• Pt.1: The Troll

    A great crowd. People of all walks and races gathered together, some in pleasant conversation, others in heated arguments, but all happy with their company. The crowd sprawls in all directions, several conversations seem to have grown into their own entities in the great crowd, great open spaces of discussion spiraling wider as more people join the train of thought. But as these patches of activity envelop the crowd, so do great spaces of inactivity. As people turn to the conversations their backs all form new pockets of space, of quiet, and of darkness, unwatched by any in the multitude. It was one of these dark spaces the beast arose from. It was one of many, but they always seemed to appear alone. It grew up from the ground, swelled in that ignored space until it reached its full height, and then the troll bellowed. All around it turned, astonished, and the troll smiled. With everyone's full attention it roared again. It spewed filth from its mouth all over those before it and with an angry cry attacked the first person it saw. The crowd immediately around it scattered, except a few too stubborn to turn away from it, and a few more too curious to let the scene play out without them. The beast roared louder as the people ran away from it, outraged that they would deny it their attention. It belched more filth at those that tried to stand up to it and lunged to attack another. It never made the attack, the beast hadn't even seen the hammer falling from behind it, only the smug smile on its target as he watched justice served. The great weapon fell and struck the troll. Then the beast was gone, the hammer lifted and order returned. All that remained of the monster was the flaming brand of the hammer, still glowing in the spot it had once stood. b&.

    Pt.2: The Flames

    The man came from parts unknown. He entered the crowd with a friendly smile. He offered his opinion where it was welcome, and seemed to be the normal sort. As he made his way through the crowd, watching, listening and, occasionally, speaking his peace, he heard someone shout out to him. A simple statement, a disagreement with what he'd said. But that was all it took for the man to stop where he was and turn to the speaker. His lip curled, and his eyes narrowed in anger. His hand flew forward, and with the simple motion, flames flew from his fingers. The speaker didn't even see it coming, and a few bystanders even caught some of the heat. The man stormed forward, and stood over his victim, seething. Someone cried out against the unnecessary show. The man's head snapped up, and he spat flame at the crowd. The one at his feet shouted at him to stop, demanded he act like a civilized person. With both hands the man roasted him where he sat. From amidst the flames, his victim shouted again. This time, not at the man, but for help. The flames paused, the man taken aback by the cry. Then he smiled, and laughed he prepared to burn his victim once more, this time for his inability to defend himself. The flames never came. As his fingers flew, the help arrived. The hammer fell, and the man was gone. The only flames that remained were those of the hammer's brand. b&.

    Pt.3: The Hand that Wields It.

    The beast rose, and the hammer fell. The flames blazed, and the hammer fell. The crowd parted, and the man stepped forward. In his hand, he held the hammer, in his presence, people stared in awe. He was justice, he was the law, but few remembered he was still just a man. Days past, months past, years past, all the while the crowd was there. All the while he held the hammer, he dealt out punishment, he kept the peace. So rarely was he able to join the crowd, his duty called too often. When he could join the crowd as one of their own, his weapon, ever present, was always the first thing they saw, his words, his presence distorted by it. Maybe that was why he changed. Maybe it was simply the power the hammer held. Whatever the reason, as time passed, punishment came faster. The beast didn't need to rise before the hammer fell, the flames were barely a spark before the hammer fell. And then it happened. For no reason, the hammer fell. And again, and again. He'd gone mad. People shouted to stop, cried injustice for those he'd struck, and on them the hammer fell. People ran, cowered before him, but still the hammer fell. He was justice, he was the law, who were they to argue? He held the hammer, and he would use it. A man stepped forward and fell to his knees. He begged for justice, begged for this to stop. The hammer rose. The man pleaded, and the hammer fell. The man remained, still on his knees. Before him there was no longer the one who held the hammer. It lay alone on the ground. Even the one who holds the hammer is not immune, proven by the sign that glowed where he had been. b&.