Once upon a time, in the wilds of the far Northlands, there lived a community of trolls. The pride of their tribal lands was not the snow-capped mountain, the majestic glacier or the deep, dark fjord, but a beautiful, silk-smooth, impeccably rolled bowling green. Every Saturday evening, the elderly and not so elderly trolls would troll over to the bowling green and spend the long hours of Nordic moonlight solemnly rolling polished rocks across the greensward. The idyll, alas, turned to tragedy after the visit of a cousin from the south.

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