Skulda’s raven follows the troll as it retreats down the path, then skirts around the clearing, into the forest north of the hog-faced demon’s prison.
The bard’s singing continues to power the flaming blades of the warriors as they work the trolls’ bodies to minced piles of green skin, red-black blood, and hunks of seared meat. After a time, Bram waves off the swinging blades. ”That ought to be enough.” The swinging subsides, and the druid watches the slashed and burned piles of fleshy pulp. No movement, no growth. After a few moments of focused study, Bram rises from a crouch, and takes in the lot of you. ”We’ve done good work today. Let’s get away from him…” he says as he nods toward the stone-filled clearing up ahead, ”and I will try to contact your friend. What did you say his name was? Trodgor?”
The troll continues to scurry away from the site of his companions' demise, throwing a glare over its shoulder at the raven that continues to follow it.