Chapter 36: Vow

Jim felt his muscles tense with every step he took down those dark stairs, his footsteps echoing far too loudly. To make it worse, his amulet was offering the only source of light as he headed downward, the shadows shifting erratically.

Honestly, it almost didn't feel like he was in Troll Market anymore. The steps were not as finely crafted or level here. There were also these random stone carvings peeking around every corner like hungry maws, barely identifiable in the light. And then there was the complete lack of glowing crystals that generally lit every street in the Troll Market above. This place did not seem to belong. And, to make it worse, there was the odd echo to his footsteps that followed after him. Yes, he knew it was probably paranoia, but he swore he was being followed. Yet, whenever he stalled and lifted up his light source, there was no one behind him.

Grinding his teeth, Jim decided to pick up an old comfort of his and started whispering the ingredients to his favorite recipes. And, if his footsteps were a little more rushed, it was purely coincidental. He was in a hurry after all. It was only a matter of time until someone found him down here. It wasn't that he was afraid of this long and lonely hall, it was just that the downward descent felt oddly foreboding.

It felt like an hour later, but Jim finally stepped out of the stair's tunnel and immediately slammed himself against the stone wall … because he was now face to face with the gaping depth of the ravine. From here he could clearly see the raging water and giant crystals that followed the river this far down. If he hadn't been paying attention, that fall would have killed him. Really, why did no one believe in railings down here or the rest of Troll Market for that matter?

Swallowing, telling himself not to cling to the stone wall because it was damp anyway, Jim took in his surroundings as his heartbeat calmed down. It was like looking at the troll-version of Puebloan homes. They were stone little homes, carved literally in the side of the ravine, little paths and ladders littered about almost randomly. The whole thing seeming to cling to the underhang of the ravine's walls as if trying to ignore most of the Hearthstone's light. This seemed odd at first, but then Jim recalled that some troll species were sensitive to the light so this place made sense. Though why it offered different wares than upper Troll Market, Jim was soon to find out.

Watching his feet so he wouldn't trip over all the misaligned footing, the teenager made his way to the first neon sign he saw. Said sign had a colorful piece of fabric thrown over it to likely dim the light while still attracting customers with its glow. Knowing the sign was Trollish for goods and wares, Jim entered the open-faced store which caused the three trolls inside to stall. The mage, beside himself, stalled as well.

These trolls were … different. For one, unlike the rest of trolldom, they seemed to like fabric and furs. It covered them as if they were expecting to walk out into the full desert sun at any moment. It was kind of a culture shock honestly seeing such a different breed of trolls. He was used to the usual orange, browns, and blue populations. These trolls were varying degrees of onyx black with scattered white bioluminescence that reminded Jim of a baby deer. They almost looked like they were slim, wingless dragons that had left their size and sky behind.

For an awkward minute, the four all stared at each other until the obvious store owner shooed the shortest troll to the back of the store to organize the merchandise. He then squinted at Jim and growled in Trollish to turn off the blasted light.

Dumbfounded, the teen was about to comply but stalled. Vendel had warned him to be wary of the dark. You never want to be stuck in the true darkness of the world … especially when you know you are not among friends.

Dimming his amulet while making a point to show it off so that they knew he was Seer Jim (a title he hated but was respected nonetheless), the youth spoke in an intermix of Trollish and English asking where he could find rarer magical ingredients.

The customer troll gave Jim almost an odd glance before deciding to leave like she didn't want to be even in the dimmest of Jim's light. She lingered next to him long enough to mutter something about the dangers of lanterns falling into darkened waters and then she was gone.

The large troll-merchant rolled his eyes at the loss of a customer before he crossed his arms over his chest and huffed hot air all over the human. The merchant's Trollish was strange, accented almost which left Jim standing there confused as he wiped some spittle off his cheek.

The teen should have been offended, but troll spit is kind of a normality since most trolls don't seem to have inside voices. Instead, the teenager asked for the merchant to repeat himself.

The troll rolled his large white and grey eyes once more and grumbled in accented English, "Your Trollish is terrible, fleshbag. What are you even doing down here anyway, Seer? Aren't you the Elder Vendel's pet project or something? A facet to the magic realms."

Jim raised a brow confused, his tone weary, "What do you mean by facet?"

The short troll in the back immediately meeped something in that weird Trollish as if scolding the older troll. The owner trolled his eyes and ran his paw down his face as if exhausted. Then, in almost a tried tone, he grumbled, "Listen, I don't need Kanjigar coming down here and banishing me, mageling. Just tell me what you are looking for so that you can go. I don't want to get blamed if you end up eaten or something. I have a whelp to take care of and I don't need the trouble."

Surprised, Jim threw a glance at the obvious troll-child. The little one stared at him unblinkingly from behind the back counter.

Deciding that now was not the time for an epic staring contest, Jim coughed into his hand and calmly asked about the bowl cap and graveyard sand. The whelp in the back nearly dropped the jar of roaches he was dragging off of the counter (likely to snack on) and the merchant snorted as if it was a bad joke. The large troll's words were rancor though so he obviously wasn't amused, "Figures. Blessing onto the Hearthstone my barbed backside. You magic folk are all the same, bringing in the darkness for an extra ounce of power."

Jim felt his hands becoming fists, the light of his amulet growing brighter and brighter until the merchant stepped back and the whelp whined as he hid behind the store's counter.

Suddenly realizing what he had done, ashamed since he was supposed to be a protector of trolls, Jim dimmed his amulet, "S-sorry, but I'm not corrupt or anything like that! Okay. I just … want to go home, but first I need to finish this spell."

The troll, while still squinting, almost looked surprised by Jim's admittance. He had nothing to say in turn though so Jim added almost pleadingly, "Please, if you can't help me, just tell me where I need to go."

The merchant huffed, eyes still blinking rapidly from being blinded. Nonetheless, he sighed and looked back at his whelp. He obviously didn't like Jim, but he understood family well enough.

Taking on an almost tired stance, the troll spoke quietly like he didn't want anyone to overhear, "Fear does not condone evil deeds, little seer. Your light is blue and generally is meant to bring wisdom and peace ... but Gunmar the Black's magic was blue as well for he thought himself a bringer of new ideas and peace to all troll kind. And we all know how that ended, don't we?"

Jim's tongue suddenly went dry and he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. Gunmar's magic was blue, wasn't it?

Yet, before he could fully dwell on this, the troll-merchant was pointing to the left and stating, "Burg knows everyone's wares down here though, so check with him. Just follow the path and descend the first ladder. Go down the path and pass all the yellow dwells. At the end, there will be a shop with a simple red sign stating enter."

Still unbalanced from the magic comment, Jim was going to ask a few more questions when a young voice called out. It was the whelp, his white glowing eyes peeking just over the counter, "And Seer … you probably shouldn't take anyone's invites to dinner."

The father troll snorted at this like it was a joke and then waved the teenager off like this discussion was done. Jim, being all but pushed out, complied and left. It was then that he couldn't help but noticed that the trolls down here were watching him, crowding him, and some even leaned in as if to catch his scent.

"You want Bargainer … but no want her same time. Burg no deal with caps and gravesand, but she does. She have many things. Forgotten and lost things," said the Burg carefully like he was trying to give a cautionary tale, but his English wasn't good enough to fully express it. Honestly, Jim didn't know what to make of it.

Generally, he would take this as the warning it maybe was, but there was something fishy about Burg (and honestly everyone in the Sink Hole). The merchant in front of him was covered head to toe in leathery fabric including most of his face. It was almost as if he was trying to hide what breed of troll he was and Jim couldn't help but twitch at his red gaze. It was nothing against Burg, but his red stare was the same as Bular's. And if it wasn't for his slimmer form, Jim might have thought the troll the same breed as the tyrant's son given the shape of his horns.

Pushing away thoughts of troll subspecies and if there was a hoard of Bular and Gunmar look-alikes somewhere deep below, Jim coughed awkwardly into his hand and asked in a rough mix of Trollish and English, "Bargainer, huh? Like a Bargain Barn? Do I need a member's card to get in?"

It had been a joke, obviously, but the troll merely shook his head as if Jim was the daft one, "Plastic cards tasty, but no need any. She take ... other payments. Good luck, small seer. And if you make out alive ... you are welcomes to dinner."

Jim raised a brow not knowing if he should laugh or run away. This dim place was really getting to him, and it didn't help that there was something behind Burg's words about payment. But he had come all the way. He had a goal, and he wasn't going to leave until Kanjigar himself came down here to drag him up.

So, regaining his resolve, Lake Jr headed towards the precarious path Burg had pointed to. He couldn't help but stall though, the hair rising on the back of his neck once he had started down said road. It still felt like someone was watching him even though the pathway was empty, stalking him like a cat to a mouse. Which, honestly, seemed on par with everyone in the Sink Hole. If it was because he was the famed seer or that the Sink Hole was where Troll Market kept its outcasts, Jim decided that standing around wasn't the way to find out.

Knowing that all trolls respected strength, the glint of Jim's amulet grew as if warding off any unwanted threats. Then he continued forward, his steps determined. Immediately, the noise of the Sink Hole's strange little market was left behind, and Jim noticed that there were even fewer glowing crystals on this path than in the small market. In fact, oddly, glowing crystals were slowly being replaced with luminescent mosses, vines, and mushrooms. The one wall was even growing damper and damper until a small collection of tiny waterfalls seemed to drowned out all other sounds, the faint musk of river water saturating the air.

Taking only a minute to dwell on the change of environment, the teenager finally got down to the bottom of the path and stalled completely. What greeted him wasn't a den or a troll cave at all. It somehow opened up to an underground garden of mushrooms and stone paths in mossy dirt. And, in the center of it all, was what looked like a small home upon giant chicken legs. If that wasn't odd enough, it almost looked like someone had taken rooms from old castles or mansions and haphazardly pasted them to the side of the home. It was a wonder it was holding together for that matter not overbalance with nothing but a set of chicken legs holding it up. In fact, it should have been falling over into the ravine with how a large deck and a water mill hung off to one side.

Jim honestly didn't know how to describe the atmosphere of the place, but it felt like something was building up under his skin. Something almost like magic, but different from his own. It was like another type of magic than the stone and troll magic he was learning. And honestly, it almost felt like this place didn't quite belong in Troll Market at all. It felt like it was more akin to a fairytale, the home itself falling out of a story book's pages.

Allowing his amulet to hang on his neck instead of holding it up, Jim stopped gawking and started following the weaving little walkway to the front door. Said door was an odd construct, completely circular with a beak-shaped knocker. It honestly was kind of creepy and the teenager didn't know if it was safe to even touch. There was smoke coming out of the home's many chimneys though. Someone had to be home. Plus, Jim had never considered himself cowardly, especially not after living his first life.

Deciding to knock on the weather-worn frame around the door instead of using the odd knocker, Jim called out, "Hello? Anyone here? I was told you had some interesting … uh … curios."

"Curios indeed, little mage, but I can't help but point out that humans don't exactly belong down here," came a voice from the teenager's side as the moss and mushroom clump near the front porch suddenly moved, revealing a being of some kind.

The human choked on a scream as he flung himself backward instinctively calling on Daylight. Obviously, it didn't come to him, but it was probably for the best. The speaker was a harmless looking short figure, probably female if the rough voice and the ragged blue dress she wore was any indication. The blanket of vegetation hid anything else truly defining though so Jim could only speculate that she was the Swampthing's grandmother as she came forward with a walking stick.

Straightening up, Jim stammered, "Sorry, I didn't see the person through all the vegetation you were covered in. You might want to hire a gardener to help with all that."

The figure stalled on the path for a second as if insulted before she cackled, "Cheeky brat, aren't you? Well, blindness is no case for rudeness," added the aged female as she hobbled up to the front door, accidentally smacking the teen in the shin with her walking stick as she moved past.

Jim immediately barked in pain and grabbed for his leg, hopping away from her.

"Ooops, sorry mageling. My old eyes aren't what they used to be," she said smugly before she opened the front door, completely oblivious to Jim's glare as she made her way inside, "Well, are you and your friend coming in or should I get you some gardening shears? I heard my front yard needs some work."

Jim was about to shoot back a cunning reply when he stalled. Toby wasn't here. Before he could stop himself, he asked, "What friend?"

Immediately, his paranoid-Jim-sense went off and he was turning around, his legs gaining a rooted stance as he readied himself for a fight. Unsurprising, nothing was behind him. The strange mushroom garden was empty and the path leading here was absent of any figures as well.

The magic-user raised a brow and turned to the merchant. She was coming off as insane already. So, he couldn't help but ask, "Friend? There's no one else here."

Those strange milky eyes behind her vine-like hair looked around for a moment before she hummed almost amusedly, "You are far blinder than me, little mage. Best we head in then before we are given any surprises."

Jim severely doubted he was the blind one here given she was the one feeling along the walls, but he spared one more look behind himself before he headed inside. The smell of moss, herbs, and campfire smoke overcame him almost immediately.

The plant-covered female's house was a bazaar in and of itself. There were countless shelves lined with glass and clay jars. It seemed that she had even taken to hanging things from the ceiling because she had run out of space. It was slightly claustrophobic except for near her large cauldron. It was strangely free of clutter as if it needed space to move.

Beside himself, Jim was immediately reminded of the cauldron scene in the Little Mermaid. If anyone started singing, he was so out of there.

After an awkward moment of the woman staring at him with her milky eyes, she smiled with all her yellow teeth … teeth that were slightly sharp yet oddly reminiscent of a human's. The more Jim looked at her, the more and more unsettled he became. There was just something human about her like she had been cursed into what she was now.

"So," hummed the strange merchant, "A bowl cap and graveyard sand is what the rats and mice have said. Noble Kanjigar and Wise Vendel would hate to hear of such a thing."

Jim felt his tongue go heavy, lost for words. He would never admit it aloud, but he did care what his predecessor thought and even though Vendel was constantly cankerous, he offered praise when it was due as any true teacher would. It was probably a side effect of his dad being gone, but Jim had always looked up to those types of figures. And as much as he hated to admit it to himself, that's probably why Strickler's betrayal hurt so much. In another world, he might have even been glad to have the changeling become his step-father.

He knew it was a stupid thought though and quickly squashed it. His mother loved him just fine. Right now all he needed was a way to let her know that he was okay. He'd come back down to help Troll Market afterward. There would always be time to let Kanjigar, Vendel, and Blinky chide him about his safety. But he had always been the protector of his mother and, magic or not, nothing was going to stop him from doing that.

Straightening his spine, Jim looked down at the crooked old trader and admitted, "Their opinions are second to me as long as they leave me locked down here. My personal freedom is non-negotiable, and I will leave of my own volition. I do not need their approval."

The old bargainer eyed him for a moment as if judging his mettle before smiling, "You are wiser than Merlin for knowing what you want, yet as foolish as Morgana for little forethought."

The woman ignored Jim's confused stared and instead turned to a doorway nearby. She hobbled on through it, staff clinking until the sound of rummaging and whispering replaced its clank. She was growling something about a lazy broonie before she leaned back out of the doorway, asking, "And what kind of skull cap did you need, boy? Some spells are specific about the type of species skull you use. Same for gravesand as well. Gravesand can come from any deceased troll technically, but most spells name Gumm Gumm ashes specifically."

Jim felt his stomach sink, realization hitting him like a truck. No wonder all those merchants treated him oddly ... he was looking for things made from corpses!

"W-what?"

The trader glared at him, her milky eyes glowing beneath her leafy hair. "What do you mean by what? Do you not know or did the spell not specify?"

Lurching back, eyes wide as he continued his internal freakout, Jim choked out, "I-it didn't specify."

The odd figure grunted and then added, "Then it shouldn't matter. I'll give you what I have then."A moment later she came back with a jar of dark-colored sand and what looked like half of a troll skull made into a decorative bowl. The name Bert was even carved into the ornamental base. In fact, through his disgust, Jim couldn't help but note that was an odd name for a troll.

Looking up at the boy, her grin obvious even with her ivy hair, the trader continued, "And now for my price."

Pulled from his disgust, telling himself he knew a price had to be paid for messing with unsanctioned magic, Jim straightened his spine, "Well, you don't seem the smelly sock type. Instead, I know a few magic spells, especially protection ones. I can even door a few heal-"

The wrinkly old being brought up a leathery finger and tisked, the staff she was holding suddenly glowing a pale purple as she added, "I have no need of an untrained mage's stone magic. What I do need is a vow."

Jim couldn't help but stiffen, his mind crashing into a cement wall. Here he had thought that was a walking stick, but it obviously was a staff. Yet, before he could even question that, the word vow punched him in the stomach. He might be a greenhorn when it came to magic, but Blinky's books had already mentioned vows. A vow was a bit like a boon apparently. The fae, a lost race related to fairies, were dangerous because of their boons: promises that were magically binding. Most boons had hidden clauses that caused a terrible backlash when unfilled or broken… unless you worded yourself very, very carefully. This woman didn't look like a fae, which were allegedly beautiful, but Vendel told him to be wary of magic promises all the same. The moment any magical thing thinks it's been forgotten or wronged, it will strike out with vengeance.

Taking a step back away from the fumes of the cauldron and the woman before it, Jim nervously asked, "What kind of vow? Likely it will not be worth the price."

The old female chuckled lowly, "Vendel was always a good teacher, the old grouch. Let's just simply say, magic folks always come a stirring at my door. One even stole my favorite name a few centuries back. So, while I would be glad to play a few games and possibly gain a new servant, I don't think you are worth the trouble. New mage blood always brings trouble and I want none of it."

Jim's hands curled into fists and immediately he stopped himself as he thought of the blackened crystals on his bedside, "What do you mean by that? Is there some threat I should know about?"

The trader merely clicked her tongue at his question, waving it off, "I told you I don't want to be involved in any of that nonsense and someone like you will bring it straight to my door. Such power struggles would be bad for my knees and my cauldron has seen better days. So, I ask as the Great Bargainer instead. Do you accept a vow to never mention my house to any meddlers, while in exchange you get these trinkets that will help with your future?"

He knew it was stupid and that the vow was painfully vague. He knew there was something more about this bargainer and that it would probably heed him in the future, but Jim had always been a rash soul. He couldn't miss this chance. He had to get out of Troll Market.

And so, hand sparking with just a small flare of magic, Jim stated, "I accept. This place has a terrible Yelp rating anyway. I wouldn't recommend it."

The bargainer cackled and reached forward accepting his hand in her own gnarled one, her purple magic meeting with his in an electric dance. And so a vow was made in a splash of two intertwining magics. In fact, the Great Bargainer added a little something to the boy's satchel for his unquestioning swiftness. She just couldn't help herself. She always loved a little chaos and some interlopers needed chains instead of vows to be kept at bay. She had been in enough cautionary tales to know that she didn't wish to be in another.

The bargainer stood there on her stone path, the chicken-like legs on her house shifting slightly behind her as if making itself more comfortable. She was waving, a crinkly smile on her face as she watched the boy that would be a great wizard walk away.

Yes, he would do amazing things … if they would be considered good or evil, or if he even managed to survive that long, the bargainer could only chuckle. So many got hung up on what was good and what was bad in this world. The old woman had never seen it that way. To her, it was always a game. Sometimes you would win and sometimes you would lose. Either way, she was going to make sure that neither the Pale Lady nor Merlin was brought down upon her house for the seer's magic was bound to stir such titans sooner or later.

Chuckling to herself, still loving that both those great magic users had ended up caged while she still had free-range, the bargainer stalled before turning around. Slowly, she tilted her head up, her leafy hair falling to the side slightly to reveal a big nose and very human-like features.

She was staring at an outcropping above her, a crook smile forming before she asked aloud, "You cannot hide from me, soulless one. I can smell the rage just dripping off you. In fact, I might be able to help you with that. Perhaps you'd like to make a bargain with me? Something to relieve the pain? I might even have a spare soul just floating about to patch that hole right up. A bit too princely for mosts taste, but you might like the flavor of someone once so noble? I mean … that's what you were before, weren't you Angor Rot? A bleeding heart?"

There was a low growl from above as Angor Rot's tall form appeared on the outcropping, the dim light playing off his features before he lept down. He landed smoothly like a giant hunting cat and before the dust even settled, his spine was straightening so that he loomed over the shorter figure, "I know your kind. You just stink of magic. Who are you witch? "

The Bargainer continued to smile knowingly before stating, "Well, the Pale Lady stole something from both of us. So I can't give you a name. For now, I am just the Bargainer, and so I must ask: are you up for a bargain?"

Angor Rot snorted as if disgusted. Honestly, part of him wanted to end her, wanted to drive his knife deep into her flesh and watch her become stone, but her next words caused his thoughts to crumble, "Or … if you wanted, I could tell you how to get your soul back? Such truths cannot escape me."

The witch lifted up her hand at this, showing off the multitude of glowing rings on her fingers. He knew that type of ghostly glow anywhere for he yearned for such a thing in his dreams. It was the light of a captured soul and the bargainer indeed owned many.

Angor Rot jumped back instinctively, a flashback of the night when he lost his own soul hitting him, "Witch! Vile hag! Don't dare touch me."

The vile woman cackled, not the least bit upset. Instead, she merely took back her hand, leaning on her glowing staff almost in warning, "Do not fear. It's not like you have a soul I can steal from you. Someone has already done that, haven't they? You are little more than a puppet now, pulling at your strings."

Resisting the urge to attack her, knowing far too well that challenging this witch would probably draw unwanted attention, the troll groused, "I will leave your hollow ground, witch, and abstain from killing you if you keep this meeting to yourself. I know little of the current Trollhunter's temperament, but I know you are even less welcome here than I."

She shrugged, stating simply, "Perhaps, but would you like to shake on it?"

Turning his back to her so he could start up the path and after his prey, the troll spoke over his shoulder, "No. Now be quiet, witch. I want nothing further to do with you."

At this, the witch laughed, calling after his departing back, "Careful where you follow that boy. If you follow him too much, he might just think you are a stray and you'll get leashed by a new master. But that is just the nature of dogs, isn't it Angor Rot? Always looking for a new Master."

A growl and the glint of yellow eyes shone for a moment more before the assassin disappeared into the shadows of the ravine. He had learned his lesson from the first witch he had encountered and promised himself to never draw near one again. At least he now understood what Morgana wanted. This Bargainer though … she seemed to consider the mystery half the fun.

Either way, the witch obviously didn't belong down here, but that wasn't his problem. It was Stricklers, especially if she damaged the little mage. Despite himself, he smiled at that, glad for any inconvenience that could happen upon his current imprisoner.

XXX

Paw07: I hope I didn't spoon feed you too much about who the Bargainer was. Honestly, when looking at Morgana's bio, I felt she didn't quite fit some of those names. Then I thought to myself, what if she stole a lot of those names while gaining her power. I always liked the idea of names having power, so I figured why not.