I remember the first time I laid one human soldier to waste, had my first taste of real blood. It was raining heavily in the forest one night as we were searching out a hidden troll stronghold. The rain was so heavy in fact it created a thick layer of mist that even my elven eyes had a hard time penetrating. Yet, I could see their armor glimmering in the moons light, the clanging of metal on metal and the insidious laughter of these grotesque creatures.
Over time we passed a steep rocky overhang, and the humans decided that they would rest momentarily. They perched under the wall of rock, the overhang protecting them from the rain. As the trees shuddered with movement, leaves falling, they either didn't notice or passed it off as the wind. How these foolish men can call themselves soldiers is beyond me. There were five of us including myself.
I could tell that the trees were shaking not because of the wind, but because of motion. Slowly I maneuvered myself to the side of the wall so I could get a good view of both sides, the left and right. I waited with great patience, and yet very anxious.
As the bustling of the leaves finally attracted attention from the humans, I could smell the sweat of fear on them, yet could not see for the heavy fog made everything a distant blur. They grew silent except for the sound of armor moving side to side, presumably the soldiers looking for the noise. They would not find it in time.
An axe whirled through the air, scattering the mist in its path between the human closest to the tree. It made a disgusting sound as it pierced through the plate mail into the side of the soldier. All around us, six trolls jumped down through the trees while throwing axes, one narrowly missing my head. I had the advantage of advanced elven hearing, but one of the squires was not so lucky in position. For his ineptness in battle, he earned a swift, yet brutal death.
Through the mist I could see green skin flailing about in the night, eyes glinting from bloodlust. Screams penetrated the air as I paused to find my footing while cocking back my bow. The two remaining human footmen managed to kill four of the six troll marauders, two remained, one armed with throwing axes and the other with a stone dagger. The one with the dagger teamed with the other with the axes to take out one of the humans, the other one suffering from an axe that had lodged itself in his leg in the initial salvo. He soon fell to the ground, clutching his wound.
My arrow screamed through the fog, landing with a resounding resonance in the axe thrower's chest. The other one with the dagger made haste to escape, jumping into the trees and out of sight. After the frenzy of battle died down in my head, I slowly walked to the fallen footman who was bleeding from the leg. I could smell his sweet blood absorbed into the night mist, it almost had a taste to it. I could no longer hold back my disdain at the sight of this fallen warrior. Diplomacy be damned, he would die here tonight.