Honeyed Pasture Eight seconds left in overdrive

"Well... it is a very old one," Osprey replied to his question. "A long time ago, when he was young and strong, he flew around, destroying lands with his firey breath, fed on blood and gathered treasures. Now, however, he has become old and weak, he lies under the grassy hills and sleeps. Now and then - if you look very carefully, you can see him breathing. And... if you are extra-extra-careful - you can see him watching the world around him now and then. His eyes shine like yellow-green gems." It was not the first time she was telling this tale and the dragon didn't belong entirely to her either. It was an old story passed on from generation to generation. 

"A troll... it's big, not very smart and stinky," she replied, "not all of them, but most. And though there are different kinds of them, the ones I have encountered, inhabit swampy areas, where the water is murky and stale. Mud, of course, is a must too." But one had to see it with it's own eyes in order to understand, what it really was. For a moment she considered telling that the scary guy "Charon" had had a troll friend too. After all it was a fond memory and hopefully would show the haughty fellow in a more favorable light, but she decided that this in a way was a personal detail. Should these two meet each other again and should the guy mention...

"Hey, I don't think we ever exchanged names, did we? In case I have forgotten - I am old and my memory can get bad - I am Osprey and, what should I call you - official name-wise or a codename wise, if you prefer?"