“For days he traversed the tunnels, snaking his way through this ancient maze of cobwebs and gray stone, deep in the belly of the mountains. No light reached these depths – this was the realm of eternal darkness. But he was a dwarf, and dwarves are quite fine in this deep dark.
Huffing and puffing, with tiny beads dotting his forehead, he made his way forward, clutching a faint-burning torch in front of him. The flame cast long shadows as the light touched every little stone and stalactite. From time to time, they startled him – the shimmering shadows awfully akin to a goblin or some nasty, nine-legged spider. His heart would skip then, but he’d realize it was nothing, nothing at all. These were ancient tunnels, and things that dwelled here were rare and oft hidden.
And ancient often means crude. For the most part natural and undisturbed, the tunnels still showed traces of some long forgotten, unknown maker. He’d pass rough-hewn chambers, strange writings chiseled into the walls, and lonely skeletons protruding from the dirt. Time might have tried to hide the history of this place, but its traces still remained.
It was the fifth day of tunnel-travelling, – or was it sixth? – when he stumbled into a particularly narrow passage. With no other way forward, the dwarf squeezed inside just barely, sucking in his belly and constantly tugging on his big bushy beard. Inch by inch, he made his way forward. The torch cast its meek wisps of light on the chamber that lay behind it. He could barely make out a much larger tunnel on the other side. But the darkness was overwhelming – only shadows and faint outlines were his clues.
Dwarves don’t like surprises. But that’s exactly what our traveler got. The narrow passage ended as abruptly as it begun – and where it ended there was no floor. The dwarf’s stumpy legs desperately sought a foothold that wasn’t there, and in no time he fell downwards into a big, circular pit.
But in every trouble, there’s a bit of luck. And in every bit of luck, there is irony. And so it was that the dwarf’s landing was not so hard after all. He fell face first into a big wiggly pillow, bouncing right back onto his feet. Only, this pillow didn’t quite like it – for it was no pillow at all, just as the torch was about to reveal.
“Oi!”, the creature bellowed, “I wuz just havin’ one o’ them dream things! I ate a lamb in it…” He blinked for a moment, its tiny eyes focusing on the newcomer in the pit. “Oi! What is you, then?” it asked at last, surprised.
The dwarf stood frozen, swallowing hard as he stared straight up. Standing some eight feet taller than him was a big fat troll. It was tall and cumbersome, its arms thick as trunks and muscular – a stark contrast to its floppy gut. The face that stared into him was full of lumps, half of it hidden beneath an enormous bulb of a nose. In its shadow a mouth stood open, with only a handful of yellowed teeth peering out.
“What is you?” it repeated. It stank like a privy on two legs.
“Why, I’m a dwarf.” He replied, trying to talk through his nose. He clutched the mace at his side, but he knew it would be useless against a troll. He’d need to think of a different way to survive this mess. “And what are you?” he added, buying time.
“I’s a troll, Adwarf!” It made a silly bow. “And they be callin’ me Bubigrugg Jiggle, the Toadeater. But most folks jus’ call me Bubi…Or they don’t calls me at all.”
The dwarf shuddered, thinking of how he could possibly have earned that epithet.
“I done fell into this big ‘ole right here.” Bubi the troll went on. “I’s awful hungry. Thirsty, too.”
The bearded little figure took a step backward, almost expecting the troll to reach out and devour him. Thoughts raced through his head – how can he outwit it?
“I’ve a drink fer ya, if you’d like.” He said with a dose of uncertainty in his voice. It could work…maybe.
“Give it!” the troll bellowed, but quickly withdrew his hand. It made a wry face. “It ain’t one o’ them tricksy potions, is it? Bubi hates those. Once I was thirsty and drank from this big barrel I found. I was a big toad for a whole day. It’s true an’ all! King o’ the Toads I was.”
“No tricks or potions here, mister Bubi!” The dwarf decided to play his card. “Only a friend helping a friend.”
He reached for the little knapsack on his back and produced a round flask. It was full of a pale white liquid.
“A friend?” the troll asked, “I ain’t never had one of those!” A smile spread beneath the huge nose. He took the flask and swallowed deep, slapping his gut to signify he liked it.
“Onion cider!” the dwarf said even before the troll could ask. “My special recipe! I can see you’re a real connoisseur of good liquor!”
“No, no,” Bubi replied hastily, “I’s a troll, I told ya!” He took another swallow.
“That you are, indeed!” About time now, he thought eagerly.
The troll upended the flask, pouring every drop of the strong dwarven cider into him. What he didn’t know was that it was, well…dwarven. And that meant that only dwarves could drink it and stay on their feet. But a troll is slightly larger than your average dwarf – about four times larger, in fact. He wasn’t sure whether the cider would work.
Scratching its head lazily, the troll began dozing off. He picked his nose absentmindedly, mumbling into its chin all the while. The dwarf stood expectant, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The cider did its work, it seemed.
“My tummy feels funny…” Bubi Toadeater exclaimed groggily. “I’s awfully sleepy now.”
“Fear naught!” The dwarf announced reassuringly. “Your friend will be here while you rest.”
“My friend…” Bubi said with a lazy smile, as he sank to the floor. “I always wanted one of those…”
The very next moment he was snoring in a seated position – rumbling deeply in his drunken stupor.
Letting out a deep sigh of relief, the dwarf quickly picked up his flask, clambered onto the troll’s shoulders and struggled his way onto the ledge and out of the pit. Before continuing his journey through the tunnels, he took one last glance at the snoring fat troll below. Bubigrugg Jiggle was in quite a pickle now.”
THE END
