[ArwenBaggins]

Eirian, fumbling in confusion, forgot about his bow and gropeled for his sword. Finally grabbing it, he charged headlong into the already-dwindling fray. "Die, hideous and foul beasts!" He found the nearest troll, dazed but angry from the sudden fighting, and sliced madly at his midsection. He cut clear a hand and slashed deeply into his side, but not before the inscenced troll could swing his man-sized club and knock Eirian forcefully to the ground.

Falling with a loud thud in the deep mud and briars, Eirian howled in pain but refused to go down without a longer and more damaging fight. His left wrist was almost certainly broken- he could barely move it and it was already swelling to twice the normal size. The troll, blood pouring from his bodily injuries, roared loudly and crashed about, nearly knocking Arathorn in the side of the face. Eirian wiped his now-bloody forehead and delved his sword into the neck of the monster, twisting and turning it in all ways possible. It fell with a low grumble.

The battle was nearing an end, the trolls being murdered heedlessly by the adventurers. The pain of his wrist was almost unbareable, but Eirian couldn't quit now; fighting was his life, his protection, his sport. Trolls were now bumping and pushing and chopping at each other and the group, but they were now brutally outnumbered.