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D espite my patience, there are some things which grate even on my nerves. I am, of course, speaking of doing business with Troll merchants.

Let me take a moment to respectfully point some things out. I have chosen to turn my back on Dark Elf Society, but Neriak is still, and will ever be, my birth home, and I do not turn my back on that. Besides, the merchants of Freeport refuse to accept my coin, assuming it cursed, and while the greedy merchants who directly serve the Dismal Rage do not care about Lady Aedare's attempts at command, I do not wish to donate money to that particular cause except in dire emergencies. Therefore, I shop the Foreign Quarter. There is a lovely tavern just to the left of the first gate, with an excellent view of my beloved city.

There is also a small armor shop that caters mostly to the allies of the Teir'Dal, the Trolls and Ogres. Run by a pair of Troll sisters, it carries a wide selection of both metal and leather armor, not to mention a full supply of sewing supplies. Having not yet found the call of battle to be as profitable as it could be, I have taken to making my own armor.

The trick to dealing with Trolls is, of course, speak slowly and use small words. Everyone knows that. However, when one cannot speak, it makes the task quite tiresome. Just the other night, having filled my pack with various pelts I had earned in my journeys, I visited this shop, looking to purchase some patterns to finish my wardrobe.

I walked into the small shop, and went up to the second sister, the one who dealt solely in leather goods. Looking over the collection of supplies that sat on clumsy shelves behind her, I pointed at a pile of large parchments, the patterns I sought.

Misunderstanding my gesture, she took my pointing hand in her massive grasp and shook it vigorously, nearly breaking every bone. "Plees meecha, lil' elfee," she bellowed. "Me merkant. Whut you wan'?"

I sighed and pointed to my open mouth, trying to point out my inability to speak. She did not quickly take the hint. "You hungy? Me no got food. You get food at Inny."

Rolling my eyes, I held up my money pouch, shook it slightly to show that it was filled well, and then gently bent over to touch the patterns. Had I thought about this course of action longer, I probably would have avoided it. But, annoyance does little to improve one's ability to think.

It will never cease to amaze me just how fast these trolls are - speed, not intellect. Within half a second of going near her precious shelves, I was outside the shop, face down in the dirt. Fortunately, to allow me to end the story without looking more the fool, trolls have incredible strength, but very poor memories. Eventually, I was able to communicate my desires to the troll, and purchased several patterns to avoid starting the whole process over. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of trying to sell some extra armor back to her, an experience which could take up several large books.

The point is; we all know the phrase "Know thy enemy". Just as important as knowing your enemy is understanding your friends. There will be times when, as you travel with that large, lumbering mass of pure power, you will desperately need him to be silent, and telling him to be silent will obviously miss the point. Explaining a quiet signal in advance does nothing, because it will not remain in a Troll's mind longer than a few minutes (if, and only if, it is an exceptionally intelligent Troll.) Therefore, you must live with your companion's failings, and expect to be in the middle of battle constantly. To quote a human expression: "Deal with it."

Actually, now that I come to think of it, I believe the actual point is: Scorned Dark Elf seeks interpreter and assistant for travels in Freeport. Ability to comprehend hand gestures a must.

Until next time, friends,

~ Aravs the Masked