I woke up fresh this morning. The Forsaken Inn holds few comforts, but it is dry, and shelter from the wind, and for this I was grateful. I decided to pass on breakfast – I have chanced Mugwort’s cooking once, and would not make the same mistake again. Instead I head East, hoping to clear the road of the bandits that have been preying on those less prepared than I. As I pass by Amon Sul, I spot my first victim. He looks orcish, but not quite. I worry not, but instead notch an arrow. After careful aim I let it loose, and have another ready before the first reaches its target. This is fortunate, as the bandit shifted and the first arrow glanced off his helm. The second however finds its mark, tearing a hole in his throat. Death is quick. The rest of the road to Ost Guruth was empty. Doubtless I awoke too early. As I enter, I notice a dwarf firing up his forge. I give him the helm and boots I took from the bandit – the locals need it more than I do. He promises to repair and fit them to some local fighter.

After a bite to eat, I leave, intending to patrol the road back to the inn. As I turn to the West, however, I notice a distinct smell on the wind. Troll. A rage grows inside me. When my father was murdered by trolls in the Great War, I swore vengeance. There have been few to find since that day, but lately I have heard tales that their numbers are increasing. I follow my nose, heading south-east into the swamp. I sense wargs prowling, but I avoid them – they can die another day. I spot my quarry in the distance, feasting on a rotted corpse. The sky is heavily overcast – no chance of leading him into sunlight. I creep to within bow range undetected. I know that I shouldn’t engage the beast alone, but my anger overcomes my better judgment. I take a moment to gather my strength and unleash a powerful attack. It strikes the beast in the back, and hurts it. But only enough to make it mad. It lets out an awful roar and charges towards me. I have never before fought a foe so powerful. I panic as the huge mass comes hurtling towards me, and two of my next three shots miss, the other glancing harmlessly off his thick hide. About this time my judgment took over from my anger, but now it is too late. I have just enough time to fire off one more shot before he reaches me. At point blank range, the arrow penetrates a couple of inches into his face. At the same time I duck to the left, narrowly avoiding the troll’s giant club. Although the troll is strong, he is also clumsy, and I dodge his attacks. But it is no use. My weapons simply won’t penetrate enough to do serious damage. I lunge around the beast and attempt to slice the muscles in its knees to slow it enough for me to make an escape. In my haste I mistime my steps, and the beast sends me flying. As I land in the mud, I hear a crack and a searing pain in my leg. I try to stand, but I cannot. The troll approaches. I prepare for the end. There is a roar as the creature raises its club above its head to finish me. But the roar is not that of a troll, and comes from behind me. I look around, and see a stout dwarf, clad in golden chain, sword and shield drawn, charging towards me. I don’t know how, but somehow he made it to me before the club had fallen. The blow glanced off his shield and landed inches from where I lay. At the same time he stabbed with his sword. The fiery sword sliced the beast deep and with ease. The enraged troll stooped over the dwarf, and let out a deafening roar. It was his last mistake. The dwarf gathered all his strength behind his shield and pushed hard into the troll’s face. The blow crushed his face, and pushed my half protruding arrow deep into the creature’s brain. The dwarf dived out of the way just in time as the troll’s body fell with a heavy thud, limp and lifeless. He walked to where I lay, and caught his breath. ‘The name’s Thorgulin. I think you owe me a beer.’ I was speechless. He called up his horse, and laid me on its back. The next thing I remember was waking up at the healer’s in Bree. The dwarf who saved my life was nowhere to be found.