Troll Hunting

Fresh snow piled up to Hallgerd's knees and the fierce north wind blew fat, wet flakes in his face. Even through the thick brown leather of his gloves, the frigid air bit at his fingers. Frost crusted his short beard, eyebrows and long thick hair as he pushed on to the edge of the tree line, silently. He crept low, sword still sheathed, dirks and daggers aplenty strapped here and there about his body, and a small satchel on his belt hid one bottle of a healing elixir. His breath fogged silently and blew back at him.

He slunk to a thick evergreen and took refuge from the wind behind it. A white clearing lay beyond, almost flat with deep snow. No red marred its surface, but he guessed from the smell still clinging to the air, a burning, cloying stench of smoke and rotted meat and unwashed fur, that his quarry had passed this way. His throat itched even from so far away.

He was already a day away from the small holdfast where he had started. He remembered the keen blue eyes of the thane there, an old man in a sickbed, covered in once-white linens that had blackened with dried blood, who raged and shouted as a mage told him he could not hunt the troll. Hallgerd had figured him for half-mad with pain and shame, but after a day of ranting the man accepted that his wounds were too severe to try again.

It had fallen to Hallgerd to hunt it. Too few fighting men were left in the holdfast after the civil war. Stormcloak or Imperial, only a handful of men remained even to patrol what few surrounding farms had not been ravaged already. He had only just come of age, too late to join either side before the Dragonborn ended the war for good and all, and was considered a decent hunter.

He wished the air was clearer, that it was Summertide and he could use his hunting bow. As it was, visibility was so bad so much of the time the bow would have been useless. So the thane's men had loaded him up with small knives for throwing or stabbing and the thane had lent him his own sword.

Hallgerd remembered standing and staring at the high seat in the great hall as the steward, a portly Breton with rheumy eyes and a shining bald head, shuffled up to him with the weapon. The braziers had burned down almost to nothing, shrouding the hall in shadow. It was plain steel, sheathed in an unmarked leather scabbard. The hilt was wrapped in worn leather, greased black by sweaty hands and long use, but when Hallgerd drew it the edge gleamed like new and he saw, his heart leaping, a light orange sheen of enchantment.

He gripped the hilt of the sword and gasped when he heard a rasping grunt. He had been so lost in his recollections as he waited for the wind to die down he had not noticed the stench growing worse. He peeked around the edge of his tree and saw a black shape among the blowing white. He knew it was the troll when the wind picked up, more fiercely, and blew the ungodly stench right in his face.

He pulled the collar of his thick wool shirt up past his nose. A troll would go for the face, a geriatric one-armed guard had told him, and were strong enough that a leather jerkin would make no matter. The leathers, woolens and furs Hallgerd wore protected him from the cold but nothing else. He drew the sword, it's edge glinting, reflecting fire-light that was not there.

The troll brayed and thrashed about in the snow, tossing up tufts of white around itself. Even through the thick wool, the stench choked and burned. Hallgerd's eyes watered as he took a throwing knife in his left hand, wheeled around the trunk of the tree and launched.

The troll roared in surprise and anger, the knife sticking uselessly from between two of the rock-hard, bony nubs on its massive shoulders. It bore down as Hallgerd drew and threw another knife that raked across the face of the beast. On all fours, it barreled towards the hunter and jumped on him, grabbing him in massive paws and running him back towards the trees.

Low branches batted at his head and shoulders as he was driven back, his feet kicking uselessly at the air. The stink blinded him as he tried to raise the sword for a decent blow, but the hands were clamped around his shoulders. He tried to thrust from underneath but the long arms kept him too far away until his back slammed full force into a wide tree.

The troll bent its elbows and drew its face close. Blood seeped from a cut that knitted closed even as Hallgerd watched and a low growl rumbled out from its throat. It's breath wafted through yellow fangs, blood and rotted meat as three eyes stared at him with hunger and animal rage. Shouting, Hallgerd thrust the sword upward, nicking the monster under it's thick chest muscles. Roaring, it threw him aside and beat frantically at its own chest as a dark orange line smoldered around the cut. Burning fur joined the other odors and Hallgerd coughed as he regained his feet, holding the longsword in both hands.

The troll charged him again, rushing like a bull, and he jumped aside, swinging the sword in a wide arc. For an instant, the orange glow intensified, and the troll wailed a high, thin cry of pain as it slapped the long, shallow gash up its arm. The burning wounds closed slower than the others, and Hallgerd ran up to put the beast on the defensive.

Yelling wordless cries, he swung the sword down hard. The troll raised its thick arm to block the blow and the blade bit deep midway through the forearm, through fur and skin and muscle down to bone. It roared with pain, it's hand useless. Drawing a third knife, Hallgerd threw it. The troll dodged aside, letting the knife clatter against a tree trunk. Using the split-second distraction, Hallgerd cut for the throat.

The troll swatted at him with his good arm before the blow landed, knocking him away and throwing the sword out of his hands. Much more carefully, it lumbered towards the prone hunter as the snow began to lighten. Hallgerd, staggered to his feet, clutching his side. Blood seeped from ragged rents in his clothes. He slowly sidestepped towards the enchanted weapon, but the troll hopped between him and the blade.

Drawing a fourth and final throwing knife, he flung it at the troll's face with all his strength. It screeched and clutched it's forehead. He sprinted past the flailing animal, kicking up snow and panting and sweating, he dove for the sword, wrapped his fingers 'round the hilt, rolled onto his back and thrust upwards as the creature lunged, stabbing it in the base of the jaw.

The troll went limp, and it's full weight caught on Hallgerd's arm. He rolled one way and the troll fell the other, landing with a heavy thump. Fumbling in his satchel, he pulled out the tiny red bottle, pulled out the stopper and nearly fainted. The stink was nearly as bad as the dead monster. Pinching his nose, he downed it in three gulps and threw the bottle away with a disgusted grunt. He pushed his fingers through the rents in his clothes and ran them over the unbroken skin. His back ached as the thrill of battle wore away, and his shoulders screamed where the troll had squeezed him, but his face beamed with pride as he pulled the sword from the body and headed off for home.