She was such a cute, petite, high elven girl. Her hair was raven and long, her eyes green, her lips pouting, her face as fresh as a spring morning.
Her mail shone like liquid silver, her sword shined like a beacon of hope, her face was upturned towards me, and courage was written on her noble features.
But she was no match for me. For I had a Girdle of Giant Strength and Gauntlets of Ogre Power, and a Hammer of Thunderbolts was in my hands. 7 feet tall was I, and 300 pounds of adamantine muscle. Armor of invincible steel girded me, and my sword's touch was death to both body and soul.
My magic was strong, my Contingencies innumerable. No damage was there that I could not regenerate, no blow that my Lifeproof could not resist: I was to a troll as a troll was to a mere mortal. My Fire shield was set, my Stoneskin was readied. Force immeasurable resided at my side, in the form of wands and rods.
So I killed her.
Lady Aerviue, of the Giants