You run for an old shed. The trolls have dug up through one of its walls and are now swarming out of the hole there. Armed with pottery and farm tools, the townsfolk see a sword gleaming red in the light of burning buildings and instinctively follow. The trolls smile when they see you. Bits of flesh cling to their sharp yellow teeth. Then they squeal in terror as the townsfolk charge.

Your blade knocks one troll aside and forces the others to scatter, but the townsfolk just run them down and kill them with whatever tools they have on hand. One troll, candle shining between his horns and wax dripping down his face, tries to rally the survivors, waving an iron torch back and forth. Then he charges you, holding the torch like a mattock. You run him through.

The fight seems to be turning against the trolls. Despite the surprise of their initial assault, Hetch is rallying and chasing them back to their holes. You look around for what to do next.

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And that's when you see the hooded man.

At five cubits, he towers over everyone in the village, though he seems hunchbacked and deformed. He wears a long hooded cape of brown leather. It takes you a heartbeat to see the heavy stitches, another heartbeat to see the flattened noses and mouths that cover the cape, the patching of fur, the claws and nails. Some faces are human, others trollish, most unrecognizable.

"They have infected you," the man says. Several of the mouths on the cape move. He steps over a dead Oak tribe warrior, kicking his shield away. "The jailers have laid their eggs in your soul, Pon Para. Let me cleanse you."

The huge man holds an iron ax in each hand. Each is too massive for you to lift. Then, suddenly–impossibly–he is one stride away, his axes sweeping through the air. You raise your sword instinctively, which saves your life, though the force of the impact hurls you into the low grass.