In LOTR with Harry Potter system

Following the lead of the massive python, Sylas and Gandalf made their way through the mire, weaving deeper into the shadowy folds of the Trollshaws.

The python, as it turned out, was quite the chatterbox, and famished. It kept casting sideways glances at Gandalf with unsettling frequency, mumbling in Parseltongue about how tender old men probably were, and how just a nibble wouldn't be too much to ask.

Although Gandalf couldn't understand Parseltongue, his instincts told him enough.

At last, he chuckled. "Sylas," he asked lightly, "why do I get the feeling your slithery friend is trying to convince you I'd make a fine supper?"

Sylas sighed, exasperated. "That's exactly what he's doing. He said if I'd just let him eat you, he'd even throw in directions to some treasure."

Gandalf laughed aloud. "Well then! It's good to know I'm worth at least a cave full of treasure. Flattering, in a roundabout way."

They trekked for nearly an hour, weaving through dense roots and sunken stone until the python abruptly halted. Its tongue flicked nervously, body low to the ground.

"There," it hissed in Parseltongue. "The Trolls' cave is ahead. I won't go closer. Their eyes are keen. I don't want to become troll food before I get my chance at you."

"I said quiet," Sylas muttered, rubbing his temple.

He turned to Gandalf. "The python says the cave is just ahead. It won't follow any further."

"Then what's your plan?" Gandalf asked, letting Sylas take the lead.

Sylas already had one. "We sneak in first, scout the area. If any villagers are still alive, we rescue them before picking a fight."

Gandalf nodded. 

Sylas raised his wand and murmured an incantation. A strange sensation washed over him, like cold rain trickling across his skin, and then his body shimmered, blurring into the forest behind him. He was no longer invisible, exactly, but rather camouflaged, like a chameleon blending with the trees.

It was the Disillusionment Charm, an advanced concealment spell taught at Hogwarts, ideal for stealth.

"Give me one too," Gandalf said, waving impatiently toward Sylas's still-visible outline.

Sylas obliged, tapping the old wizard with the tip of his wand. Gandalf, too, shimmered and faded from view, his robes becoming one with the night.

Quiet as ghosts, they crept toward the entrance of the cave.

The cave floor was littered with bones, some animal, many unmistakably human. Jagged fragments and cracked skulls were strewn across the dirt, half-buried in grime. The air was thick with the revolting stench of decay, blood, and waste. The odor alone was nearly enough to drive Sylas to retch.

But he forced it down.

He and Gandalf pressed forward, navigating through the choking miasma, deeper into the heart of the Trolls' lair.

Eventually, they reached a vast chamber carved from the rock. At its center roared a massive bonfire, flames licking at a soot-stained ceiling. Seated in a rough circle around the fire were five Trolls, each monstrous in size, at least five or six meters tall, with dark green, scaly skin stretched over hulking frames. Their bodies resembled grotesque giants, all muscle and menace.

A thick iron cauldron hung over the flames, bubbling ominously. One of the Trolls stirred its contents with a ladle as long as a pike, the viscous broth churning with something uncomfortably thick.

Next to the fire sat a grim pile of tattered, bloodstained clothing, tunics, cloaks, boots, all unmistakably human.

"I'm starvin' over here!" one of the Trolls grunted, his massive belly rumbling like distant thunder.

"How much longer?" another growled, scratching at a scaly ear with a cracked fingernail.

Sylas's heart sank as his gaze lingered on the pile of clothes. Whatever was cooking in the pot… he didn't need to ask.

"First, check the side tunnels. There may still be survivors," Gandalf whispered beside him, his voice grim but steady.

Sylas gave a short nod. He slid back along the wall, cloak brushing the cold stone, eyes sharp for any movement.

The main chamber split off into several smaller caves like a spider's web. Without a word, he and Gandalf parted ways, each slipping into a different passage.

Sylas's tunnel wound deep into the mountain. He crept silently, wand ready, every step echoing faintly in the hollow dark. Eventually, the cave opened into a smaller chamber, dimly lit by a single sputtering torch wedged between the rocks.

What he found there made him pause.

Stacked haphazardly in the shadows were heaps of discarded gear — rusted armor, notched swords, dented shields. Relics of battles long past. Some bore Elven markings, others the unmistakable craftsmanship of Dwarves. 

Scattered across the floor were gold coins, silver goblets, and ornate jewelry.

Though the glint of treasure had certainly caught Sylas's eye, he knew there were more pressing matters. Lives were at stake. He turned away from the gleaming gold and scattered jewels, quietly withdrawing from the chamber. The treasure could wait until the Trolls were dealt with.

He made his way to the next cave, where Gandalf was already waiting.

"Any sign of survivors?" the wizard asked in a low voice.

Sylas shook his head. "No one. That cave was just a hoard, coins, armor, valuables. What about you? Did your tunnel lead anywhere?"

Gandalf's expression was difficult to read. He sighed heavily and muttered, "Not as fortunate as you, I'm afraid. I chose the one filled with… Troll droppings. Utterly revolting."

For a moment, the grim atmosphere lifted. A brief smirk tugged at the corner of Sylas's lips. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of sympathy, and amusement at Gandalf's misfortune.

Putting aside the foul detour, they turned to the final unexplored passage and entered together.

This time, luck was with them.

At the end of the cave stood a massive crude iron cage. And inside it, slumped, skeletal, barely clinging to consciousness, were the missing villagers.

They huddled together in silence, eyes hollow, faces pale and sunken. The air was heavy with despair, the weight of captivity thick and suffocating. They looked less like people and more like phantoms, robbed of all hope.

As Sylas and Gandalf approached, their footsteps echoed faintly through the stone corridor. The villagers stirred, eyes wide with sudden terror.

Mistaking the movement for more Trolls coming to choose their next meal, they shrank back in dread, pressing themselves against the cage's farthest corners, too weak even to scream.

Sylas's heart clenched at the sight. He quickly lifted the Disillusionment Charm from himself and Gandalf. A shimmer of light passed over them, revealing their forms once more.

The villagers gasped, and for the first time, a spark returned to their eyes.

Two humans. One tall and grey-cloaked, the other younger, wand in hand and robes dark as night.

"I am Gandalf the Grey," the old wizard said gently, his voice warm and reassuring, "and this is Sylas. We've come to free you."

His words rang through the cold cave like the first breath of spring.