An ambush...

"Between us, I think we could take on another group of similar numbers. On the other hand, any players are probably going to have better equipment in addition to their base stats, so that rules out a heads-on approach," you voice your thoughts. "Which means we'll have to resort to another ambush."

"I get to be bait again! Joy of joys!" deadpans the thug. "Whoo-fucking-pee."

"Maybe not. If our new friend can cast some of her traps where players are likely to go, we can get the jump on them without risking ourselves." You turn towards the thrall, who regards you with a rather curious expression. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Only rumors," she frowns, putting a finger to her lip. "Most of them won't venture out here, it's too damp and uncomfortable for them. But I've seen players journey towards the drier sectors of the swamp."

"Why's that?"

"Hell if I know. I don't go there myself; that's drider territory," shrugs the thrall. "Driders can't go anywhere that's too wet; it affects the quality of their webbing. And I'm not dumb enough to go hunting for driders, or for players mad enough to chase after them."

"Well, whichever the reason, it sounds like we've got a location in mind. If we lay a few traps along the route we can probably get the jump on players while they're uncoordinated," you suggest. "This way we should be able to gauge their strength before confronting them."

"I can't think of anything better," admits the half-troll. "...And you're sure this is going to work?"

"If this doesn't, you have permission to feed me to your leeches." You meet the thrall's discerning glance. The bandit, having extended his palms to the fire's warmth, looks from side to side, unease spreading across his face.

"Heh. You're funny, gnome. Probably not in the good way," smirks the thrall, finally breaking the silence. "But fine. Let's just see how far this little scheme of yours takes you. ...We should probably wait until morning; players aren't going to be hunting driders when they're active at night."

You spend a highly uncomfortable night in the cramped reed hut, smoked through with the acrid smell of a swampweed-stoked fire. You can't remember when you eventually fell asleep, but by the time you feel the thrall kicking your shin to wake you up, you have the distinct sensation of having only slept for a half hour at best. Drearily you drag yourself onto the thrall's raft as she pushes it along the murky marshes, with the bandit's mumbled swearing harmonizing into the oozing ambiance of chirping insects and dripping muck. You feel your eyesight blurring as the dreary corrupted landscape passes you by, almost losing the grip on your precious warhammer.

"We're here," hisses your escort, and this time you don't wait for her to kick you off, scrambling onto the swampy soil after the bandit. As soon as she's secured her raft the thrall moves ahead, adopting a tracking stance as she silently moves over the dull terrain. Eventually you come to a break in the overarching trees, and she signals to you to pause. Raising a hand she pulls at something, and you manage to make out a few weak strands of stringy material. Drider webbing.

"This is as far as we should go," informs the thrall. "Beyond this, the web are going to be even thicker. If we get caught in those we're done." You and the thug step back as the thrall drops her stone axe, readying the energy in her hands. "What now?"

"Lay down a vagsucker pit. If we don't catch any females in there we should be able to at least take out one player," you suggest. "You probably should save your MP for your Bludgeon attack."

"Fine." The thrall closes her eyes, immediately opening them as the natural energies emanate through her violet irises and palms, forming sigils unintelligible to your native tongues. She presses her hands to the ground, and at once you see a circle of light shimmer through the path ahead briefly before vanishing. To the unobservant nothing seems out of the ordinary, but you spot a few blades of grass undulate slightly. No doubt from the space opened up and oozing life forms underneath.

"Excellent. Now we wait."

"That's it? Just so ya know, ya ain't inspiring me much with this 'plan', munchkin," grumbles the thief.

"We might not need to wait long." The thrall halts you as her lip curls into a snarl, revealing a line of elf molars interrupted by a couple of sharpened troll fangs. "I smell elf."

"And what does elf smell like?" asks the thug dryly, though you choose to keep your mouth clamped shut, noticing the feral glint in the thrall's eyes.

"Overconfidence," she growls.