As the sun began to rise, Corporal Fox moved cautiously through the clearing on horseback. It was quiet. The birds were twittering here and there normally; he noticed the vultures were circling over the trees as might be expected. They obviously had spotted the bodies, since there had not been enough time for the stench of death to develop. They were not afraid.
All was quiet, but, he expected something, well, dramatic to happen. He heard it all from the survivors before he had slept -- invisible arrows shot with stunning accuracy from fantastic distances. Arms and heads cleaved clean off. Exploding fireballs. Skinny little old men with superhuman invulnerability and battle prowess. Even reports of giant man-eating tree frogs! The most fantastic part was that the early reports (before the usual embellishments) sounded like honest witness accounts.
Fox studied the tracks, the positions where the horsemen were cut down, the movements and tactics of the enemy, ahhh... the troll's blood... so the troll was still around. The shredded horse, horribly butchered by some wild beast, or the troll.
Not surprisingly, some of the Blackhand's horses were missing... yes... they had been ridden out, down the trail. Four, Five, Six horses? The characteristic horseshoe prints were there. Thargis Ferrin, their blacksmith, had his own design. If the ground stayed soft, Fox should be able to track these horses forever. However, this was a well-travelled road, and other prints were unclear from all the traffic. Lots of refugees, he expected, feeling sorry for the displaced families in these times.
Fox startled. A tall man was nearby. He staggered as he walked.
The corporal thought maybe he should make some sort of command decision; after all, he had been promoted. Looking around nervously for invisible arrows flying his way, Fox sat up as straight as he could and ordered, "You There! Man! In the name of the Emperor, tell me what you saw here!" There. That sounded official.
OCC: Please don't kill Corporal Fox. Also, since I'm sort of new, if you find I don't handle a NPC properly, please let me know how to improve.
Grumple saw the male warthog snuffling by, nose to the ground. It stopped from time to time to look around. Since the troll was downwind and standing by a tree, Grumple was not noticed. When the boar went by, Grumple looked at the spear, then his hands, then stuck the spear into the ground and shinnied up the tree. Grumple was not like other trolls (as you have probably heard), but trolls almost never use bladed weapons. Swords and spears require practice and discipline, and trolls are not known for either. Why bother with finesse and dexterity when a brutal bludgeoning will do?
Grumple did not feel comfortable using a spear. Out on a limb, he waited for the warthog's family to approach. One, two... three! (Sort of.) Grumple grinned, then sprang from the treelimb, landing on the sow. Kill her and the piglets would be easy to catch. But something was wrong! She was just as heavy as Grumple, who had forgotten his recent experience with the "Lose 100 Pounds Overnight Diet Plan!"
Instead of snapping her neck, Grumple found himself barely able to hang on. Long troll arms wrapped around the sow's neck, and she fell. Grumple choked her while she kicked viciously at the troll with her hooves. Ow! Ow! Ow! The piglets scattered.
Then, to Grumple's dismay, the warthog boar tore into the fray. Swinging his tusks, the powerful porker ripped into Grumple's butt. OW! OW! OW!
One little piglet peeked out from under a log, admiring his father's style. Daddy would save them. He always did.