G’narsh
The Troll, The Myth, The Legend
by
Kevin Stillwater
chapter 1
# # # Prelude # # #
page 3
Having said all of that, I’m sure that you will have
noted that I opted to start with an overview of my wrap around
narrative. It will be central to my storytelling technique and it
is -- in my opinion -- unfair not to set this out from the start.
After all, there is a reason this work was not issued as a two disc set
with the second given over to a dreamer’s commentary track. The
main story simply will not be as full and compelling without the
secondary wraparound. For example, it is here in the wraparound
that we will put forth the most (((compelling and))) complete
description of G’narsh, not only because lengthy descriptions and focus
on (((unnecessary))) details interrupts the narrative flow, but also so
that the character can be built up before your eyes as an example of
the craft.
So to start. G’narsh is a
troll. He has two heads. This is the simplest of
descriptions. But what I wish to point out is that even the most
rudimentary of players -- compilers or rigs if you will -- will make
some sort of sense out of this description. One need not call
more into play if one does not want to. But we will lose control
of our character (leave too much to chance and individual taste) if we
do not flesh him out further. And though the story -- with any
luck -- will be light hearted, we want the compiler to start with a
mean, ugly, horrific brute of a troll. Monster is a good call
word. I know some of you out there have 1,000 or more discs
loaded into your player -- I know I do. Something like that is
more properly called a jukebox than a rig, but with all those discs
you’re going to have trolls that run the gamut from playful cartoons,
to nasty swamp dwelling brutes. I want to call up the
later. I want to remind you that G’narsh is a murderer, a rapist,
and a defiler. He is not a nice guy. He is a demon from the
Heart of Darkness and traces his lineage directly to the depths of
chaos and the swirling shadows of despair itself.
Do we have a feeling for him? He stands six feet, seven feet,
eight feet tall. Rippling, bulging muscles form his body.
There is no fat, no waste, no mercy, and -- perhaps even -- no soul;
but then, that last is a false descriptor as we shall soon
discover. In the meantime, it is not hard to imagine that he
oozes slime for sweat, that his breath reeks of decay, and that he is
an evil, close-minded, barbarian of a villain to the very core of his
being.