Saddle Mountain

Far over the Misty Mountains cold, To dungeons deep and caverns old, We must away, ere break of day, To seek our pale enchanted gold.

A slight rain starts to fall as the old troll shivers in the morning air. He checks the map the wizard gave him one last time before starting the trek to seek his fortune at the top of Saddle Mountain.

The clouds are thick as dragon’s blood, hiding danger that may be lurking just beyond the fog. He keeps quick time along the trail, stepping silently along the ground, trying not to disturb the enchanted forest. He comes to a rickety bridge, one that will lead him to his treasure if he survives the crossing….

The clouds open up just past the bridge, revealing what he is seeking. The troll dances on the edge of the world, taking in the prize. He is transformed up here.

His body morphs into a new form, no longer the ugly shape that was his way before.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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