Oh, how she wished it was just some sick prank and it could be reverted easily, but no, she, the infamous Barverra had really stuck as one of those squishy, pathetic fleshbags! As if she hadn't already faced enough humiliation in her life.
So, at the moment the female was passing restlessly through the witch elder's hut, thinking about breaking so many necks the second it became possible. No, just breaking some necks wouldn't be enough, the daughter of Gunmar should have gone with demolishing the entire village - and it didn't even matter that there was the deal to protect it. Breaking the word wasn't something that anyone with a sense of honor would approve, but that witch started first with her deception. At least, right now the accursed magic user knew better than mocking her guest and had gone elsewhere, leaving Barverra to cope with the new state alone.
The former troll tried to growl in frustration once again as if hoping for it to sound properly this time, but no, it was still the same pitiful sound.
Her eyes caught a mirror on the wall and Barverra couldn't help staring at her own reflection - it was one thing to glimpse over fleshy limbs, but seeing the actual level of disaster made her sick to the core. She was already missing the familiar black stone - that typical fleshbag skin tone was particularly disturbing and loathsome. The woman bared her teeth and grimly noted that those were as dull and flat as possible. How those fleshbags were even able to chew with something so ineffective?
"Just great - no strength, no speed, no teeth, no defense," Barverra pocked her own arm hard and yelped from a foreign feeling of pain - that was reaching another whole level of low, that was for sure. She shifted her attention to hands and added with some merciless sarcasm:
"No claws as well. Got additional fingers instead!"
What was even the point in one more digit? Her hands worked normally with four - so why did fleshbags need five?
The more Barverra examined her reflection, the more she found her new fleshy body useless - though it wasn't like there could be any other conclusion. Was there at least one good thing in that lump of meat? Somehow it didn't seem so.
But the most annoying thing was the dulled senses - it was truly scary not to be perfectly aware of surroundings. An enemy with minimal stealth skill could easily approach unnoticed and take away her life before she managed to react.
That kind of vulnerability was scary to even think about.
Hearing was out of question, so Barverra scowled trying at least to check the current limit of her smelling capability. That one was... weird, to say the least. Some things that clearly possessed a scent before, now had none; others used to have normal or even pleasant fragrance, yet now were reeking to the point that the woman nearly emptied her stomach. The fleshbag nose seriously had some problems with perception.
Some muffled noises coming from the outside made Barverra drop her examination at once. She strained her ears in futile attempt to discern sounds only to give up right away and look for any weapon fit for defense instead. With her blades out of question the only thing left was a weird staff placed in the corner. That one didn't look that effective as a weapon and had a bunch of sticks attached to it for some reason. Still, even that was better than nothing. The former troll raised it, ready to fend off any attacker.
The door creaked revealing three fleshbags - rather young looking, female and with curious looks on their faces. The trio froze the moment they noticed Barverra's battle stance, definitely not sure what to do next. Finally, one of them, the one with some kind of dots on her face broke the silence:
"Um, hello? Why do you need that broom?" she spoke slowly, putting emphasis on every word and gesturing a lot as if expecting the former troll not to understand her properly.
Barverra definitely didn't like that tone or attitude.
"No need to talk that way, fleshbag!" she snorted. "I can speak your language perfectly!"
Well, truth to be said, she had no idea what broom meant, but the daughter of Gunmar deduced it could be the name of that borrowed weird staff. In any case, the intruders didn't seem harmful at all, even in her current pathetic state, so she lowered the improvised weapon.
"She understands," another one of three, the tall and lanky fleshbag, whispered to her friends with a gasp. Most likely, she didn't want it to be audible, so she kept the volume down. Or at least had tried so - Barverra heard her well enough even without superior hearing.
The last one - short and plump - tried to shush her friend, noticing the murderous glares the former troll was sending them. That one looked way less scared and more like curious about everything.
Those three hadn't been inside for that long, but the daughter of Gunmar had already found them irresistibly annoying. As if her current irritation with the puny body wasn't enough.
"So what are you doing here?" Barverra inquired glaring between the pesky trio. The lanky one gulped and made a step back, but the rest wasn't impressed.
The first fleshbag tried to take situation under control and gave some explanation:
"Elder Tabitha sent us to help and..."
"Who?" Barverra interrupted looking at the girl with suspicion. She had no idea what that one was talking about.
"You don't know? It's the Elder's hut and..." the girl continued with some confusion as if she had never expected the reaction like that.
"So, her name's Tabitha," the former troll murmured. Now that she thought about it, she had never bothered asking that elder witch's name - to her mind, it was pointless to memorize names or titles of those who held no importance. And fleshbags were exactly like that with only a few exceptions. Though, apparently, the magic user who was the reason for Barverra's present misadventure had also made her way into that short list of names to remember.
Surprisingly, three girls had certainly misinterpreted her muttering - for whatever reason they beamed and exchanged quick glances at once.
"Yes, and I'm Melinda and she's Charlotte and that's Sarah," the shortest fleshbag started with introductions. Alas, all of those fell into deaf ears.
"Whatever," Barverra looked at them with barely concealed boredom - there was no way she would ever bother to remember any of those bizarre fleshbag names. Though she probably would need to distinguish those three somehow, so she mentally nicknamed them Mottled Skin, Twig and Shorty. "So what do you need, Mottled Skin?" asking that one made the most sense in her eyes - somehow, she gave an impression of informal leader and was the only one who dared to talk to the former troll so far.
"Mottled Skin?" the flesbag in question parroted in bewilderment, then touched her face as it finally clicked. "Oh, you mean my freckles?"
Perhaps, asking this girl was a wrong decision in the end - there was a huge chance that she was not that bright, just around Bular's level. Why did that foolish fleshbag even pay attention to such trivial detail when she simply needed to answer one extremely simple question? Maybe it would be a better idea to ask Shorty or something. Not Twig though - judging from her behavior, that one could only gawk behind others.
"What do you need, Freckles?" Barverra repeated her question, her voice full of barely hidden irritation.
"Like I've said already, the Elder sent us to help. My name is Sarah though," Freckles smiled politely. The former troll could swear she had noticed some displeasure in her eyes though.
It had started getting absurd too fast.
"To help with what?" the former troll nearly hissed. Those fleshbags were surely driving her crazy.
"With clothing," Twig had finally found some bravery and uttered an answer. Finally, there was something, though…
"Is there anything wrong with mine?" Barverra folded her arms and glared at girls.
"Erm... Everything?" Shorty glanced over the former troll. "Is it even comfortable, being like that?"
It wasn't like that statement was far from truth. Like many other trolls, Barverra always went for leather armor with some metal parts. She liked it being simple and not restrictive. Yet now her leather armor was obviously too big for the fleshbag body. The vambraces slipped down from frail arms soon after the transformation and the rest of the armor was close to following those. But like the hell the daughter of Gunmar was going to admit that aloud.
"We've brought you some clothes," Freckles butted in, showing her a bundle of fabric. "Elder Tabitha told us those would fit! And well, I also think the size is right!"
That Tabitha, without doubt, had a death wish or something - as if turning the Gumm-Gumm commander into the pathetic lump of meat was not humiliating enough, now she wanted to shove her into some ridiculous outfit as well. Not to mention that the sly fox didn't even dare to come herself and sent the annoying trio instead.
Barverra wasn't going to play that game.
"No," she stated her position boldly, hoping it would make stupid fleshbags go away. "I won't wear that!"
Seriously, why did it even matter to all of them? Had they no better activities to kill their time?
Apparently, it was a miscalculation to refuse outright as the girls exchanged glances and started to circle her. That tactics was too familiar - it couldn't be anything but cutting all the escape routes.
"It's not that bad," Freckles said in soothing tone as if trying to convince a stubborn child and tried to take the former troll's hand. It worked as a trigger instead - Barverra jumped trying to break loose and the girls ambushed in a slightly awkward attempt to catch her.
Next few minutes turned into total chaos with a wild chase inside the small hut, pushing, biting, many falls, yelps and cursing both in human and troll languages.
The daughter of Gunmar might have possessed the advantage of huge battle experience, but there were too many handicaps as well - be it unfamiliar body, closed space or three against one. She had lost the struggle in the end with huffing Shorty sitting on her and disheveled Twig holding into her legs. Freckles got the most damage, most likely because she tried the hardest - her face was covered in scratches and she visibly limped.
The former troll looked around wildly, wondering if it was possible to turn the tables. Probably, she still could kick Twig right into the gut and then try to throw off Shorty and…
"For Heaven's sake, Barverra, stop being ridiculous! You're not a kid!" Freckles yelled losing her cool. The sudden outburst made everyone freeze at once.
"Sarah!" Twig gasped with an obvious fear. "Don't - she's a..."
But her friend wasn't going to stop, most likely fed with entire situation:
"She's what? A troll? Not now! There are some rules you need to follow in society and she'll do that even if it's against her wishes!"
Barverra looked at the yelling fleshbag with some interest - that one clearly had some guts:
"You know what? You're amusing, Freckles, I'll give you that. I'll even be kind enough and pretend that I haven't heard your last sentence. But I still don't see any point in wearing that," she nodded to forgotten bundle lying on the floor.
The hostile situation got diffused apparently. Shorty and Twig exchanged glances once again, most likely noting their captive's more peaceful demeanor and then reluctantly released her.
"It protects from cold though," the plump fleshbag pointed carefully. "It may be warm enough inside, but it's still November".
"Are you telling me that you fleshbags cannot stand a slight change in temperature?" Barverra inquired flatly. No one answered her, but the looks on girls' faces were already more than enough. Seriously, how those pathetic creatures had managed to survive so far? Some drop in temperature - and they already needed more clothing! What a joke!
Nevertheless, it was the first ever surrender of the horrendous Herald of Doom - her dead enemies were probably roaring from laughter in their graves when she begrudgingly accepted the help with ridiculous outfit. It was difficult to admit but she had no idea how to wear most of pieces - trolls tended to be minimalistic in their clothes (and some were alright with none at all), while fleshbags obviously put too many layers for whatever reason.
"Why cannot you just give me an armor?" Barverra wheezed struggling with the most bizarre piece of clothing - the one Twig called a stocking. "And don't dare to say that you fleshbags have nothing like that - I have seen it myself! Your warriors obviously wear it!"
"Not anymore," Freckles disagreed with a scowl. "Things change a lot as time passes... Isn't it the same for trolls?"
All three girls looked at the daughter of Gunmar with various degrees of curiosity - most likely none of them was that knowledgeable when it came to trolls. Though if they expected any story, they had to face a disappointment as Barverra wasn't eager to entertain them.
She had never thought about that, but honestly, her kind was not such a big fan of any changes, sticking to millennia old traditions. It probably had a lot to do with the change of generations - when you had an extremely long lifespan, you ended with a lot of several centuries old guys sticking to the rules of past. Something that an average fleshbag would consider an old history, was simply a part of memory for the most trolls. How could it be different when the entire human lifespan barely equaled a part of troll whelphood?
"Still, even though there is no armor anymore, you should have more practical clothing," Barverra frowned lifting a hem of her ridiculously long skirt. "How do you run wearing this? Or jump? Or kick?"
The outfit felt restrictive and gave no freedom of movement at all. Fleshbags surely had created a problem for themselves out of nowhere.
"We don't?" Shorty shrugged without any confidence as she obviously had no idea herself how to answer such questions. It was quite normal to wear a long skirt, though, like the former troll pointed out, it was impractical. "We don't fight here... We're peaceful folk... Especially since you started to protect our village..."
"As if that's such a long period of time!" the former troll sneered.
"But it is," Freckles retorted firmly - since her outburst she stayed the most confident out of trio. "It has been twenty-three years already - for your record, none of us had been even born when you came to the village!"
It was yet another reminder of the fleshbag fleeting existence. Depending on perspective, those twenty-three years could be easily both long and short.
"Moreover, this village is the place where people escape from witch hunts," Twig added meekly.
"Why don't try to fight back? You have that magic of yours. Could put that to use, you know," Barverra never understood why witches even needed to hide. She remembered Morgana blasting knights without breaking a sweat. Even fracture of that would be more than enough for self-defence.
"Because we're in minority and magic's dying out," Freckles glowered and gritted her teeth, definitely displeased.
"Ha, that's why you are cowardly and pathetic flesh..." the daughter of Gunmar started another snide remark, but shut up mid-sentence realizing her own hypocrisy. Wasn't she the one hiding and running for decades instead of fighting like her brother suggested? If those witches were cowards, so was she.
With conversation heading into unpleasant direction everyone just bit their tongues and stayed silent - Barverra even allowed reluctant Twig to tend to her hair, only hissing when the girl accidentally pulled too strongly.
The daughter of Gunmar was thinking about her own last decades, all the roaming and some encounters she had. Not even one single soul seemed to be on the Gumm-Gumm side anymore. This village was a godsend, though Barverra still wondered about their elder's motives. That Tabitha obviously wasn't as fleshbag-hating as Morgana, so why had she given a shelter to the enemy of humanity?
The trio of girls kept exchanging weird glances, but not even one of them open their month. Freckles was still irritated, Twig was too shy to start with and Shorty… Well, that one was actually struggling because of silence.
The awkward pause didn't last too long though as an introduction of shoes had brought up another loud protest from the former troll. The grim atmosphere dissolved at once, changing into another round of pleads, complains and threats.
"Come on, Barverra, these ones are needed - they protect feet from harm, you won't go far barefoot," Shorty nearly begged, clearly not amused of possibility of another chase inside the hut.
"And don't even start with that 'pathetic fleshbags' stuff," Freckles frowned, still pissed from everything that happened before. "We've heard it - you don't like our kind! Stop whining and just deal with that!"
Barverra narrowed her eyes, but obeyed. That young witch probably had just forgotten that it was not so wise to make an enemy of the daughter of Gunmar even if she was trapped in a weaker body for a while - trolls could be pretty vindictive and had good memory, after all. Though that fearless approach was notable enough to get Freckles at least some kind of recognition from the former troll, if not a minimal respect.
Those shoes were constricting - not in 'too small' way, but more like feeling out of place. The clothes felt the same actually - and Barverra hated that already. It felt like the part of her freedom was taken away, replacing itself with whatever rules fleshbags invented for themselves. Back then she hadn't realized that it was only the beginning of her long journey of familiarizing herself with a human society.
She had genuinely thought that those three meddlesome troubles would leave her alone once they finished with the outfit, but no, all the hope had evaporated the moment Shorty proclaimed cheerfully:
"And now we're going outside!"
Was that the one, that exact point of no return? Later, after some decades had passed Barverra would certainly call that moment the most decisive and life changing one. Nevertheless, that time it somehow felt like another pain in the neck.
Well, at least the former troll tried to pretend it was only that.
It was not something to be proud of, but the daughter of Gunmar was actually scared - while the hut provided at least some kind of shelter, anything that laid outside was entirely hostile environment, not something one should have challenged with so many handicaps. She needed to consider everything first, maybe find some weapon and…
No one was going to give her time for that though. The girls basically dragged the former troll out, despite all the resistance. At least she still managed to stop near the doorway finding some soothing comfort in its shadow.
All of that was too crazy. It was a midday! Midday! Not a good time for the most trolls with a few rare exceptions to stay without protection of some shade. There was no shame of being afraid of sun - daylight, after all, was the death incarnate for her kind. That fear was something instinctual, the means of self-preservation, weaved into her being the day she greeted the world.
Barverra just couldn't force herself to make any step forward - she had more than enough experience with sunburns before and those were the most painful thing possible for a troll without any doubt. They said that the death under sunlight was the most agonizing and the daughter of Gunmar wasn't that eager to check that fact.
Wait, no.
'You're a fleshbag now,' her inner voice reminded. 'Fleshbags don't burn under sun. It shouldn't hurt. In theory, at least'.
She still hesitated. What if that damned potion didn't work the way she expected and just twisted body but left the biggest weakness intact? That Tabitha could be devious enough to pull something like that. Why? Just because - magic users were still fleshbags and those knew nothing about true honor.
The doubts kept rising and growing stronger. The daughter of Gunmar had learned not to trust anyone that easily, so why had she to believe in the elder witch's benevolence? It would be way more reasonable to be suspicious. And of course, it meant no stepping into the sunlight - that could easily be a devious trap and…
Somewhere to Barverra's left Twig whispered:
"Why has she stopped?"
The girl most likely didn't think anyone would hear that - not even her friends apparently as it sounded more like a mumble to herself.
In hindsight, it was ridiculously dumb, but that quiet voice not meant for her ears had become the push the former troll needed to conquer her inborn fear, because it irritated her to the extreme. The step she made counted as the most brainless thing in her head at that moment, but there was also some kind of bizarre satisfaction and even pride. Even if it turned out to be a certain death, at least the Herald of Doom would have met it with her head raised high.
But in the end, it didn't hurt. At all.
Quite the contrary, gentle touches of sunrays felt warm, nice and comfy, chasing away worries and instilling some tranquility. It was not that unlike a Heartstone. And it was...
"Unfair," the end of thought had slipped out unconsciously. Why did those fleshbags, those useless, pathetic weaklings, have the right to experience something so marvelous? Before Barverra had always been able to understand her father's contempt for the sun - he could not stand anything he wished to have but wasn't able to control. Gunmar would rather destroy the daylight than left it out of his possession, not to mention that it was a threat to his dominance as it limited his hordes movements a lot. Before his daughter had shared those views, but now? It was too good, too tantalizing, making her doubt that need for destruction.
There should have been some way to conquer the sun. Impures could do that, some tribes of trolls, like stalkings, could do that. According to rumors, there also were some stones with ability to give some protection against daylight. And even that inconvenient potion was one of the methods. Surely, with all of those factors there could be something that would allow any troll to be outside all day long. If they researched it more, wouldn't they get an answer?
Her eyes clouded for some reason.
"Hey, Barverra, are you crying?" Freckles asked in bewilderment.
Crying? Her? That was just a ridiculous assumption, yet… It seemed that some weird emotions had overcome her soul and it was impossible to get rid of those easily.
Surprisingly, some help came from an unexpected place as Shorty laughed before the former troll could answer:
"Well, she's looked at the sun, so no wonder!"
That plump fleshbag was so wrong, yet Barverra didn't even bother to correct her. That moment something new was born in her heart, something weird and foreign for a Gumm-Gumm, yet something she would learn to cherish eventually.