Its arms were as thick as tree trunks, and its hands ended in claws that could rend steel as easily as cloth. But it was the massive wooden beam it wielded as a weapon that truly marked it as a creature to be feared—a club that had once been an entire tree, now polished smooth by years of use and stained dark with the blood of its victims.
Its opponent was a dragon—a medium-sized beast, but no less formidable. Scales the color of scorched orange shimmered under the fading sun, and its wings cut through the air with thunderous force. It exuded a fierce, wild energy, like a living storm coiled in sinew and flame.
When the troll moved, the ground groaned. When it roared, birds fled the skies.
The battle seemed to have been going on for hours already. Trees had been reduced to splinters. The once-lush forest beneath them had been ground to pulp and dust, the soil scorched black, the air thick with ash and the bitter stench.
