Light. You may think it is a strange way to begin my story. You may think that our kind fear the word and will not speak about it. You may think it is strange that one such as me would join an organization of honor and discipline. Forget all that you know. I am going to tell you the truth. This is the way all things are.
I was not born amongst the trolls. Instead, I was raised by elves-the only one of my kind to do so. Some might call them radicals. How old I was I do not know, but when they beckoned to me out of the lonely shadows of the Swamp I felt alive and warm...yet somehow peaceful and serene. It was the second best feeling of my life. I followed them.
I was too young then to know why the elves had chosen me. In truth, the praised elves who walk in light are no different from our kind. They have as much hatred and darkness in them as we. They will kill in cold blood just as readily as I shall. They merely direct it at supposedly "acceptable" targets. They are misguided, and all of them shall die for their crimes against the dark lords. All of this I would not have learned were it not for that adventurous band, and for that I thank them.
Their wish was to create a troll hero of the light. They felt that if they raised me under their roofs and taught me their values that I would become a powerful ally of the Lightbringer and pile the corpses of my brothers in darkness in great heaps for them. Instead they were slain by the other elves who felt that they were too extremist and would allow a troll spy to learn their most sacred and well-kept secrets by allowing me to live in their city. And so, silently their assassins came. I actually witnessed the passing of my foster mother. It was my first example of the great transition from life into death, and a shadow was cast over my heart from that day forth. As those who had been so kind to me were killed in cold blood, the last bit of light and hope died that day. Though I struggled, knowing that they would soon come for me, I was instead put in bonds and hurled cruelly into the unforgiving forest of Greater Faydark. They thought themselves keepers of great mercy that evening as they rode home to their families.
You have never known pain. If you have been made to live as a child in similar conditions my pain would have been the greater. Though I still thought of the elves who had brought me out of the swamp as great saviors, and their killer was within a mile of me, I was helpless to avenge them. It was here, through my pain, that I learned the truth. Long before I had learned how to survive on my own, but this pain, this torture, taught me Hate. It boiled and swelled inside me, growing with every day. This hate gave me power, and without my hate I would never have been able to exact my revenge. Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time before my foster parents' killer lead an expedition into the forest, and there is where I made my strike.
My hatred gave me power beyond your understanding. My blade was merely an extension of myself, and my body flew like life become liquid. It sang in glory as it bathed in elven blood. At last I had slain the group of elvish soldiers around me and there was only the killer and myself left. His skill was predictable; he had practiced for decades and was strong, but he did not know the truth. He raised his sword to parry mine, but I pressed down with all my strength and hatred and he could not hold me.
He was very quick, even for an elf. A clever thrust cut a deep gash in my right shoulder. Did I pause to tend to it? No. My hatred was stronger then the pain. The elf should have run as soon as he saw one of the race of darkness. The blood instantly clotted and the would sealed up in a matter of seconds. He raised his sword to parry mine again, but I put my strength upon it and the finely crafted elven blade of his yielded, shattering to pieces in the elf's hands.
Mercy is always the creed of the weak. And though he begged, and sometimes threatened, I dined on his exquisite flesh that evening, raising my sword high to the Prince of Hate as the flames carried the elf's spirit into the next world. All things end in darkness. Our own world is but a spec in the universe, and all of its worlds would be like one minnow in all the oceans of Norrath.
All that exists is immersed in darkness, and it is to darkness that they must all return. This is the truth.
