How do you burn them — spell, or torch?

"Let's do it then." Gobber looks for some dry flammable things and places it on them. Then, he takes out his flint and starts burning one of his torches to ignite the trolls. "Let this flame guide you to a better life."

The flames crackle and a foul greasy smoke fills the air air as the bodies are consumed. You pick up your gear and start down the path through the stone statues. The sun is almost setting and a cold breeze begins to blow out of the north. You continue on for a couple more hours when it begins to rain. You walk on for another hour before coming to a small crag that lies in an opening of the forest. In the middle of the crag stands a small hut made of wreathed branches and strange, withered wooden planks. Hides hang on scaffolding around the hut and a small fire is burning by the opening. As you approach you see a small old man sitting in a chair watching the rain fall. This is Timil -- a quiet, pipe-smoking dwarf with a wispy white beard.

Angie can barely believe her eyes, and wipes the rain water out of them to makes sure she is seeing clearly. "Hello friend," she yells over to the dwarf. "I did not expect to find a living soul within this accursed forest. May we approach and share your fire? We have fresh meat that we can share."

The dwarf doesn’t seem to notice you. He just continues puffing on his pipe.

Angie is weary of the Dwarf who seems either deaf or completely oblivious. She carefully walks around him so as to be in front of him and easily seen, and approaches him carefully with her hands palm outwards in front of her in a peaceful gesture. As she approaches him she continues to repeatedly holler at him, "Hey there friend," and "What ho there good sir." She approaches until he notices her or reacts to her in some way.

“Huh! Wha! Wh—who are ye!? Don’t harm me!” The old dwarf yells as he almost falls out of his chair.

Thokein readies his axe just in case.

Gobber puts his hands in front of him slowly. "We're not here to harm anyone; promise. Ye be okay? Who are yer if I may ask?" He puts his hands between himself and the old dwarf if he wants to use it to get up.

”I... I.. am.. Timil..” the dwarf says in a raspy voice that sounds unused, “Wh—Who are you? An’ how’d ya get here? I haven’t seen other people in an age.. How can I trust yer real.. and not one of those demons running around the forest?”

Angie ponders the question for a moment. "How can we prove that we are real? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? Couldn't a demon pretend all of that? How can we be sure that any of our sensations correspond with something that really exists separate from our minds? Perhaps we are only minds being manipulated by a magician or an evil demon, without incorporate bodies. I think therefor I must exist as a thinking being" Angie looks at her companions. "How can I be sure of your existence though? Perhaps you are just manifestations created by a manipulative entity?" She opens her pack and draws out the notes she keeps at the top. "This is good," She starts writing furiously, then looks up to her companions after a moment, "I think I just proved that ontologically the only thing we can be certain of is our own existence as thinking beings. This ads an entirely different layer to my theory about the deific origins of magic and may in fact revolutionize the way modern scholars approach the field of metaphysics." She continues scribbling in her notes, temporarily oblivious to what is occurring around her.

Timil looks at Angie cockeyed and snorts, "Meta-wha now? Don't know what yer on about dear.. but, the demons in this forest ain't made of flesh and blood... they feed on it!"

"Demons here they're made of wood and bones! Of earth and hatred! Haven't ya seen one yet?" 

"We did see a giant phantom spider," Angie says. "Was that a demon?"

“What? Spiders frequent these woods.. they’re dangerous, but they aren’t demons! These demons are made of the bones of the dead! Never mind... ya obviously don’t understand. It wasn’t always like this in Wildheart I’ll have ya know. It used to be beautiful, magical even. I first met Eleanor here ya know. My dearest Eleanor...” Timil suddenly starts to drift off as if remembering something.

Gobber slowly approaches and sits right beside him. Gobber says in a caring and curious tone, "What happened to her?" 

“Elenor? Why she got out of her pen a few days ago.. poor thing. I usually let her roam about, but not since I’ve seen demons afoot in the woods!”

[In a desperate voice] “Oh, they’ll do her in for sure if they find her! You haven’t seen her on your travels have you? I’m too old to go runnin’ about this forest looking for her, but I am worried sick! She doesn’t come when I call! ....Eleanor! .....Eleanor! Come home, its Timil!”

"Maybe we could help you find Eleanor." Angie says, still jotting notes down in her pad. "What does she look like?"

"You would do that for me? How kind! Eleanor is about 5 feet tall. She is a beautiful milky white with big brown eyes. She has a very full rack and a kind bellow. You can't mistake her for any other elk.. she is truly unique!"

"Tell you what.. why don't you stay here the night and have some fish stew with me? I caught it out back in the pond. Best fish there is in these parts believe you me!"

"Wait. An elk? We're looking for an elk?"

“Why do you say it like that? She’s not just any Elk... She’s special you know,” Timil says in an almost hurt manner.