In ancient days, long forgotten by man,

The mighty elves rode across the land.

They sat astride great elk, mighty steeds.

In those days, renowned were their deeds.

Their king was Elias, a hero among the Mer.

He was greatly loved by all those who were fair.

Strong enough to contend with giants and beasts.

Possessed of cunning to match fairies at their feasts.

But of all their rivals, the trolls were most despised.

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The green brutes were wicked creatures, to elfin eyes.

Bulbous monsters full of hate, burning all in their wake.

Elias in them saw a wicked horde for his people to break.

He called his people together, man and woman, young and old.

They would drive the trolls out, push them back into the cold.

With spears and swords and bows, the trolls would be hunted.

The fearless elves would leave the wretches forever stunted.

From their great oaken castles, the elves rode out.

Strong of arms, brave of heart, prepared for a fearsome bout.

In the dark woods they found their long sought prey.

Yelping, cheering elves rode forth to join the great fray.

Four hours the battle went quite predictably.

Soon, it seemed, the elves would taste victory.

Alas, the Trolls had magic that the elves did not.

Now unleashed, Elias saw what pride had wrought.

Chaos ruled, dancing lights filled the air.

A trap was sprung; the elves were ensnared.

If the trolls were to die, their shamans declared.

Then by these wicked elves their fate would be shared.

Their dark cursed trapped all those present in that eternal moment.

Man and woman, young and old, the elves would face endless torment.

As time passed, the other races would name that dark forest haunted.

For shadows of the elves and trolls trapped within fight on, undaunted.