It was the middle of the night, Uruniire, tired of the Bree-lands, longing to be in elvish lands again, got up out of bed, put on his purplish-blue and green tunic and trousers, wide-brimmed hat, blue, with a massive feather in it, and pack, stuffed to the brim with books and scrolls, some rations, a coil of rope to scale the High Moor just outside Rivendell, and a small dagger for defense, and grabbed his staff. Then he left the Inn of the Prancing Pony. He went to the stables nearby, untying his horse from it's post, and was off.
His journey was uneventful, past the Midgewater Marshes, and into the Lone-Lands, singing to himself and observing the stars above him. He passed by the sorrowful, ruined building that is the Forsaken Inn, stopped to eat, then ventured past the majesty of Weathertop and the other ruins of the Lone-Lands, remaining lucky enough not to be impeded so far.
All was uneventful, save the occasional stop to eat, until he passed the Last Bridge, into the Trollshaws, the moon still shimmering brightly among the stars. Uruniire was so dead set on his journey that he ignored the folly of passing through the Trollshaws at night, until he heard loud, trembling footsteps, followed by silence. His horse turned around quickly in fear, dropping Uruniire on the cold, muddy soil, as his horse darted out into the Lone-Lands. "Well, this is an interesting development." said Uruniire, no emotion in his tone as usual. There it was again, those loud, trembling footsteps. Uruniire, being an elf could clearly make out their direction, which was away from the path, and having spent most of his youth studying, knew they were the footsteps of a Troll. Then, yet again, silence.
He, logically, carried on on foot, hoping to avoid any confrontation. Other than the occasional pest, or wild beast, nothing impeded his path, he journeyed through the magnificent forests of the Trollshaws, the refreshing air welcoming to his lungs, after spending time in the crowded streets of Bree, however short that may have been, and relatively uneventful. There it was yet again, those loud, trembling footsteps. "I do hope that Troll does not come nearer." stated Uruniire, true concern in his voice, a rare thing for him. But alas for him, the footsteps only got nearer.
The Elf scholar continued onward hastily, until, nearing the gorges just before the Bruinen. The fell beast that had haunted him leaped from out of the trees, landing with a loud thud, right in the way of the path. Uruniire backed away slowly from the mighty beast, that was unarmed, save it's fists, and clothed only in a loincloth made from the furs of wild animals, and luckily for Uruniire, was small for it's kind, being barely ten feet. It was still a mighty beast all the same, but luckily for Uruniire, could have been mightier. Uruniire was rushed for time, needing a solution urgently, the penalty if he should not find one soon being his life. The foul-smelling, rough-skinned beast licked it's lips, happy to have found it's next meal, as it slowly approached Uruniire, it's steps making the very ground tremble. Uruniire obviously could not pierce the foul creature's hide with his small dagger, but, with his instinct, which he would have ignored, save for the urgency of this situation, he devised a plan.
Uruniire removed the coil of rope from his pack, along with the dagger. He then cut from the coil of rope a more manageable piece, tying one end to the handle of his dagger, making sure it was quite tight, but still being hasty, as the Troll was slowly getting nearer. He then swung the rope around above his head for a good while, then, when the Troll was near, he let go, launching the dagger, and the rope with it, into the eye of the fell beast. The creature released a startled yelp, then began grasping it's eye in pain, only to bore the dagger deeper into it's massive eye. Uruniire wasted no time, save to return the remainder of the rope to his pack, in sneaking by the troll, further down the path, luckily avoiding confrontation, and only when he reached the magnificent stream that is the Bruinen, did he stop, to drink from it's gurgling waters.
"My journey is almost at an end." stated Uruniire to himself, void of emotion once more. He then waded through the shallow areas of the Bruinen, staring up at the High Moor, and removing the remainder of the rope from within his pack, slinging it over his shoulder should he need it for the steeper areas as he had anticipated, which he did, his climb began, and he was almost to Rivendell...
