Role

Chapter 3

His first memory is the flash of pain. Then darkness. Cold, wet, darkness.
Sound muffled. Clomping splashes getting nearer. A huge hand plucking him from
the shallows. Darkness giving way to dark blue, the blanket over his eyes. A
warm taste of something running down his face. Sweet, this blue. Intense
sunlight as the wet blanket is peeled from his over his bleeding head.

Held aloft by his saviour, a troll female. Weak, defenseless and in shock, he
falls unconscious.

Years passed as the trolls raised him. He proved more deft than even the most
cunning of them, and so was taught whatever tricks they knew, though only as
quickly as a troll could teach. Here was their own creature, their own weapon
who opened up treasures for them behind the most complicated locks or in the
highest canopy of trees. Task after task they would give him and time after
time he would succeed, earning their favor and treasured rewards.

As he grew in stature, he grew in curiosity. He had rarely stepped out of the
mountains and had exhausted nearly everything the trolls could think to task
with, while also seeing every possible reward. That he was sharper than those
who raised him is no surprise, but it also gave him a belief he could see
things in others. Intentions, secrets, even omens in the very winds and it
drove him slightly mad that he seemed to be the only one with this vision.

As an attempt to quiet his madness, he took to making the dolls. As he would
watch from the shadows, he passed time by constructing crude versions of
others by hand, whether in found objects or carvings. He could focus his mind
and settle the silt in his thoughts. This led him to believe that he would
steal a bit of the very essence of his subjects and embed it within his
creations. That the subjects generally enjoyed seeing themselves represented
made his efforts all the easier.