William the wanderer

  William was a simple man. He couldn’t read, couldn’t write, and could barely construct a coherent sentence.
  “Dat ain’t true!”
  He lived in a tumbledown bracken hut on the outskirts of town.
  “Well, dat’s true ‘nuf.”
  He also smelled like a barrel of rotten apples.
  “Now wait a—”
  William was just a simple man with simple needs. He got by on what he could scrounge from the gutters, and made a few sovereigns by selling stolen shoes to peasants in the next district.
  “Just you hold on a—”
  He was a horrible, salty, dirty little man with no backbone or heroic fiber in his entire scrawny body.
  “Dat’s an insult! I ain’t smell o dem apples!”
  He also had a face that looked like it’d been hit in with a frying pan.
  “Dose lady folks smell o tings like fruits. I smell o manly tings like pig manure!”
  In fact his face had been hit in with a frying pan, but it turned out to make an improvement.
  “Da rest o da stuff is probly true dough.”
  One fine day William was walking through the forest.
  “Well I am.”
  He spotted a mushroom growing amongst the mossy roots of a tree, a nice fat red one with white spots all over it.
  “Gaw, dat looks a gud feed.”
  He scratched the stubble on his chin and proclaimed, “I think I’m going to have a taste of that mushroom.”
  “I dink I’ll chuck dat shroom in me gob.”
  He did.
  “Mm, gud.”
  It slipped down his gullet and dissolved in a fiery pit of stomach acids that had been known to completely consume unlucky leather boots.
  “Wot all dem big words mean?”
  There was a clash of steel up ahead. William froze and said. “Hark, what’s that sound yonder?”
  “?”
  Ok. He said, “What is that fitful noise of battle I hear?”
  “?”
  Fine! He said, “What’s the ruckus?”
  “Wot’s da ruckus?”
  Two swords were slicing through the air and clashing together in battle. A troll wielded one sword, a troll with dull grey skin and cold narrow eyes that glared at his opponent. His opponent was a man, a man with bulging biceps, a silver breast plate, a chiseled jaw, bright blue eyes; a real hero. His name was Victor, Victor the vanquisher.
  He brandished his sword and said, “I shall smite you evil troll, by the blade of my father’s sword!”
  “I shall smite you evil troll, by the blade of my father’s sword,” Victor said. “And I might add,” he added “I will then proceed to rid this land of all evil and take my rightful place on the throne. Then I shall go forth and-”
  “You guy’s seen any shrooms about ere’?”
  Victor and the troll both ignored this unimportant subplot, and Victor continued, “Then I shall… I shall… I… I seem to have forgotten what I was saying, but the point is that I shall smite you evil troll!”
  He swung his sword at the troll, who ducked then struck out with a-
  “How bout birt nests? I like a tasty birt nest.”
  The troll struck out with a scaled foot and caught the hero in the stomach, a typical cowardly trollish thing to do. Victor’s sword clattered to the ground. An evil grin crept across the ugly face of the tro—
  “Ay! You guys listenin’ ta me?”
  Excuse me one moment please, I have to tie a loose plot thread. An arrow whistled into the air. It curved slowly towards the ground, lining up with its target.
  “Who’s its target den?”
  Gaining momentum its razor sharp point sliced through the air, feathered tail flapping violently.
  “You sayed someting bout a target?”
  Trees and forest foliage whizzed by on either side as it approached closer and closer to its fateful mark.
  “Is dat ting dat’s comin’ toward me dis arrow you talkin’— arrrgh!”
  It thudded into something as solid as a barrel full of rotten apples. Meanwhile, the troll grinned evilly and tightened bristly knuckles around its sword handle. Things looked grim for our hero. Victor eyed the fallen sword—
  “Ay!”
  The fallen sword was just out of reach. Victor looked up at menacing figure of the advancing troll-
  “Oi! You tryin ta kill me or sumtin?”
  Another arrow shot through the air. It buried itself in William’s scrawny frame.
  “Arrgh! Hey wait a—”
  And another one.
  “Urrh!! Stop that!”
  Then one more, to finish the job.
  “Urk—”
  Anyway, there was only one thing for it. Victor poised ready to-
  “You can’t do dat, you know!”
  He poised ready to-
  “You dint even say where da arrow comed from!”
  There was a troll in the bushes doing target practice. Anyway, Victor poised-
  “I taught dis story was bout me ettin’ shrooms?”
  Victor was poising about to-
  “Da hero, ME, was sick o all dis fightin’ business an ungry for shrooms! So e pulled out all da prickly sticks an headed off inta da woods.”
  That’s it! Suddenly, a small army of archer trolls appeared. Upon seeing William they—
  “Old it, old it! You guys ain’t needed ere.”
  The trolls drew back their bows and took aim at the scruffy little man.
  “No dey dint! No you dint trolls! You were just passin’ by huntin’ for birts wit dem sharp pointys.”
  The trolls were indeed not out hunting for birts, I mean BIRDS! They were out specifically to kill a certain person by the name of William who had offended their troll king by continually interrupting the narrative of Victor the—
  “Wilum had done none o dat big word to der troll ding! You guys were jus out for-”
  “Arrrrrggghh!” A horrible scream suddenly ripped through the forest. There was a moment of silence before a troll joined the small army of trolls. He sheathed his blood-covered sword. “What are you guys doing here?”
  They looked at each other rather uncertainly, some had their bows raised and drawn others didn’t. One particularly confused looking troll glanced briefly at William, then narrowed his eyes and said with confidence, “We’re hunting birds?”
  “Oh,” said the other, scratching his head. “Well I just finished off that guy back there, I think he got a cramp from poising, can I hunt birds with you?”
  “Of course,” he replied, “But you’ll need a bow… I think.”
  “My friend has one.” He whistled over his shoulder and shouted, “Igor! We’re going bird hunting!”
  A thick group of bushes nearby rustled and another troll emerged from them. He stepped gingerly over a rather messy scene and wandered off after the departing trolls. “Sorry about those arrows earlier,” he said bashfully to William as he passed, “Totally out of character for me, I’m more into hanging about under bridges.” The buzz of confused troll chatter died away and left a deep and thoughtful silence in its place.
  …
  “Well… Sorry bout wot appened to Victa.”
  A hint of red caught William’s eye.
  “Yeah, e mate a real mess—”
  A hint of red, with white spots perhaps?
  “A shroom!”
  Poking its speckled head from amongst the mossy roots of a tree was the largest shroom William had ever laid eyes on.
  “Gaw it’s big!”
  He pulled it from its hiding spot and sat down on a soft moss covered log.
  “It’s even got grubs on it!”
  The heavy silence lifted from the forest, the happy sound of smacking lips floated up to the tree tops, where birds were busy constructing nice delicious nests.