It began as a hunt like any other. Our stores of venison were running low, and fine deerskins and antlers would not go amiss.
I went into the forest, seeking a stag I had been tracking. He was hale and healthy and was sure to feed us for a good while. It was early in the morn, a time before most living things began to rise, or after they would go to sleep.
Things became ill quick. I had lost my trail and scent, and upon the earth was a set of new tracks. Enormous, and belonging only to one thing: a troll.
As the trail I followed ended and this new one began, a sense of curiosity overtook me and I followed the trolls footprints northward.
Thereupon I came to a ruin, where all beast had been chased away. After a moment of exploration (and a nasty bump to the head, mind you), I found my quarry.
This troll was large and ancient. Upon his flesh he bore many scars and warts. He met me with hatred fostered over many years. Hatred for my kin.
I had no choice. As he set upon me, I drew my bow and climbed to the heights of the ruins. He pursued me.
It took many arrows to bring him down, and he nearly caught my leg and dragged me down with him. With a well-placed shot between the eyes, as well as one in the throat, the troll fell.
I searched the immediate area afterward, in case he had carried my stag along with him. It seems that he hadn't, however, and thus I was forced to find new quarry.
Oh well.
- Aewenien
