Title: Untold Stories - #4 Cave Troll
Author: gattodoro, who is crackers
Beta: silvan_lady who is not at all to blame for this nonsense or any late meddling
Featured Player: The Cave Troll
Feeble Excuse/Warning: Seasonal Crack!fic for LOTR Advent 2015 - approach with caution, may cause spluttering...
Transcript reproduced without the permission of Mirkwood TV
Opening Scene: Studio
Continuity Announcer (who sounds remarkably like Sean Bean): “Today we are very excited to bring you an exclusive broadcast from the Middle Earth Natural History and Anthropology Unit. Let’s go over to our intrepid reporter David, second son of Attenborough, who is reporting live from somewhere deep in the heart of the Misty Mountains and from a particularly unique venue. When we say ‘deep’ we mean deep – David where are you?”
Picture cuts to our reporter who is standing in a rather gloomy cave.
David (in hushed tones): “Welcome to the Mines of Moria. Today we are honoured to be invited to join the local Cave Troll community who are gathering to celebrate the Solstice. This is the first time television cameras have been allowed into the Mines for this event.”
The camera pans to another figure and then has to pan out rapidly to accommodate all of its considerable girth in frame. This creature seems to be getting into the seasonal spirit by sticking sprigs of holly into its bulbous nose and gnarly ears.
David (off screen): “Chief of the Trolls, ‘Grunt’ Hardcore, would you like to explain to the viewers why you have allowed this unprecedented access?”
Grunt (grunting – hence the name - and thus speaking somewhat incoherently): “Well David, the Cave Troll community feels that it has an unjustified reputation for aggression and we would like an opportunity to set the record straight.”
David: “Very good. So could we start with an explanation of why the Solstice is so important to Trolls of all races?”
Grunt (trying to arrange his - let’s be honest - warty features into a smile): “It is quite simple, David, if you are a creature that gets turned into stone if you are struck with the sun’s rays, then a day with the shortest sunlight hours is always going to be something to celebrate. Over the years it has become traditional for all of the Cave Troll families to gather together so this is now the social highlight of the year. Many a silica slice, granite gateau and sandstone sandwich will be eaten tonight and the rocktails will be slipping down a treat ”
David: “We can certainly see that this is a popular event; the cave walls have been festooned with ropes of moss and some of the stalagmites have been topped with, err, receptacles containing fireflies." David, mindful of viewer complaints, is being coy – the firefly lights are made out of skulls. "There must be several hundred Trolls in the hall now and I have to say that they all seem quite peaceable, which is perhaps not what our viewers would expect.”
Grunt (frowning, though it is really hard to tell what with the Cro-Magnon forehead): “That’s just the thing. Cave Trolls are very actually very friendly on the whole, but sometimes our over exuberance is misinterpreted. Mostly we are pretty easy going, unless we catch Goblins.”
David: “Goblins?” He has to shout because someone has started to play a seasonal ditty on a pair of bellows and an anvil; it sounds like someone is skewering a Nazgul.
Grunt (scratching his bulging grey belly, it isn’t pretty): “Yes, they are terrible things, lousy neighbours and they can become a real infestation. Say, have you ever had fleas? Cockroaches?”
David looks offended and shakes his head. Then scratches it when autosuggestion makes it itch.
“Well Goblins are a hundred times worse than both combined. They come along with their high-pitched voices, their maggoty bread and weasel piss beer and before you know it even the most placid Cave Troll has gone completely mad. The drums are the absolute worst, just incessant, like living in the speaker at a Death Metal disco. Next thing you know, you have a chain around your neck, a club in your hand and a desire to smash anything and everything in your path.”
David (moderately sceptical): “So you are saying that your average Cave Troll has no interest in violence, or becoming an agent of Sauron’s evil?”
Grunt (clearly growing irate – his treble chins are jiggling): “Absolutely none. Take my cousin Fatgut Fartarse, I admit his mother’s family were strange, but he was a quiet lad until he fell in with a band of Goblins. He happened to mention that his ambition in life was to travel and meet people and the next thing he knows is he is being forced to hunt Hobbits and shortly after that a particularly pretty Elf planted an arrow through his – admittedly tiny – brain. It hasn’t done much for his looks or his intellect, I can tell you, though leaving the arrow point through his skull makes quite a fashion statement.”
David (recoiling slightly): “Goodness, how did that not kill him?”
Grunt: “Oh Cave Trolls are resilient by nature, they have to be. My father always said it’s the heavy bones and lack of higher intelligence.”
David: “I see.” It is clear that he doesn’t entirely.
Grunt: “It’s a good thing really, because the young Cave Trolls of today don’t seem to be interested in settling down and raising Trollies to keep the population up.”
David (noticeably blushing): “I was meaning to ask about that. How do Cave Trolls procreate?” He doesn’t like to mention that it isn’t clear to him whether Trolls are male, female or hermaphrodite as they all have saggy breasts and hairy top lips.
Grunt: “Very carefully! You’ve heard the expression ‘did the Earth move’? Well, it is a real possibility when a couple of amorous young Trolls get it on and the birthing process is frequently mistaken for a rock fall by the uninitiated or unwary. That’s one reason why Cave Trolls live deep in the mountains – the other being avoidance of sunlight of course.”
David: “Well thank you for your time Grunt Hardcore. I can see that the floor is being cleared for dancing (a trestle table flies past at head height and crashes into a wall draped in ivy for the occasion) and I’m told that the clubbing and formation head banging is a sight to die for.”
This is perhaps an unfortunate choice of words, because Grunt, wilfully, or otherwise, misunderstands their meaning,
Grunt (bellowing and growling): “Bloody journalists! I thought we agreed that you were not going to perpetuate the myth that Cave Trolls are sociopathic killers? Admittedly there have been a few deaths when light-hearted frolicking has got out of hand, but that’s just high spirits and excessive consumption of cave mould martinis….”
David begins to explain that wasn’t at all what he meant, but Grunt has started swinging his club and the director is already making a strategic retreat, taking the lighting with him.
Picture fades to black as cameraman sets off in hot pursuit of the director.
David (sounding increasingly alarmed): “And I think that’s all we have time for – back to the studio for the rest of our holiday programming.”
Director (at a distance): “Run you fool.”
Continuity Announcer (exasperated, sotto voce): "I warned them this would happen."
Continuity Announcer (more loudly): "We invited a Goblin spokesman to come onto the programme to rebut the accusation made by Mr Hardcore, but the offer was declined."
Possibly a good thing as we couldn’t fit the kettledrums into the studio.
Cue closing credits