[h3][color=44833C][b]STUR[/b][/color][/h3]
__________

Stur murmured a low oath as the first bone-chilling yell drifted over their surroundings. He knew that sound instinctively; he'd had to deal with many a troll, back in the day. It was never pretty. He cast a quick look back over his shoulder, trying to make eye contact with any of the more long-range inclined types that happened to be paying attention. 

"They're faster than they look, and an arrow or two will probably only make 'em madder. Might want to stay behind us." He called tersely, [i]us[/i] obviously indicating the sturdier members of the band. 

As it happens, the mercenary managed to glance back at just the right time to see their fearless leader Nathaniel completely vanish while standing in plain sight. 

"Fuckin' figures." He ground his teeth in frustration and swung back to keep his focus trained on the hill where the troll-cries were coming from, hefting his longaxe as he did so. Its worn haft thudded softly into the cold, yielding mud of the road. Couldn't rely on those gods-damned frilly casters to do anything useful when it came down to cold iron.