On the Painted Mountain

A Tutor Fit For An Olog

Nákra was a walking, talking paradox among his peers. He'd spent his life in bloody conflict, the web of overlapping scars running across his back was a blatant testament to that fact. To the surprise of his superiors, he emerged from the carnage of his youth with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. He'd traded away his bow and quiver for a quill and parchment, becoming a most esteemed scholar, renowned for his wisdom and insight.

But even Nákra's vast experience couldn't prepare him for his latest assignment (from the Overlord of Khargukôr himself!): become a speech tutor to a mountain troll named Az-Harto. Apparently, the Dark Lord had created this new and improved race of trolls they were calling 'Olog-hai'. He'd seen a couple of the hulking brutes before hand, their vocabularies limited to little more than grunts and roars. By contrast, Nákra was accustom to a nuanced language and rhetoric (how anyone expected him to bridge that gap was beyond reckoning).

"He wants me to what now?", Nákra rasped incredulously at the messenger staring back at him through the crack in his camber door. At this, the already bemused smile on the messenger's lopsided face split into a wide grin, showing off his unsightly maw of misaligned, needle-like teeth. The order had been delivered, and by the messenger's continued silence it was obvious there was no getting out of it. Nákra sighed, "Fine then, I'll be there," shutting the door on the creepy aid. He looked about his den of few furnishings and loose stacks of paper and bound volumes lining half the room (no wonder they kept him so high up and remote in the fort, his living space was the textbook example of a fire hazard). And so Nákra set about the next several hours sifting through the mess for the linguistic guides he'd apparent need for his future 'student'.

Notes
Link to the artist of this chapter's artwork-
https://www.pinterest.com/fantasyttrpgpics/