Truce with the Trolls — A Tale of Unity Among Clans

I was startled awake by loud honking and then my mother’s booming voice shouting,

“Wake up or you’ll be locked in your chamber for a month!”

That was more than enough motivation. I leapt from my bed, nearly hitting the ceiling, and quickly readied myself. Today was important, and I, the Prince of the Elves, was expected in the Grand Meeting Hall to discuss a grave threat to our clan.

Our world was divided into four major clans:

1. The Elven Clan—my people, known for our keen archery and grace.

2. The Human Clan, masters of close combat and technology.

3. The Dwarven Clan, reclusive mountain-dwellers skilled in trade and craftsmanship.

4. The Troll Clan, outcasts, known mostly for their ghastly stench and brutish ways.

The Elves had long allied with the Humans to keep the Trolls at bay. Though the Dwarves stayed neutral, they supplied us with fine weapons. Yet, lately, rumors spread that a Troll spy might have infiltrated our cities.

In the meeting hall, my father, the King of Elves, stood at the far end, his voice deep and commanding:

“There may be a Troll among us, a spy—perhaps even in this very room!”

My mother urged him to calm down.

“We only need to issue warnings. No Elf could endure a Troll’s odour for long without noticing!”

After the council, my father summoned me.

“We are visiting the Human Capital, Malaysia. We need their counsel.”

Malaysia was famed for its steady climate—no harsh winters, no costly seasons—ideal for farming and stability. When we arrived, their architecture was underwhelming to my Elven eyes: no gold walls, no crystal spires, just plain structures.

At the Human council, leaders debated. The pacifist tribe leader advocated for peace:

“We must seek a truce with the Trolls.”

But the warmongering leader snarled,

“We are at war! There can be no peace with beasts!”

Afterward, we retreated to a human hotel. I was fascinated by their buffet, where food was plentiful and endlessly replenished—a far cry from our modest Elven feasts.

Later that night, I glimpsed a shadow trailing us, but fatigue overtook me. I slept deeply—until I awoke, bound in ropes, staring into the face of a Troll.

The Troll, surprisingly polite, said:

“You’ll stay with us for two weeks. See us for who we truly are.”

I expected foul smells and hostile captors. Instead, a fresh, flowery scent filled the air. The Trolls were kind and welcoming, not the monsters I’d been taught to fear. I learned that their leader was the only one responsible for their rotten reputation—a hideous, gas-farting brute who ignored his people’s pleas to change their ways.

During my stay, I befriended many Trolls. They yearned for peace, tired of the prejudice and isolation. As I prepared to return home, I promised:

“I’ll convince my father to forge a truce.”

True to my word, I returned and petitioned the Elven court. Meanwhile, the Trolls themselves rose against their dreadful leader, overthrowing him and electing a new, wise chief who sought peace with the other clans.

In time, a grand council of all four clans was convened. The Elves, Humans, Trolls, and even the Dwarves came together, setting aside ancient grudges. Treaties were signed, and for the first time in history, the world knew unity.

From that day on, the Elves and Trolls shared trade, festivals, and even friendships. The once-feared enemies became allies, proving that understanding and open hearts can change the course of history.

Moral of the Story

Prejudice fades when we dare to understand those who are different. Sometimes, a willingness to see beyond old grudges can build bridges stronger than any fortress.