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[b:lit][blue]Winner:[/blue][/b:lit] Perhaps you can negotiate?
[b:lit][red]2 + 1 = 3 Kn. Local vs DC 20: Complete Ignorance[/red][/b:lit]
The lunch break ends the moment Glen mentioned the presence of trolls. Joanna throws Glen's sandwich at him before packing everything else away. You, Damien, and Alex redeploy your folding plate, which covers you all in shells of bullet proofed steel in just under six seconds. You and Damien are quick to your feet, though Alex need to pull himself up with the help of his swordlance. As the only person without arms or armor in your little convoy, Hilde looks up at all of you with a bit of envy.
"Lou-Lou..." Hilde gives you a pleading look as she asks, "Do you mind if I divert some funds to add some armor to my exoskeleton?"
"Keep to your discretionary budget," you tell her. She pouts, but you ignore her. There are more important matters at hand.
Namely, the demons that have occupied a crossing not three days up the Nymphaea from Liliensdorf. Someone had to summon them from the abyss. Even if these ones were, LORD forbid, [i:lit]home grown[/i:lit], a summoner would have had to call the sires from the black pit that surrounds the Dark One's prison. That in turn means that a cult has deep enough roots in the region to enable a summoner to conduct the ritual, but subtle enough to go unnoticed for years upon years. Calling a demon into the world is not something one can do on a whim, it requires preparation, and there are [i:lit]signs[/i:lit].
As these thoughts fly through your head, you pull Damien and Glen to your side to go over the specifics. Damien is particularly grim-faced at the prospect of trolls. Trolls being to orcs what orcs are to goblins, you don't blame them. Killing a single troll takes planning and patience. Killing a pack of them takes overwhelming numbers, and a willingness to accept that some of your men-at-arms will not be returning alive.
"Alright, what sort of numbers are we looking at, Glen?" you ask him. "How many trolls are we dealing with? What sort of equipment do they have?"
"About half a dozen of them," Glen says. Taking a stick, he draws a crude representation of the bridge crossing the Nymphaea in the dirt. He scratches out a two Xs on the bridge, and draws an arrow that points to the position of the other four. "Two of them are standing watch atop the bridge. Both have bow, spear and maille harness, the big guy has a missing eye and a cloak. The rest are below the bridge, looked to be fishing, but I could have missed some."
"That's more complex than I'd expect from trolls," Damien comments. The magenta lights behind his blindfold survey the diagram that Glen has made, and you can almost see the gears of thought churning in his head. "They're savage brutes, almost purpose built to shatter formations that would repel their lesser kin. Not exactly known for their wisdom and tactics. Someone or some thing must be controlling them."
