Adventure of Gwendolyn 2

You emerge from concealment south of the Great East Road as Buttercup halts at a muddy crossroads west of your position. Mist clings low among the grass.

The wolfhound plants herself beside a bloodied ranger's token, its worn face bearing Heldric's unmistakable mark. Two fresh trails split the mud ahead.

Buttercup's hackles rise. She fixes her dark gaze on the northern trail, muscles bunching beneath her shaggy blue-gray coat as reeds stir beyond the roadside brush.

Something shifts again in the thicket, slow and heavy enough to bend the brush. The road lies empty behind you, while both trails vanish into gathering gray.

Gwendolyn slips behind a low shelf of stone and tangled roots, crouching until the mist veils her outline. She draws her bow and nocks an arrow.

A thorn snags her sleeve as she settles, tearing cloth with a sharp scrape. The sound carries through the thicket, and the heavy movement stops.

The bent branches part enough to reveal a broad gray hand gripping a club. Its owner remains screened by brush, but the voice rolls close and deep.

Gwendolyn remains utterly still behind stone and roots, bow drawn and breath held. Across the road, Buttercup’s dark shape sinks into the reeds, hidden but watchful.

For several heartbeats, only mist moves. Then the brush bows outward as the troll advances, its heavy steps grinding stones beneath the mud.

The troll’s club sweeps across the thicket. Branches snap, and the stone shelf shudders as the blow catches its edge, sending splinters and grit over Gwendolyn’s bow.

Her cover is no longer secure. The troll’s broad outline is exposed beyond the torn brush, but its club now blocks the clearest path from the stones.

Gwendolyn looses one arrow through the torn brush. It strikes the troll high in the shoulder, driving him back with a startled roar, while the bowstring snaps painfully against her fingers.

Before the troll can recover, Gwendolyn slips from behind the shattered stone shelf and retreats along the road’s muddy edge, keeping reeds between them.

The troll crashes after her, club battering branches aside. His pursuit churns the mist and announces his position, but his eyes lose her among the gray.

Gwendolyn reaches a raised bank beneath a leaning ash, where roots form a dark hollow above the road. From there she has a clear angle on the trail and the troll’s back.

From beneath the leaning ash, Gwendolyn draws, anchors, and looses. The arrow drives into the troll’s broad back, and his roar rolls through the mist.

The troll staggers forward, one hand clawing toward the shaft while his club dips uselessly toward the mud. The northern trail remains open beyond him.

Gwendolyn lowers her bow only long enough to reach for another arrow. She sets it against the string, keeping the troll framed between the ash roots.

He turns heavily, sweeping his gaze across the bank and road. Mist coils around his legs, while Buttercup stays concealed across the roadside, silent and ready.

Gwendolyn draws to her cheek and fires. The arrow cuts through the mist and strikes the troll high in the arm, wrenching a roar from him.

The troll lurches sideways, clutching the wounded arm as his club drags a furrow through the mud. His gaze searches the leaning ash and tangled bank.

Gwendolyn reaches into her quiver, draws a fresh arrow, and sets it to the string. The fletching brushes her fingers while Buttercup remains hidden across the road.

Mist curls between hunter and prey. The troll stands exposed on the northern trail, bleeding from two shafts, while Gwendolyn holds the next arrow ready beneath the ash.

Gwendolyn draws the bowstring to her cheek and fires. The arrow flashes through the mist and buries itself in the troll’s thigh, buckling his stance.

The troll catches himself against the leaning ash, his club sinking into the mud. His rage shakes the branches, but his searching eyes find only gray air.

Gwendolyn lowers the bow for a breath, reaches into her quiver, and draws another shaft. She sets it to the string with practiced speed.

Across the road, Buttercup remains hidden among the reeds. The troll stands exposed on the northern trail, wounded and furious, while Gwendolyn holds her fresh arrow ready.

Gwendolyn draws to her cheek and fires. The arrow strikes the troll beneath the ribs, driving him to one knee as his club thunders into the mud.

The troll clutches the wound and bellows into the mist. The cry rolls along the road, loud enough to scatter roosting birds from the distant hedges.

Gwendolyn reaches for another arrow and nocks it swiftly. The bowstring lashes her already bruised fingers, opening a thin line of blood, but her aim remains steady.

Gwendolyn draws until the bow creaks, then releases. The arrow strikes the troll’s wrist, and his club falls into the mud with a heavy splash.

The troll drops heavily to one knee, clutching his wounded wrist. Without the club, the northern trail lies clear beyond him, vanishing toward the Weather Hills.

Gwendolyn reaches for another shaft despite the sting in her fingers. As she nocks it, the troll’s fallen club reveals fresh deep impressions in the mud, marking where his companions went.

The names carry through the mist, confirming three trolls remain somewhere along the trail. Buttercup shifts unseen in the reeds, ears pricked toward the northern path.

Gwendolyn holds the fresh arrow at full readiness. The wounded troll is disarmed and exposed, while the trail ahead now bears a clear warning of the danger waiting beyond.

Gwendolyn draws against her bruised fingers and releases. The arrow strikes the troll high in the chest, knocking him backward into the wet grass.

The bowstring lashes across Gwendolyn’s fingers, reopening the thin cut there. The sharp twang carries along the northern trail, beyond the wounded troll.

The troll sags onto one hand, disarmed and peppered with arrows, while the fresh shaft stands firm in his chest. The trail behind him remains open.

Gwendolyn reaches into her quiver and draws another arrow. She sets it against the string, keeping the troll covered as mist slides between the ash roots.

Gwendolyn draws against her bruised fingers and releases. The arrow strikes the troll beneath his collarbone, driving him onto his back in the wet grass.

The bowstring lashes across Gwendolyn’s fingers, reopening the cut and leaving blood bright against the grip. The sharp twang carries far along the northern trail.

The troll sags onto one hand, disarmed and pierced by arrows, while mist threads between the ash roots and his fallen club.

Gwendolyn reaches into her quiver, draws another shaft, and sets it against the string despite the sting in her fingers.

Gwendolyn draws through the ache in her fingers and releases. The arrow flies cleanly through the mist and strikes the fallen troll, pinning his cloak to the wet grass.

The troll’s hands spread away from his club. His furious voice dwindles into ragged breaths as the northern trail lies open beyond him.

Gwendolyn reaches into her quiver and draws another shaft. She sets it against the string, keeping the wounded troll covered beneath the leaning ash.

Far up the northern trail, something heavy answers with a muffled crash among the trees. Buttercup stays hidden in the reeds, ears fixed toward the sound.

Escape the approaching trolls