1 The Troll

The echoes of the scavengers soaring above the carnage cascaded down across the battlefield. Their cries swept thru the encampment at its edge like a hammer upon an anvil.

A large man sat on a rotten stump at the edge of the camp glowering up at the birds from beneath his bushy eyebrows. His chin rested on his crossed hands that were draped over a simple sword pommel.

Behind the lone sentry a few yards was a small cooking fire where his comrades lounged, relaxing and tending sores and wounds from the days battle.

"Who wants to bet them lords are finna send us in again bright an early in the morn?" The westerners drawl lay heavy on his words as he flicked a piece of bark off his knee into the cooking fire.

All the members of the camp turned their attention to the cook who was busy mixing more ingredients into the stew.

"We do not talk about work at the dinner table Leros." the cook glared at the attractive westerner. Leros stared at his feet and scratched his scruffy beard that covered his chiseled jawline.

The strong features of the man aside, his bright pink eyes and curly silver hair marked him as a member of humanity that had grown up around the magic falls to the west.

The home of the Magus Confederacy, the place known as magic falls was the wellspring that most of humanity believed powered their magic. It is believed living in close proximity to it almost ensures that a person would awaken a form of magical affinity.

Leros didn't believe in the superstition that had drove millions to inhabit the land around the Well. Nonetheless Leros had a magical affinity known as Fulgurmancy or a Thunder mage by those on the battlefield. Across his lightly armored chest he bore a sash of bright yellow with a black stripe down the middle marking him as a journeyman in the magical trades.

The man standing over the cooking pot added more potatoes before he continued stirring the meaty concoction. As he moved he nonchalantly adjusted his Orange sash with a silver stripe.

This color marked him as an Augeremancer or commonly referred to as a bard. These magical practitioners find ways both medicinally and magically to improve their comrades abilities both in physical combat and arcane combat. This silver stripe marked the muscular cook as a master bard and his meals and magic had been the reason the band of mercenaries had done so well until today.

Something had swung the entire battle to their enemies. A soldier immune to magic attacks of any kind.

"The hell was that today Brugi?" Leros looked into the cooks eyes. the two men were the only magicians in the band of mercenaries and the younger of the two had never met anyone who could walk through magical attacks and heal all their physical wounds in mere moments.

"Best bet is they got themselves a troll to fight for em." The old man's face contorted into a look of concern. "Ever gone toe to toe with a troll before kid?"

"Nope, never seen one of em in person." Leros thought back to his time at the Magus Confederacy School of the Arcane. He had vaguely remembered spending a whole week on the mythical creatures but could not remember the details. It had been almost a decade since he had graduated and gone out on his own. "I vaguely remember the class on them."

"Should have paid more attention." The bard didn't look up from his cooking.

"What's to know?" One of the other members of the mercenary band piped up from the side.

"Silver blade is the only thing that will stop that thing." Brugi replied to the fighter, "and the only folks who carry those are the war knights and the Kings Magus Hunters."

A rush of excitement swept across the silent camp. A war knight being called to the field of such a small battle was a big thing. This war was a small thing in comparison to the grand spectacles. Two neighboring lords had insulted one another into a conflict in one way or another. each side had around a thousand warriors and their side had been laying a beating upon the other army until today.

A Magus Hunter on the other hand meant that something far more tumultuous would happen. Whenever the Hunters left their keep to deal with a magical misuse or infraction they usually came out in a squad and if the offending party did not submit to their judgement they would liberally applied grand master level area affecting magic until the party submitted. If the infraction was a fey they mobilized their entire army and what once was a simple battlefield would become grand and terrain altering. Over the last 300 years the Hunters had only left their keep for this purpose a dozen times. Each battlefield is still easily recognizable today. The oldest one being a massive lake with a bustling lakeside township to this day.

The fear of the Hunters being dispatched were from what the lone troll fighter had done that day. He had killed at least 50 warriors and wounded beyond Sanamancery healing, at least double that. He moved with the agility of one of the Feywildan thru the battlefield. He would strike his opponent and move onto the next not caring about honor. Only carrying about killing or maiming his enemies and moving on so his comrades could finish them off as he went.

The only reason his kill count didn't include those injured was because he had been separated from his army and surrounded before being forced to retreat.

"What if they roll out the Hunters for this troll?" One of the other mercenaries who was eyeing the stew chimed in.

"Contrary to popular belief they send out a scout unit to gather info before they mobilize." Brugi looked up at the man. "The last two mobilizations cost them a lot of time and money for the culprit to just be a run of the mill Magus with a little bit of creativity."

"You're speaking of the last troll?" an old gray haired warrior pulled his bow back and inspected it.

"Yes you are correct Bale." The cook cut up more potatoes before whispering some inaudible words over them. The cubed spuds glowed orange and power hummed over the breeze for a few moment before he stirred them into the pot as well. The camp look back and forth between their two elders.

"Well do tell, you pair of cudgerie old bastards!" Leros demanded.

"The last troll was just a Vulneremancer who had inscribed healing runes into his bones." The entire camp snapped their gazes to a figure standing at the edge of a tent. "My name is Stephen and I am here to gather some information for the crown. May I join you men for dinner?"

Brugi straightened up at the mans words and leveled a glare at him. "Sure" the cook growled, "but only you." Brugi's irises glowed orange as he stared behind the man named Stephen.

"Oh!" Stephen placed his hand on his chest where his Black sash with a silver strip was tied snugly across his supple leather armor. "I see we have a Master bard with us tonight."

Brugi's attention was on the ten stealthie figures behind the Umbramancer. Shadow blades were what the common soldier called them due to their most common use as spies and assassins.

"I would like to ask those who fought with the Troll to tell me every detail." The mans crooked smile was sinister. Made all the more menacing by his jet black eyes and black hair that had clearly been dyed. Stains on the skin could be seen around the mans pale face along his hairline where the ghoulish skin shown thru.

A notebook appeared out of the darkness with a pen as the man strode forward and sat at one of the makeshift tables. He was all business now. His posture was reminiscent of a scholarly lord or lady. His dark eyes attentive as he scanned the crowd. "Well everyone, do not start at once."

Hours past as the mercenaries recalled the battle in gruesome detail. Laughing at fears of strength and growing somber when speaking of the fallen comrades. They had lost 20 of their 90 men to the troll. He waded thru their line like a sickle thru wheat. Wherever his blade swung their friends fell.

"I have a ton of information but I think I have all I need to advance this investigation tomorrow during the battle."

"Told you they were gonna send us back out didn't I?" Leros laughed boisterously.