Caitlighn Firehammer
The sky of the Arathi Highlands grew overcast as the group of men and women trudged down the roadway. There are eight in total, all wearing the tabard of the Phantom Legion. Nemamiah Miller leads the group, only the night elven scout, Snowfrost, ranges ahead now and then to keep watch for surprises and for sight of their destination. The rest of the group follow behind in twos - the mage Douglas Spencer and skilled fighter Robert Salvatore, along with the combat medics, Desmond Taylor and Caitlighn Firehammer.
They are followed up at the end by the two ranged hunters of Hagrim Greatbeard and Baleran Moss who are capable oflaying down covering fire at any point in the group.
Voices are kept low so as to not draw too much attention to the group well after they pass through the great wall leading from the foothills of Hillsbrad into the Highlands. Caitlighn looks to Hagrim, "Look, I don't care what'cha say, Hag, but that Kungaloosh stuff is a weak-assed sissy fruit drink. There's no way a proper dwarf would gladly claim that as their own!"
The other dwarf glares back at her, his beard bristling. "I'll have ye know, lass, that me cousin's brother's third uncle came up with that ambrosia and I'll not have ye insultin it by callin it weak!" Robert just looks to David and chuckles, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the two dwarves. David rolls his eyes before going back to watching around them for surprises.
Desmond speaks to the two dwarves, "I 'eard they don't use noffin' but fermented fruit to make that shite. I ain't never 'eard of no one gettin buzzed off a ruddy orange before."
Hagrim snorts at the taller human, "An' tha's why ye be leavin th' drink makin ta th' prefessinals!" He wags a meaty finger at Des, "Give a proper dwarf long enough an' we kin make booze outta bisquick!"
Baleran looks confused, asking no one in particular, "What's bisquick?"
Before the discussion could get much further, Nem looked back and snapped, "Enough chatter!" A few silent glares are exchanged between the dwarves as everyone immediately obeys the order. Weapons, shields, bow, gun and staff are gripped in anticipation of a sudden fight. The only thing to jump out at them is their own scout seeming to materialize from nowhere right next to Nem. David jumps, swinging his staff to point at her, arcane power building at the tip. Only Robert's quick reaction stopped the mage from blasting the woman, his hand on David's shoulder and a shake of the head. Snow whispers to Nem, pointing down the road before vanishing off yet again into the brush.
Nem looks back, his voice a harsh whisper, "Here we go, men! The troll village is up ahead. Snatch and grab, we're not here looking to fight them all - yet. But if any get in your way, remember this: they will show you no mercy. Show them none first." Cait narrows her eyes at this but keeps her mouth shut on this one.
With a wave of his hand, Nem issues the command to spread out just a little, making it harder to take them all out with a group attack, but close enough to assist each other should it be needed. Desmond holds his shield at the ready, moving up beside Nem to cover his flank as their leader hefts his massive axe at the ready. Robert does the same for David who has his eyes half closed, already chanting the spells of protection, casting about wards against potential harm. Hagrim drops his earlier dissagreement with Cait and moves up to her side, gun loosely pocketed against his shoulder, ready to point and shoot. She's already got her own shield at the ready, looking ahead at the troll tiki poles coming into view. Bale already has an arrow nocked, ready to fire. His eyes shift about, looking for enemies yet to be seen. His hound walks beside him, sniffing the air. The clouds thicken and darken, preventing their armor from glinting off any light that might give them away.
The group quickly makes it's way past the tiki mask poles that denote the village boundaries. The crudely made huts covered in various furs and skins can be seen up ahead in the trees. As the last of the group passes the first poles, the eye sockets of one of the masks lights up with greenish fire. It lifts silently from it's resting place, turning in the air to look at the back of the intruders. A quick flare from it's eye sockets and then it slowly drifts on unseen air currents, following them. The invading soldiers keep a wary eye about, looking around.
Taylor leans over to Nem, whispering, "Where the 'ell are them nob jockeys? I ain't seen one bloody troll yet!" He pauses, "Uhh... Sir."
At the same time, Bale asks in a rough whisper, "Where're the guards?"
Both men are correct - the village looks almost abandoned. There are no signs of life. No guards, no movements, no lights in the growing darkness of the approaching storm, nothing. A chill breeze blows through, heralding the beginning of the rain. Bale's hound growls, causing them all to turn around to look behind them. And floating in the air is the creepy little voodoo mask, calm as can be. The greenish fire in it's eyes pulse and dance in the mask's eye sockets.
David's eyes go wide, "Look out!" He lunges his staff forward just barely as a blast of eldritch green energy slams into the magical blue shield tossed up at the last second by the mage. Bale's arrow is already flying through the air, slamming into the tiki mask. The fire falters and goes out, dropping the mask harmlessly to the ground.
The rain picks up, starting to soak the ground and those upon it. Everyone looks around quickly to see if the short attack had drawn attention from anyone in hiding. Nothing. Nem signals with the wave of a hand to go in deeper. All are on edge now, the brief display of trollish magic having everyone on edge. And yet there are still no signs of life as they approach the first of the crude huts. It has no windows, but a thin wisp of smoke can be seen coming from the other side of it. Hagrim pokes Robert ahead of him, pointing at the smoke. The warrior nods, moving up to point it out silently to Nem and Taylor.
Cait looks around uneasily, narrowing her eyes. Nem motions to Robert to flank the hut the far way, indicating that he is going around from the direction he's already facing. With a nod, Robert slinks around quickly. David drops back next to Cait and Hagrim. Des is quickly behind Nem, eyes darting around for signs of ambush. As the three men make their way around the hut, the winds pick up, carrying the sounds of faint, almost ghostly drumming.
What meets their eyes when they find the source of the smoke around the building shocks them. A single troll female, dressed up in crude hide robes, wearing a heavily decorated mask dancing behind an altar. On the altar is the sprawled and unconcious form of the Legion scout, Snowfrost, face down. The drumming sound picks up quickly all around with no sign of the actual source of the noise.
Robert's eyes go wide, "Snow!" he cries out, dashing towards his fallen comrade and the altar. The troll continues to dance, oblivious to what is going on. Her hips rock side to side as her feet delicately stamp out an unknown pattern on the ground. Her hands wave in the air, seemingly at random. Before Robert can reach the altar, however, the two tiki masks flanking it flare to life as the first guardian one had done. Before Desmond or Nem can reach and knock him down, both masks blast the warrior with greenish fire, felling him like a tree.
Robert's cry of anguish gets the attention of the remaining four who simultaneously look at each other and dash as a group in the direction Nem and Taylor had gone. David's staff reaches out, shielding his captain from another blast from the masks. Another arrow from Bale whispers it's way through the air at one mask while Hagrim's gunshot resounds and echoes through the clearing as it takes out the second mask. A second arrow whispers it's way through he air, but not from Bale. This arrow ghosts in from the doorway of another hut, burying itself firmly in the throat of the human mage. David's eyes go wide, his staff dropping from his hands which both reach up to his throat in surprise. Cait cries out, reaching for David as he falls to his knees. The shaman is already sending her healing energies to him to stop the bleeding.
More arrows shoot in at the group, Des's shield protecting him from most of it, as is the protective shield of holy light Nem summons forth. Bale's hound has already dashed off into the doorway of the hut where the first arrow came from. The sounds of snarling dog and trollish cries can be heard from within.
And the troll witchdoctor continues to dance to unseen drums.
Hagrim cries out some choice dwarvish epithets as the sharp cracks of gunshot ring out, mixing with the rolling thunder, seeimgly bringing down the storm with it. Troll warriors and shadowhunters quickly make themselves known as they shoot and swing brutish axes at the invaders. Hagrim goes toe to toe with a rather large warrior, it's mask hiding it's face. In fact, all of the trolls wear crude painted voodoo masks, only their tusks sticking out from underneath.
The dwarven hunter is not as adept at melee combat as he is with ranged, sadly, and despite jumping and trying to get out the way, is quickly dispatched with a sweeping strike by the warrior's cruel axe. Nearby, Nem and Desmond fight back to back, fending off attackers of their own while Cait has dragged David to the slim cover next to the first hut's wall and attempts to heal him there.
Through the rolling thunder and cracks of lightning, through the combat and slowly spilling blood, the female troll continues to dance as if no one else was there. With the invaders distracted, the shadowhunters sneak in, aiming blowdarts at their intended victims. With precise, practiced ease, they find the unexposed flesh of their targets. The darts are coated with a toxin that almost immediately takes effect, immobilzing those it hits before quickly subduing them. Nem and Des are the first to drop.
Bale cries out, "Captain!" just before being shot and falling over himself. Cait doesn't even look up from her work on the dying mage before she. too, is as unconcious as the elf on the altar. The trolls, used to such tactics, stop their attacks, looking to the dancing trolless.
The witchdoctor has ceased her dance and looks at them with cold eyes through the mask. "To de cages wit dem." she says softly. As the warriors strip the prisoners of their weapons, the witchdocctor looks down at the elf before her. Her lips curl into a cruel grin behind her mask. "I got plans for dese intrudahs. Dey wanna try ta steal from us? Dem let's show de others what it means ta mess wit de Witherbark and dat we are worthy of dey gifts." She draws a cruely barbed dagger, "Let us find out what dese filthy humans and dey ilk wanted so we can return da favor, Witherbark style...."
Her cackling laughter fills the clearing, accentuated by the ghostly drumming and rolling thunder of the storm all around her.
