Sarka, southwest farm, the fallows, Klos 19th, 350AC, 14:45  (underground, 65 degrees, half moon)

The four of you wait as the badders approach.  Those of you with special senses (like Ragnor’s heightened hearing) realize a handful of humanoids approach first.  They either stay at a distance or move away until the main group arrives.  Finally dozens of badder soldiers come into view.

About half of them are archers, most of the rest are light infantry similar to the soldiers that you encountered above ground a few days ago.  Ten are the duralloy-armored professional hoplites, who march forward in smooth precision in a loose phalanx formation.  Next to the lead hoplite is the tongues-speaking robed badder who first escorted you underground.  His eyes flash yellow, as he points his metal tipped cane at your group.  He starts snarling in the badder language, “Uuta shlarr et…”  Again, you start to understand the words as if he was speaking trade tongue.  “Drop your weapons now.  Any aggression and we will drop you.”  He starts looking around at the scene, his eyes pausing for awhile at the massive dead beetle.  “Why did you come here to the fallows?”