The journey has been long and tasking on the militiamen, and the current trek through the haunted forest has the fellowship on edge. Ever since their encounter with the two-headed troll, Gle_nn_da & De_bb_ra, they have been pushing harder and harder to get to Dragonspear.
Shortly after the battle Calidore warged through the eyes of his familiar Arcteryx, and spied a large force of Trolls close by led by a mysterious robed figure. Unsure if the Trolls were aware of their presence, the party was split on how to act. Some wanted to hold ground and fight these filthy beasts, others argued they should quicken their pace to Dragonspear. With no agreed upon course of action the group pressed on, the Trolls close on their trail and closing the distance quickly. It became apparent that the Daggerford mules would not be able to out pace the host of Trolls.
Exhausted the mules would not be much use to them at that point without any rest. Oran decided it would be best to find a defensible point and make camp for the night. He pointed out a fringe in the forest which may keep them hidden for the night.
“Relik, Hamus,” Oran pointed his large meat haunch for a hand at the two clerics, “cast what you can to protect us throughout the night.” He surveyed the group. “If the trolls spot us and we cannot fight them, split up and survive. When it is safe to do so we can use George and Arcteryx to find each other.”
The night was long but uneventful in terms of Trolls, when the party was able to get some sleep their dream are invaded by the haunts of the forest trying to create doubt in their friends abilities and intentions.
The Party woke to Flint barking at them to get a move on.
“Alright lads, let’s pack up and get moving. We best get an early start before more of those knuckle dragging, slobbering trolls catch up on us.”
Upon breaking camp Calidore makes a confused gasp. The Trolls have broken camp as well and the mysterious figure has dropped his hood to reveal the visage of a lizard man issuing orders to 25 Trolls, or so Calidore counted. The group hastens their pace as best they can. Deeper into the forest Mist began to appear, adding to the already tense atmosphere, this at least provided cover for the party.
“The Ardeep uses a network of natural hot springs to heat some of their villages.” Dirk told the group, “In winter they’d often see this type of mist condense around the lower lying villages.”
Oran loosens his sword from his scabbard, his hand is never far from the hilt. His senses are peaked he is ready for anything. Beside him Cecil strings his bow and Flint holds his axe in his one hand and fingers the blade with his other. He shifts his gaze left to right, trying to pierce through the fog with his lonely eye.
Relik begins placing glyphs of warding on the road behind them and smiles at the group. “Who knows, this might kill one of the beasts and the thought of walking into a mine field will surely slow them down”
At this point the tension snaps with enough force to ripple through the group and the infighting begins.
Make a stand and send these trolls to hell!
Keep forcing their way to Dragonspear, we can’t kill Kelly if we are dead!
Through the arguments Dirk hisses. “Quiet! I hear something.” They all stop and listen… faintly in the distance, it sounds like… music, muffled in the distance by the fog. You can’t be sure about the distance but the direction is clearly to the West…