Ludo moved as to turn away, and then swiftly swung the hilt of his sword into the stevedore’s head, knocking him senseless to the ground. He then quickly searched the unconscious bodies for anything of value and for any clues that might be connected to Golthar. Once that was done, he made his way back through the alley ways towards the Crossed Swords, where he hoped that his teammates were waiting. Ludo was still not sure, was Golthar at the Crossed Swords or was the Crossed Swords a trap? Time would tell.
* * * * *
Precious time flitted away as Feldard dug through this pack only to come to the realization that – dammit- he didn’t own a torch; it was the humans who kept pulling them out of their packs; not he. What need did he have for a torch, with his infravision; except for now to scare off a nocturnal beast.
Maruc, was in a similar predicament as the dwarf, his morning star confiscated. Miklos sensed Maruc’s frantic energy and seeing his friend empty-handed, he made a suggestion. “Trolls don’t care much for fire.”
Maruc flashed his trademark smile, “Right.” While the dwarf did not have a means to create it, the priest did. He quickly began to dig for his flint.
Fleeing, while it sounded right to his fear-addled brain, was no solution. They couldn’t allow the beast access to the streets – too many could be harmed. If only there was a way to re-trap it in the cellar that had held it earlier. Wait. That was it! He headed to the bar area to search for what he needed. Maruc, flint in hand, followed him.
Feldard grabbed up a nearby stool and fool’s idea though it was he charged into the fray. Stool legs held out in front of him like a battering ram, the dwarf ran straight for the troll and the open hole behind it. He bellowed a dwarven battle cry.
Hasan saw the great green-skinned hands reach toward him again, but couldn’t dodge them this time. As they raked across his midsection, the elf swore, “The eyes’ of Ilsundal!” The elf readied himself and swung his sword again, as the dwarf barreled into the room.
In a battle daze, Stephan pressed on hoping the others were making it to safety. From his left, a fast moving came out of nowhere with—what was it??? A barstool!
Luckily, the creature’s fully attention was on the woodsman at that moment. It didn’t see the battering barstool coming and was caught off balance. Stephan kept up his attach with his blade; managing to cut a deep slice through the knee. From the jarring that reverberated up the sword, he could tell that part of the knee cap was pulled up. “Good,” he thought. Should make the thing stumble a bit.
Last, Maruc charged in, hoisting a large broken table-leg that he had fashioned into a makeshift torch. The creature shrieked as the priest rammed the burning wood into its chest.
Meanwhile, Miklos stood outside the door, poised to unleash lightning, but unable to do so without his friends in the bolt’s path. “Make way!” he shouted, rather sheepishly over the din of his companions exertions.
They cleared aside and the mage unleashed the bolt straight through the cellar hole at the troll as it was climbing back up.
Ludo arrived back at the Crossed Swords. A crowd had gathered. He scanned it for signs of the Iron Ring. At the rear of the crowd, trying to blend in, an ugly rat-faced man transfixed his eyes upon the entrance to the decrepit inn as the town guard kicked in the door to the inn.
The guardsmen were about to enter the inn when the giant flash of lightning illuminated the dark interior of the inn. The thunderclap rattled their armor and static electicity bumpened the skin of their flesh. They looked at one another, unsure of what to do. Finally, the sergeant bellowed the order to charge forth, and they reluctantly went inside.
The heroes stood frozen, looking at the smoke-filled hole. A green hand reached out, followed by another, as the wounded troll once again made its way out of the cellar.