Book#6 -- A Day in the Life of Snorri Trollson by Mark Riedel

Snorri Trollson woke up with a start, his heart pounding. What a dream! The
gems alone in that overflowing treasure chest could have bought a dozen
warhorses, and warhorses are considered mighty good eating among the
trolls! His mind drifted idly towards the many bones scattered all around
the treasure chest as a gnawing feeling he couldn't quite identify (and
therefore decided to ignore) tried in vain to assert itself. The latent
familiarity of the dream disturbed him slightly, but as he could not
remember exactly why the dream seemed familiar he decided to ignore this
also. Snorri had learned early that ignoring what one did not understand
made life a whole lot simpler, unless the thing not understood was an older
female relation armed (or within reach of) any number of household
implements.
Snorri arose to greet the new day. He made his way down to the banquet
hall, where the featured item that morning was the cook's infamous Potato &
You Guess It omelet. He sat down beside his friend Urklore the Iron (who
was still dreaming about babes) and waited for the dreaded half-troll
battle cry: Food Fight! The half-trolls had never lost a food fight in the
guild, although their tactics were not entirely fair. They ate the omelets
thrown at them, which the lesser races (except the ogres) found themselves
unable or unwilling to do.
After cleanup and the inevitable chewing out by Killian, the guildmaster,
Snorri went back to the dorm room assigned to his group, the Wanderers.
Though last night's dream was long forgotten, other concerns began to crowd
themselves into the limited memory capacity of his half-troll brain. The
Wanderers had planned to go to the Temple of Canaar that day to poke around
for treasure, and if Snorri was right they might even find their way to
Granic, a place of unspeakable danger. Antar's best group, the Guardians,
had been roundly thrashed there twice by a demon princess and Snorri had
some vague misgivings about the project. He ignored them, picked up his
gear, and went to the courtyard to get the team mascot, Mary Lou (named for
an elf maiden Snorri knew), and wait for the others.
Snorri didn't have long to wait. Soon Duncan Stormhelm, Ian Blackwood, and
Sir Rokk Microsparc arrived. Lord Fandil, as usual, was late, having lost
time in the chapel with his prayers (this was expected by the others).
The party made its way through the town, pausing occasionally to sign
autographs for their adoring public or sometimes running to escape stones
lobbed at Snorri by the Varna Organization of Women. The crowds thinned as
they approached the Temple and finally they were all alone. Locating the
stairs they went in.
They had been to the Temple before, but this time something was
inexplicably different. Snorri of course ignored the feeling but Fandil
looked unusually thoughtful as they passed down the rank but familiar
hallway and through the rusty portcullis. The party passed into a room with
a tiled floor (everyone except Snorri thought the tiles moved, although no
one could prove it) and a mosaic. Ian called out as words formed on the
mosaic reading 'Security Setting: Granic"! Then, with a flash of blue
light, everything went black. Evidently they had attained their goal!
As they made their way out of the cell to which they had been transported,
Snorri shouted alarm as a strange vision greeted the party. A formation of
strange-looking metal birds swiftly made their way across a sky that wasn't
there, for the party was apparently deep within some building. Snorri
suggested that it was the mythical Iraqi Air Force, and the party,
recognizing an evil omen when it saw one, prepared for trouble.
With no choice, the Wanderers moved on. After encountering some glyphs
which no one could read (and Snorri ignored) the party chose to enter a
door that had been left slightly ajar into a great hall. As the party
entered, several still forms rose unsteadily to their feet. Zombies!
The Wanderers knew the drill. Lord Fandil readied his trusty bow, while Sir
Rokk Microsparc drew his sword and raised it overhead in a vain attempt to
impress the foes. Snorri loosed Mary Lou from her leash while a small
zombie waved a rusty dagger (Fandil considered the danger of lockjaw) and
another lurched forward, arms outstretched in a macabre hug.
Then things began to fall apart. A nauseous smell began to fill the room.
Snorri Trollson tried to resist the disgusting odor, but the omelets he had
eaten did not help the effort and soon they (at least) troubled him no
longer. Snorri managed to resist a second wave easily, but failed to pass a
third. Sick to his stomach (a novel if unpleasant feeling for anyone of
troll extraction) Snorri had a momentary flashback of having the Troll Flu
as a trolling and saw his grandmother approaching with a spoon of some
horrid trollish folk remedy. The utter horror of that scene jolted him back
to reality, although he still felt quite ill.
Snorri was dimly aware of Duncan attacking and dropping several zombies
while time stood still. A rotting zombie swung at Snorri and hit. A short
zombie moved in to attack. Snorri swung at the rotting zombie's rusty chain
armor. Too sick to be astonished, Snorri tried again and again but Betsy
bounced off the the zombie's chain mail. Feeling weak as an elf, the last
thing Snorri remembered was taking a heavy mace in the stomach, which still
had not forgiven him for the omelets that morning.
Snorri's body was teleported to the Good Temple, where despite threats of
boycott from the VOW the priests feverishly attempted to save Snorri from
permanent death. After much chanting, praying, and singing the priests fell
to the ground, their energy spent. The air in the room shimmered briefly,
as if charged with electricity for a moment, and then Snorri Trollson rose,
feeling groggy. Nearby were Lord Fandil and Sir Rokk Microsparc, likewise
healed.
Returning to the guild, Snorri found good news and bad news. The good news
was that Ian and Duncan had returned safely and brought Mary Lou with them.
The bad news was that Sheena, another guild member, had delivered a baby
and named Snorri as the father. The charge was of course utterly untrue,
for Wanderers did not go in for that sort of thing as it invited very long
and very boring lectures from Fandil, and besides, Troll courtship rituals
involved doing things with rocks that the lesser races found distasteful.
It was evidently another case of some poor, deluded weak female trying to
latch onto a strong half-troll authority figure. The last one actually had
wanted to be Snorri's sister.
It had not been a good day.
The End

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