Chapter 54: Angor Unleashed
Becoming the Mask
I did so much unnecessary research for casual bits of narration in this chapter. So much. So unnecessary. For example, I know a lot about tiger attacks now, and this story doesn't even have a tiger in it.
Bold italics are trollish, but I'm thinking of doing away with those and just noting the language used in the narrative. Let me know what you think!
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While interacting with humans in India, Walt elected to put on a more American-sounding accent. He was out of practice with it despite his station in Arcadia, but the sheer number of American tourists should keep him from standing out in anyone's memory.
He was part of a tour group in Ranthambore National Park. The Inferna Copula kept tugging at his senses. Angor Rot was somewhere in the park. From the other sensations that were echoed through the ring, Walt guessed he was in one of the ruins, which the tourists were allowed to photograph from a distance but not permitted to explore.
The tour group left the park for the city of Sawai Madhopur, where Walt parted ways with them. He napped for a few hours, and then he left his hotel room, shifted forms, and flew back to the park. It was just over eight miles back to Ranthambore's borders. He had to stop and rest once he arrived.
He'd packed lightly. His satchel had two water bottles and some troll-friendly foods, which wouldn't spoil. His money and passport were pocketed on his other form. He'd paid for his hotel room up front, so, if the staff even noticed he wasn't there the next day, they would assume he'd left early for the next tourist destination.
Ranthambore was a mix of scrubland, rocky areas, water, and dense forest. Considering Angor Rot had been here for centuries without the humans finding him, he was most likely in one of the forested areas.
With the size of the park and the inhospitality of the terrain, it could take months to search without the Inferna Copula to guide him. Walt felt a bit stupid, though, playing hot-and-cold with a magic ring. He wondered if Jim ever felt this way when trying to puzzle out what the Amulet wanted.
As he expected, the ring led him into a forest, where he landed and continued on foot.
He kept an ear out for humans – if they got close enough to hear them, he ought to shift forms, so that if he were caught, he could play the lost tourist – but for the moment he stayed in troll form. Part of the park was a tiger reserve, and they were ambush predators, so if one struck while he was human shaped, he likely wouldn't have time to shift and save himself. Stone wouldn't smell like food to them.
Tigers were also nocturnal, so that risk was substantially lower now in the daytime, and healthy tigers rarely chose to hunt humans in any case, but Walt hadn't lived as many centuries as he had by taking chances with the risk of getting eaten.
He made his way to a stone building that had possibly once been a temple. There were skulls, both troll and human, around one side of the sagging brickwork steps. The troll skulls had oversized nasal openings that looked almost like an extra eye socket, and broken off stubs that had been horns. The steps inside seemed in better shape, and rotated out of sight.
The stairs led down into a chamber at approximately a right angle to the entrance. Properly inside, the architecture looked much more trollish. Trolls seemed to love working heads into as many design elements as possible. There were grotesques high on the walls shaped like troll busts, snarling faces with forward-swept horns and clawed hands holding onto their plinths, with chains drooling out of their mouth and leading to a pile of rubble on the floor.
Actually, when Walt squinted, those busts looked unsettlingly like Gunmar …
A twisted staff was propped up beside the stones in a pile of human skulls. The Skathe-Hrün, the Pale Lady's favoured channel for shadow magic, gifted to her Champion. More skulls were scattered about the room.
Why were there so many human skulls? There weren't any other scattered bones in the room. Where was the rest of each skeleton? If they'd been eaten by trolls, it was unlikely for the skulls to be left behind. Had they been set up to try and scare humans away from accidentally freeing the assassin?
Walt took the staff and began using the forked head to lever the heavy stone bricks off the captured troll. Angor Rot's tense position might be what was keeping him from being crushed; if the chains went slack while he was still under all this weight, the shift could cause the stones to fall and do more serious damage.
When he was half-unburied, Angor Rot breathed. Walt jumped and nearly went for a knife. The chained troll tried to move, but couldn't. He had a deep, but rasping growl. Was that his natural voice or a distortion from centuries of thirst?
There was another carving shaped like a troll head on the wall which was low enough to easily reach. This one had a crest of straight, radiating horns, and a lever in its mouth. Walt set the staff down, stepped away from Angor Rot, took a deep, fortifying breath of his own, and pulled the lever.
There was a rattling sound as the chains went slack.
Angor Rot stayed on the ground for a moment. The stones shuddered from his breathing. Halting, wavering, he pushed himself to his feet. The remaining bricks on his back clunked to the ground.
"Who has awakened me?"
"I have." Walt watched the pale troll snap the manacles that had bound his arms and legs. "Angor Rot …"
"You know my name. A shame I will never know yours."
Angor Rot picked up the staff and charged with a roar. Walt threw a knife, which Angor Rot batted away in mid-air, and raised a second knife to block the strike. Golden light flashed. Angor Rot stopped mid-blow, trying and failing to push his weapon down further. It was like watching magnetic repulsion.
"My ring!" he snarled. "My flesh!"
"I had hoped we could speak like civilized trolls," said Walt, "but thought it would be prudent to have some … insurance against attack."
Angor Rot stood down, scowling. Walt saw his eye twitch.
"I'd like to make a deal with you," the Changeling continued. "I understand you once fought against Gunmar."
Angor Rot said nothing, but from the way his grip on the Skathe-Hrün twitched, Walt has surprised him.
"I'm part of group who recognize Gunmar's escape from the Darklands – or, indeed, his continued survival – would not be in our best interests. Your prowess on the battlefield is nearly unmatched. In exchange for your agreement not to attack the current Trollhunter," he raised his hand to show the ring, "I return this to your possession. If you're willing to help us further – some bodyguard work, some magical assistance – we're a resourceful lot. We'll put those resources at your disposal to find a way to restore your soul to your body."
Angor Rot's eyes narrowed.
"You don't need to decide now." Walt got a water bottle out of his satchel and took a drink, then put it on a nearby stone ledge. "Have a drink." He pulled out the most perishable of the food he was carrying, dried meat, and left most of it on the ledge as well. "Think it over on a full stomach." He bit into the piece he'd kept for himself.
It took a moment for Angor Rot to reach out, but once he got started, he ate quickly. His hands shook and he seemed to be forcing himself to pause and chew, to take sips of water instead of guzzling it down. Survival training, Walt guessed; it wasn't safe to eat too much after a period of starvation.
"Who are you?" the pale troll finally asked.
"Waltolomew Stricklander. Strickler for short. My friends call me Walt."
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That was … a suspiciously human-sounding name.
Angor's golden eyes flicked to the holes in the roof, and the sunlight peeking in.
"Changeling," he growled in realization. "You expect me to believe one of your kind would turn against Gunmar?"
"Several of my kind have turned against Gunmar," said the Changeling icily. "Once another option became available."
"An alliance with the Trollhunter?" Angor guessed, based on the Changeling's earlier proposed terms of alliance. "And if the current Trollhunter does get rid of Gunmar for you, how can they trust you not to turn on them right after?"
"There would be no benefit in that. The rest of trollkind will hardly welcome us back with open arms just because we realized Gunmar is selfish and short-sighted. We need the Trollhunter's status to give us a proper opening."
"Why would the Trollhunter help you?" Angor could see one striking a deal for information, as a one-time arrangement, but not a sustained alliance.
"Let's just say he has a … personal investment."
Oh. That math wasn't difficult to add up. Angor couldn't help but snort.
"Your lover?"
The Changeling started sputtering. Angor almost chuckled. The idea sounded like something out of those melodramatic tragic sagas his cousin had loved.
"Don't be disgusting," said the Changeling. Angor not-so-idly considered testing whether a thrown knife would still be repelled by the ring's barrier. "Jim's like a son to me."
Angor had been largely cut off from his emotions since having his soul torn out, other than brief flashes of anger or amusement or disgust.
That claim … hit Angor oddly. It made him feel something. He didn't know what it made him feel but he did not like it.
Well, no wonder the Changeling – Stricklander – was desperate enough to barter with Angor Rot, of all trolls.
Trollhunters, particularly Trollhunters Angor Rot had been sent after, had notoriously short lifespans compared to the average troll.
"… You have my word, that if you return my ring, I will not attack your Trollhunter." The Changeling held his soul, what else could Angor say? If there was the slightest chance that he could truly get it back –
"Excellent."
Unexpectedly, the Changeling took off the Inferna Copula right away and set it down on the same ledge he'd been putting food and water, then took a step back, clearly inviting Angor to take it.
"You would surrender your leverage so easily?"
"I believe in opening negotiations from a position of strength," said Stricklander. "However, I'm also aware of the risks inherent in lauding one's advantages over another. An ally attained through coercion is a betrayal waiting to happen."
There was probably a lot of history behind that reasoning. Changelings were supposed to be on Gunmar's side, after all, not the Trollhunter's. (Or at least, that had been the case when Angor was first trapped here.)
Angor didn't bother to press for details.
He picked up the ring. Unworn, it didn't repel him. He put it on.
His soul was not restored.
He could feel it – he could tell it was there – but it stayed stubbornly locked away. Angor growled and clenched his fist. The Changeling backed away.
It had been too much to hope that his soul would merge back with his body just from having the ring. Angor had suspected it wouldn't be that simple. It was still a bitter disappointment to be proven right.
But it was in his hands, now. For the first time in centuries, Angor Rot was under no one's command but his own.
Angor swung his staff at the Changeling. Stricklander blocked it with a knife and pulled another one from that ridiculous collar of his. Who kept their knives in a ring around their throat?
"Just testing," Angor rumbled. For all he'd known, the Changeling had the Inferna Copula elsewhere on his person and had given Angor back a decoy. The Changeling growled at him but didn't retaliate when Angor withdrew. "Now … explain your terms for a full alliance, instead of just mutual non-interference."
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Jim preferred to fight with knives, but axe training was as common as poison training at the Janus Order, since axes and sharp-bladed shovels had always been relatively common compared to swords, making them an easy weapon to hide in plain sight.
He had picked out an axe in the Hero's Forge that roughly matched Toby's – though not enough to think they'd been made for dual-wielding – and he and Toby were running drills with them while Claire and Mary sparred nearby. Darci's target practice was considerably further to the side, and facing away from the rest of them, to avoid accidents.
Blue fog wafted in.
"Hold!" called Blinky and Jim at the same time.
"But I'm winning," Mary complained.
"What's that fog?" asked Jim. "It looks like that stuff in the Void – should we get out of here?"
"Our souls are free …"
The fog went around them all. It condensed into little lights, still leaving tiny smoky trails behind them, seeming to explore the Forge.
"Floating lights – these are pixies!" cried Claire. "Cover your ears and nose!"
"We can return to our brethren …"
"Wait," said Toby. "I don't … think they've noticed us." He reached out to touch one. Jim grabbed his hand before he could. "I don't think they're hostile."
"Finally …"
"We can rest …"
"Our souls are free …"
The lights circled the patch of the floor for the Soothscryer, spinning faster and faster until it came up, and then getting sucked into its mouth.
Darci said what they were all thinking.
"What the heck was that?"
"I guess I should … follow them?" said Jim.
"I have no hypotheses at this time," said Blinky, "but I do concur with Tobias. These new spirits did not appear to be hostile. Go investigate."
The Void did not appear more populated when Jim first entered it. If anything, it seemed a little emptier, since none of the ghosts had assumed their shape from life.
"Hello?" he called.
"Jim!" Araknak's voice greeted him. "Sorry, we're all a bit distracted just now. Angor Rot's victims have been freed!"
"Who?" was Jim's well-considered and articulate way of expressing congratulations.
Kanjigar spoke up next. "Trollhunters who lost their lives and souls to Angor Rot. These souls have finally been released, and are now free to return to the Void."
"Who is Angor Rot?"
"He was a hero, once," said Araknak wistfully. "But he went questing for magic and power, and lost his soul in the process, and turned on the trolls he'd sworn to protect. He's hunted Trollhunters before –"
"And no one thought to warn me about him?"
"To consume their souls –"
"And no one thought to warn me about him?!"
"Probably to try and fill the void of losing his own; but he was trapped by his final victim and hasn't been seen for over three hundred years. I suppose he must have finally died."
"Why is there a human in the Void?" asked an unfamiliar voice.
"There isn't," said Araknak. "This is my great-great-grandson, Jim; he's the current Trollhunter."
"Just because you adopted the fleshling doesn't make him a troll," the new voice mocked.
"First, he was a troll before that. Second, by a certain use of the word 'troll', it actually does." To Jim, Araknak added, "You should probably step out while we explain things to the new arrivals." Araknak's wisp expanded into a full-sized ghost and gave Jim a gentle shove, which landed him back on the material plane.
"So what's going on?" Toby asked eagerly.
"Blinky," said Jim, "have you ever heard of a troll named 'Angor Rot'?"
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Previous Chapter (Claire and Not Enrique argue about his name)
Table of Contents
Next Chapter (The kids have a movie night)
Blinky canonically had to do some research to uncover who Angor Rot is, and we never do see him learning Angor Rot was anything but an ambitious troll who cursed himself by accident in a quest for power, so it doesn't make sense that in Season 3, Jim knew Angor used to be a hero. Here, at least, some of the Ghost Trollhunters remember it, and Jim has seen Angor’s name in a few history books he just doesn’t remember at the moment
I am not using the explanation for Angor's backstory presented in the spinoff novel Angor Reborn. In my version, Angor lost his soul before the Battle of Killahead, and was eventually imprisoned by one of the Trollhunters he was hunting, shortly before that Trollhunter died from the wounds Angor had inflicted during their fight. (This is outlined in The Epic Backstory, and yes, it will come up in the text of the story itself later.)
Angor's place of imprisonment being Ranthambore is trivia found in The Art Of Trollhunters.
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@i-have-no-brain Here you go!
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“Kanjigar!”
The Trollhunter stopped walking and looked back in surprise. The familiar six-eyed troll jogged the rest of the way to catch up to him and then stood puffing for a moment before he caught his breath.
“What are you doing out here, Blinky?” He asked with a frown. “Where’s Aaarrrgghh? You know it’s not safe to be alone with Bular about.”
“Like you?” The librarian shot back.
Kanjigar’s ears twitched in irritation. He sensed a lecture coming and did not particularly want to deal with that tonight.
“I’m the Trollhunter,” He said anyway. “Working alone is part of the job.”
Blinky folded his top pair of arms while the bottom pair rested on his hips.
“No it’s not,” He said. “Deya would never have won the battle of Killahead alone. Araknak the Agile accepted the assistance of his parents in areas where they were more learned then he. Many past Trollhunters fought alongside others and were better for it.”
Kanjigar inhaled and blew the breath out of his nose in an irritated snort.
“What are you getting at?”
Blinky sighed.
“I saw your son earlier tonight, he was training at the forge like one preparing for to make a stand before daybreak. You refused his request to let him help you again, didn’t you?”
Kanjigar felt a painful throb in his core at that description. He had seen Draal training before and his son’s fervor, as well as his declaration that he would take up the amulet next, really unsettled him. Still he hadn’t really connected that with his refusal to let Draal join him on his patrols.
“It’s for his own good,” Kanjigar said. “Trollhunters live in constant danger and die early. They have no life outside of their duty. It’s better that he’s away from that.”
Even if it meant they became distant. Eventually Draal would give up and move on. He had to.
“Preposterous! If you think ignoring your son will deter him from following in your footsteps, then you clearly have been spending too much time on the surface,” Blinky said as if he had read his thoughts. “He is truly of your and Ballustra’s stone; he has both of your stubbornness in spades.”
Kanjigar clenched his teeth against the impulse to growl.
“Blinky right,” Rumbled a voice to his left.
Kanjigar jolted and nearly materialized Daylight on instinct.
“Aaarrrgghh please don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Sorry.” The Krubera bumped a knuckle against Kanjigar’s shoulder in apology.
“Blinky right,” he repeated. He moved around to face the Trollhunter with Blinky. “Draal warrior. Will fight. You only making sad.”
Kanjigar’s ears pressed down. He took a breath to argue but Aaarrrgghh wasn’t done.
“Fight alone and he lose you sooner. Will seek revenge. Amulet’s choice not matter.”
Kanjigar’s core ached. He wanted to contest the point but he knew Aaarrrgghh was right. If… When… Bular killed him, Draal would do everything in his power to get revenge. And if the Amulet didn’t choose him and he went after the Gumm-Gumm alone…
“You hurt him,” Aaarrrgghh finished quietly. “Parents matter, don’t… make Draal orphan… while you live.”
That really gave Kanjigar pause. Aaarrrgghh had shared something of his personal history with him since they had become friends and Kanjigar knew Aaarrrgghh’s mother had fallen trying to save him from the Gumm-Gumms. The Krubera knew loss well as well as what the pursuit of revenge could do to a troll.
“I couldn’t say it any better,” Blinky said nodding. He hesitantly reached out a hand toward the Trollhunter but then let it fall back to his side. He pressed the palms of his top hands together. “Please at least think about it. Draal needs you alive. We all do.”
With that the other two trolls turned and started back toward Trollmarket. Kanjigar sighed and tugged on his horn.
Was he making a wrong decision by pushing Draal away?
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