[center][img]http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j213/Celtic_Guardian_101/The%20Island/Ferryman_zps6e385508.jpg[/img]

[sub][i]A River Troll; native to coasts, rivers, lakes an swamps. Prone to cannibalism.[/i][/sub][/center]

Moravia had such a beautiful countryside. Rolling hills, expansive woodland and fields upon fields of golden wheat dotted the coast of the fascist state. The warm climate of the region made it perfect for farming. Numerous plantations peppered the coast, taking full advantage of the wetter areas of Moravia for their rich soil and natural fresh water sources. One such plantation was owned by Bryan Williams II. Bryan was an aging gentleman who fretted over his increasingly gray temples and beard, and a farmer of a decade and three long years. He and his wife Elizabeth had raised twelve children together, home schooling them and giving them work on the farm. After all, Bryan could use all of free farm hands he could get, what with the newly developed ache in his back. The oldest of the Williams was Jennifer. She had turned twenty three two days. The second oldest, Timothy, was due to inherit the plantation whenever his father passed. Timothy was a bit of pain but he was reliable and hardworking. The kind of man Bryan could trust his land with. All 500 acres of it. 500 acres of rolling wheat and blossoming corn, watched over by ten local boys that worked as farm hands. They lived in the nearby market town of Yenia, a small town of only four hundred where local farming communities gathered to do their business. The town was recently connected to one of Moravia's many railroads, offering the farmers a much more efficient means of transporting their goods than trucks and trailers.

The sun was beginning to set. Bryan stepped out of his home and onto the front porch, ringing the bell to call in his kids from the fields. Mary and Martha rounded the corner, the first to arrive. "Mom's almost got supper ready, gals. Get washed up right quick." He told them. Mary and Marth were the Williams' nine year old twins. The girls rushed inside and upstairs to the bathroom, where they would get ready for supper and eventually bed. James was the next child Bryan spotted. James appeared over the edge of the roof of the barn, a book under his arm. "How many times do I have to tell you to stay off the roof?!" Bryan yelled up. James' head fell downwards as he shimmed down a pipe and jumped into a nearby hay bail. Farmer Williams scowled at his fourteen year old son once he reached the porch. "There's plenty o' other places to read, Jimmy. No need to break a hole in the roof and both yer legs. Now get inside. It's dinner time."

One by one, the rest of Bryan's children flocked to the house at the sound of the bell. Timothy was the most exhausted of the bunch. He'd worked pretty much all day with the farm hands to prepare the crop for harvest. They'd be perfect for harvest in a few short weeks; which is when the real work would start. "Nice job, boy." Bryan smiled and slapped Tim on the shoulder as he walked up the steps, covered in sweat and grime. "Thanks, pa. We'll be ready for harvest. I can feel it." Bryan nodded and followed James inside. "Oh yeah. No need to worry. You and the other boys are doing a fine job. A fine job indeed." Bryan paused. He was searching for the words he'd need for this next part. "Listen, Timmy, I was thinking. I'm startin' 'ta get old. Can barely lift two sacks of feed anymore. I was thinkin'-"

A sharp scream echoed over the quiet plantation. That was a sound Bryan recognized from anywhere. Papa Williams broke dashed toward the door, grabbing his shotgun out of the gun case nearby before sprinting outside and leaping off the porch. "Billy!" He cried. Timothy ran into the kitchen. "Jen!" He yelled. "Get the medicine bag! Somethin's up with Billy." Jennifer dropped what she was doing and tossed her apron to the side. She retrieved her medkit and Tim pulled a revolver from a nightstand. The two young adults moved as fast as their legs would carry them after their father, who was booking it. Tim was always surprised when his dad ran. You'd think someone his age would be slow; at least a little bit. But Bryan Williams could bloody run. Blood pumped through Bryan's arms and legs. His muscles contracted and retracted violently, threatening to tear under the stress. The old man's lungs' rapid rise and fall shot oxygen into his blood, keeping ol' Bryan moving at the pace of a cheetah. "Billy!" He yelled once more. His voice was more hoarse this time around. More sharp, too. It sounded of desperation and fear.

Billy was the only twelve year old in the world who wasn't afraid of anything. No snake or dog would make that boy scream; so whatever he'd seen, it was very real. And very, very bad. James was more the boy who cried wolf; but not Billy. There was no response to Bryan's calls. No more screams, either. That terrified Bryan even more. When his boy was screaming bloody murder, Bryan knew he was alive. He knew he could breathe. But the silence was utterly deafening. The farmer stopped in his tracks as he reached the woods. Bears and wolves were common in this part of Moravia. And things far more sinister were said to wander up from the south. Ogres, specifically. Bryan's father, the original Bryan Williams, had been eaten by an ogre. Those sadistic monsters could barely be considered people. The worst part? Bryan's shotgun wouldn't do much good against an Ogre. Buckshot couldn't knock down something that big. Not for very long.

But his son was in there, damn it. So Bryan sucked in his gut and shuffled between the trees. He moved as quickly as he could while still checking his corners, his finger on the trigger. "Billy?" He said softly. Not too far ahead, the farmer noticed a clearing. He picked up the pace, stepping between bushes and entering the clearing. His heart dropped into his stomach as he stopped in his tracks. There, a hulking mass of scales and teeth stood hunched over his son. The creature's mouth was stained red, a hole torn in the middle of Billy's chest. Bryan let loose a wordless cry, lifting his shotgun to his eye. Moments before he fired, however, a huge hand wrapped around his throat. The farmer felt himself being effortlessly lifted off the ground and his body thrown into a nearby tree. The troll rag dolled the smaller human, beating him into the soft dirt until Bryan's face was nothing but crimson mush.

A pair of Troll sentries gunned down the approaching Jennifer and Timothy, hitting both the humans between the eyes with pinpoint accurate rifle fire. Captain Thraggzon Teefnet jumped out of the trees, landing with a thud in the clearing. He scoffed in disgust at Specialist Torgal Redheap, the Troll currently devouring the body of Billy. "I can't comprehend how you find raw human flesh edible, much less delicious." Torgal stood from the body, wiping his face with his sleeve. "What can I saw? I'm a traditionalist." Torgal chuckled. The Trolls marched silently out of the woodland, entering the open for the first time in three months. "Ah, open air. I forgot what you tasted like." Sergeant Garz Nugg said with a smirk. 

Captain Teefnet pushed his way to the front, resting his machine gun over his shoulder. "Torgal. Throgg. Jekk. Grab your torches and get to pillaging. I want all these fields ablaze in two hours. We hit the next plantation in six. Garz, take your squad and wipe out the rest of those Machakans before they can get away. Lieutenant Yawe shoulda cut their power by now anyway; so there's no way they got a call out. Staff Corporal Thrag, get over 'ere. Tell Lieutenant Kipnad to take third platoon further north n' hit the farms over there. I want news soon as fourth and second platoons reach Yenia. Tell 'em to hold position in the forests 'till third and first can regroup with them. We shouldn't be more than ten hours if things move smoothly." Torgal, Throgg, Jekk and Garz put their hands on their hearts and stood at attention. "Praise Doyia!"