"That sounds like a plan." She said. The roar had come from the northwest, and luckily the road curved eastward, but any beast as smart as an Arch-Troll would know where the road was. Beren didn't want to put too much thought into why Qwarath was roaring, but either way it didn't bode well. Lesser trolls weren't common but not rare in the mountains, but Arch-Trolls were like demons. If you found one, you likely didn't survive the encounter. 

They started to move, Beren trying to think back on encounters he had with trolls. The Monk had met two in his life. He had never killed one though. They stood fully nine feet in height with rock-like scales on their upper body and simian arms with strength beyond human capability. Easily controlled by how dim-witted they were, they were vicious and often hungry. 

As he thought, a crossbow clicked, and a quarrel shot through the flap of Beren's jacket, punching a hole and leaving a slit in the thick fabric. Beren blinked, lifting the edge of it up and sliding a finger through it. 
"Hey! Why do people keep fucking with my favorite jacket!" 

"We'll do a lot more than that," a voice said, and both of the travelers turned back to see men approaching. Donning cloaks as black as death, golden and white lions were carved on their tabards. Beren saw there were twenty men, all wielding crossbows with their swords at their hips. At least fifteen of them aimed at the two, and their accuracy only became more assured the closer they got. 

"Don't even think on running." The front man said, a man in his early forties. He had a somewhat handsome face, though his sneer detracted from it. He had long blonde hair and goatee, and he carried himself like a swordsman. He did not hold a crossbow, but instead had a wicked mace in one hand, bouncing the haft on his shoulder like it was a cudgel. 

"You Werholdt?" Beren asked them, now standing around ten meters from one another. 

"Yep. And you're an Eru'Dai," he said matter-of-factly. "Didn't think I'd ever meet one of you. We could use a man like you, and a woman like her." 

"I'm right here, fellas." She said, waving her hands to let them know she wasn't inanimate. 

"Yes, you are, Jocasta." He said, and Beren raised an eyebrow at the name drop. "We did some digging. You owe a lot of money. You serve my company well and maybe do some...extracurricular activites for us and I'll help you out on that score. And you, Eru'Dai... you'll be paid well for your services." 

"Do you have that sarong ready?" Beren whispered. 

"Yeah, but it won't work for both of us I don't think," she cautioned. 

"Just use it anyway. I'll be fine." He assured her. Jocasta was skeptical, but instead stepped forward, waving the sarong like a flag, one foot out and the other back like she was going to perform some acrobatic trick. 

"Alright boys, we give up! But let's give you an encore," she said, sliding the sarong down dramatically. Once the cloth passed her form, it shrouded it and she disappeared before their very eyes. Beren took that cue to get lost, and he simply sprang upwards, grabbing a tree branch and using his rock-hard abdominal muscles to swing his legs up and disappear into the thick canopy above. 

"Find them!" Werholdt cried, waving his hand angrily.