Starting Anew

Scrambled Trolls

OoOoO

There were many words Elladan Peredhil would have used to describe the Prince of the Greenwood, some of them more flattering than others. 'Stark raving mad' had not featured in his repertoire until now.

The ground shook fit to waken the dead as he and his brother along with the troupe of Dunedain rangers rushed in the direction Issiril had indicated. No need for silence now; apparently their golden-headed friend had decided to start the fight without them. A quick glance between himself and Elrohir as they ran spoke volumes. But then the two of them had never needed such cumbersome things as words to make their opinions known to one another.

Breaking free of the scraggly tree line, the rangers nearly drew up short at the sight that met their eyes. Four enormous trolls, each as brutish and burly as the next were all bellowing at the top of their lungs and shoving one another in their haste to chase after the source of their consternation. The fourth and smallest just barely remained in view long enough for the rangers to watch it thunder down after the others into a narrow ravine. It was a slim chasm, a tight fit for such monstrous creatures. No doubt it would be an even tighter fit for whatever they were chasing once they got it cornered at the southern end of the crag. For that inevitably was what would happen; the ravine tapered into a dead end as it wound down the hill, rocky ledges lining it from all sides including the end.

"Well, this couldn't be an easier fight if the trolls had been trussed up and served to us like Mabon turkeys!" Beringil shouted, an arrow already notched to his bowstring. "I say we take advantage of a good shot while we have it."

"The sooner the better." Said Elladan tersely.

Taking up positions on the rim of the ravine, they had an all too clear view of what was going on below. The four trolls, each being as wide across as a two cows laid nose to tail were forced to move single-file as they chased after Legolas. The Sindarin elf for his part had gained a sizeable lead on the oafs and already he was running out of ravine. Conveniently this placed a good deal of distance between himself and the trolls, making for a clear target for the rangers.

"Fire!" Beringil gave the order, drawing back the fletching of his arrow to his ear before sighting and releasing.

Arrows pelted down like rain on the trolls from above. Trolls have thick hide though, and the four brutes were far more angered than hurt from the first volley.

Elladan and Elrohir both carried shortbows, but those lacked the draw weight necessary to really do any damage on such beasts. As the rangers continued, firing at will now the trolls roared with fury and began to thrash, shaking great clods of dirt and stone from the walls of the ravine.

'Legolas could very well be crushed, closed in that small space with the monsters.' Elladan and Elrohir both came to much the same conclusion within seconds of each other. Straining to see around the uproar the trolls were kicking up as they slowly turned into large pincushions, Elladan tried to see just where in Eru's name Legolas was.

One of the trolls gave a great wheezing heave, and suddenly collapsed as though hamstrung. Which was, in fact, exactly what had happened. Elladan caught a glimpse of light reflecting off of one of Legolas's two white knives. He himself knew just how sharp those blades were, and had the healing mark on his neck to prove it. It looked like mayhem down there on the ravine floor.

"Legolas, up here!"

Elladan heard his own voice reflected in that of his brother, and turned to look. Elrohir had spotted a slight ledge several hand-spans down along the ravine wall. It wasn't much, but if the prince could get to it he could be pulled up from there. And up was where he needed to be; the chaos of stamping trolls was making it devilishly hard for the Dunedain to be certain a misplaced arrow wouldn't catch the lone elf below.