matey!"
The mouse was only too eager to oblige.
As the Troll walked, it tore apart the tapestry of Martin, and then ran up to the Dibbun's rooms and absolutely destroyed them, writing many an inappropriate thing on the walls in some strange ink nobeast seemed to be able to wash away afterwards.
One of these things, beyond the comprehension of anybeast, was "YIFF IN HELL". Nobeast understood what it meant, nobeast cared to.
As the Troll, once again in its true form, ran West toward Salamandastron, all the Redwallers could do was send out a convenient, recently healed eagle to the Badger Mountain with warning.
Lord Urthfang sat on his throne, listening to a young runner, Private Avtor(1) by name, relaying the message from Redwall.
"Sounds like a Troll, sah," the young hare said, adding his own thoughts on the end.
"Aye," said Urthfang. "They're nasty they are. Strong, masters of deception. Fortunately for us, they're exceptionally slow, both mentally and physically. Should be easy to take care of."
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That very freak of nature had just ambushed some poor lone leveret, and taken his guise. This would be the Troll's greatest feat yet.
It walked through the main gates, fooling the guards with its guise. Its target was not them; it was the Badger Lord in his throne room.
As it came to the throne room doors however, the odds changed. Private Avtor, having known the Troll by the malicious grin creeping onto its face, jumped out, seemingly from nowhere. He stabbed the Troll through the eyeball with his dagger. It seemed, however, that the Troll would be rather difficult to kill.
It got up and took a strong swing, which was dodged and replied to with a swift, powerful kick to the side of its head. The blow knocked it over, but it got back up again.
This time, it yanked the knife from its eyeball and threw it at the hare. It pinned his right ear to the wall by its tip. The wound would later become infected, forcing an amputation of the eartip.
The Private took the knife from his ear and cast it aside, drawing his saber. He took many swings, and even took an arm off the Troll. Still it did not die, not even when it was half-beheaded. Clearly, it would take much to defeat this Troll.
Then, the young hare had an idea. He lured the Troll into a large room by backing himself into it. This room was full of barrels of something.
Using his hare's speed, he ran out the huge steel door, throwing one of the torches from the walls in the hall into the room, directly onto a barrel. He shut the heavy door tight, and ran around a corner for cover. The Troll stared for a moment before realizing what was about to happen.
There was a huge explosion, and the door flew down the hall, smacking into a wall, actually embedding itself there.
Cautiously, Avtor poked his head 'round the corner. No sign of the Troll. He walked carefully into the room. All that was left was bloodspatters on the walls, and a few burning chunks of wood.
That had been the whole supply of blasting powder. But it was worth it- the Troll would have very quickly eaten everybeast in the fortress.
They could always acquire more of the explosive, but the Badger Lord and hares who would have been eaten would have been impossible to replace. The young runner cleaned the room until it was spotless, burning the rags he used as if they were coated in some hazardous substance.
Actually, they /were/ coated in a hazardous substance. Troll blood causes all sorts of nasty infections.
He delivered his full report to a most pleased Lord Urthfang. "Well," said the badger, "I believe that's earned you a reward. Congratulations, Corporal Avtor."
"Not only have you gotten a promotion, I'm also going to award you a medal for bravery. The official ceremonies will take place tomorrow after teatime. That dress uniform better be absolutely spotless."
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A/N: (1) Private (now Corporal) Avtor is suppose to be a representation of the Redwall fanfic community, much like Uncle Sam to the USA, or, in a more obscure example, "Michael" to post-WWI Germany. If anyone has a better suggestion for his name, tell me.
I'd like to ask anyone who's reading to review as well. For those with no account, anonymous reviews are enabled.