I spotted the 'Last Bridge' as the Eglain called it in the distance, from the eastern cliffs of the Lone-Lands. There beyond it lay the Trollshaws and an outing that promised a good opportunity for hunting the beasts. The Ologs are surely going to be plentiful there, as I can only imagine from its namesake. Their beards and tongues are often the key ingredient in many healing concoctions that I know of. Add to that, their propensity for evil and claiming the lives of wandering free folk, I'm doing a double service by harvesting these great beasts.
I set off across the bridge, and there meet a pair of elves, who kindly point me in the direction of a camp further along the path. I inquire to the location of Imladris, but they prove tight of tongue on that score. It's made apparent that I will have to prove myself trustworthy to these elves before they will help me along my way, on my errand to the much spoken of hall of the elves.
So there I make my way to this camp, and along the way I meet many beasts menacing the countryside. Bothersome cave claws and harvest flies. These vermin I dealt with from the solid sole of my sabaton easily enough. Fortunately I didn't run afoul of their nests, and so continued on my way.
Eventually, I run into the namesake of these lands.
With Sereglang, I dispatch them, it's heavy metal blade cleaving easily through the sinews and hide of the trolls. I sidestep and weave around their clumsy attempts to stomp on me, and pound my into submission with the rocks they carry. In the end, Sereglang's metal prevails, and cleaves the troll's knee, giving it a shorter stature into the bargain.
Trolls blood is a foul substance, and known to many in Mordor as a reagent for fell and evil spells, crafts known only to the sorcerers of the Dark Lord. I have no use for it, and once I'm clear of the gully in which these trolls had resided, I wash off as much of it from myself as I can.
Before leaving the troll's body, I do manage to shave a few hairs from its beard. Now this reagent is useful for potions known to me, as I said. I'm sure to collect as much of it as I can on my way to Imladris. Perhaps the elves will benefit from the shared knowledge, and be more willing to speak with me on the matter of Sereglang's make.
I finally find the camp of the elf, Barachen, who bids me welcome, along with his dwarfen companion. I hedge a bit at the sight of another dwarf, fearing that dreaded question of my hall of origin. A question to which I have no good answer to. It's a problem that has bedeviled my treatment by my own kind. A dwarf without a clan, without a hall is no proper dwarf. Perhaps even an honorless one. At least according to some of the less tolerant of my kind I've met along the way.
Either way, he asks not of my hall, but welcomes me to the camp of his elfish fellow.
There, I will rest until I'm ready to press on into the Trollshaws, ever toward Imladris.
