08. A troll under the bridge

A sharp knock shattered the fragile silence of morning. The group stirred, bleary-eyed and disoriented, as Cas entered, his expression grave but composed. He wasted no time, detailing the arrangements Thathu had set in place before handing them a small, weighty pouch—their reward from Ollie for returning his stolen goods. Then came Ygwain, a towering presence with a seasoned gaze, introduced as their guide. His mission: lead them to the outskirts of Isalume, where a Grym disturbance had begun festering, and return them safely before they embarked on their far more personal task—the rescue of Daisy, a mission already under quiet council deliberation.   The morning unfolded under the lively hum of the fayre. Cre lingered near a vendor’s stall, inspecting a small, carefully chosen gift for Merlin before placing it outside the familiar storefront where they had once met. Meanwhile, Lark sought out Maude for a brief but welcome exchange, while Lia—her nerves taut as a drawn bowstring—headed to Ollie, an apology resting on her tongue. She found him weary but understanding, his frustration rooted not in her actions alone, but in the growing turmoil the Puritanicals had stirred within the city. As she departed, tension flickered across the square like the first sparks of a fire. The Puritanicals, stationed opposite with a recruitment stall, had begun to stir unrest. Ygwain and Thathu stepped in without hesitation, their presence enough to quell the rising tide before it could crest into chaos.   Later, as the group reached the docks, they met their navigator—a grey-and-black Mao, his gaze sharp as the salt-laced wind that carried them forward. The boat drifted steadily across the lake, but their ease was short-lived. In the distance, ominous plumes of smoke clawed skyward from the town beyond the water’s edge. Isalume. Lia’s home. Panic stole the breath from her lungs as she fumbled to reach her parents. A response came—brief but merciful. They were safe, both within the city walls. Relief settled over the group, though unease lingered in its wake. Despite the burning horizon, they pressed onward, navigating toward the predetermined landing site just beyond the hill, where the Grym threat loomed.   Night settled around them as they made camp, but rest came uneasily. Ygwain tried to devise a plan, but soon saw the truth—their group was raw, untested, unprepared for the battle ahead. Hesitation gnawed at them, until Talon, with a silent flash of wings, took to the sky to scout the path before them. His keen eyes spotted movement—a hulking troll beneath the bridge, its posture tense. Two Uloon hovered nearby, taunting it with cruel amusement.   The group approached with measured caution, pressing themselves against the shadowed stone of a broken wall. The plan was simple: Ygwain would engage first while the others provided support from afar. But Talon had other ideas. With calculated grace, he slipped through the darkness and struck first—his attack swift and unseen. Chaos erupted in the wake of his blade, the battle unfolding with clashes of steel and guttural cries. Four Dwed fell before them, leaving only the troll behind, bound and wounded.   Through careful inspection, they saw what the creature truly was—not an adversary, but a victim. Hurt, trapped, and confused. With patience and care, they freed him, offering healing and solace where there had only been cruelty.   Their new companion introduced himself as Falcor, a guardian of the forest. His voice carried the weight of wounds beyond the physical—he had been attacked by the Uloon after investigating disturbances near Isalume. The group shared their own accounts, confirming what they had seen, and soon, Thathu’s report arrived: the city had been attacked. The immediate danger seemed to have passed, but refugees now flooded its streets, seeking sanctuary as the remnants of destruction were slowly mended.   Exhaustion pressed heavy upon them. The choice was clear—rest now, return by boat with the morning tide, and prepare for what lay ahead.