It was late at night in the forest of Flu’un.  Thadore crept through the undergrowth.  He could feel the night wind blowing through the silent trees.  He could hear the Earth calling to him.  Being out past curfew was dangerous for an Elf, but Thadore was a dangerous type.  He was a teenager; he thought he could take on the world.

            Thadore could hear the trees whispering to him.  He could hear their sorrows and joys, their troubles and wishes.  Thadore slumped down next to an oak and closed his eyes…

            Thadore awoke to bright orange lights.  Fire.  He could hear the trees distress.  Thadore was tempted to run, but being foolish as he was, decided to take a closer look.  He peeked through the trees.  What he saw defined the word fear.

            A massive Troll column, clad in full battle armor, was marching through the trees.  Row upon row of trolls with dull iron helmets and clubs twice the length of Thadore himself.  The worst part: they were heading straight toward his city, the capital of Flu’un.

            The Elves had been at war with the Trolls since before Thadore’s grandmother was even born.  The Elves always had the best intelligence and strategy, but the stupid Trolls’ size and numbers and brute force was enough of a match for the elves.

            Lately the Trolls had been noticed gathering in groups and raiding weapon and armor suppliers.  This was never a good sign, but the Elves never expected a war party so huge so soon.

            Thadore ran as fast as he could towards his city.  Any sensible Elf would have leapt through the treetops, but Thadore was so petrified by fear, all he could do was run.  Soon Troll scouting parties were in chase.  Elves are fast, but there were so many trolls that they soon had Thadore surrounded.