Carefully, the group creeps as close to the camp as they dare, getting a glimpse of their destination through the trees, the east side of the ruins.

Though it was the intention to come in downwind so as to avoid the wolves barking to give away your presence, perhaps that might not have been the best of plans, at least for the sake of your noses.  Goblins stink.  And not in the manner of Volsh's relative indifference to regular bathing, no they honestly, truly, horribly, stink.

In the crumbled corner where a building once stood, a pack of five goblins are slumbering in the shade of the wall, an awning of vines, leaves, and women's dresses providing further shelter.  One more goblin is staying awake to tend the fire, toasting a slug on a stick.  The goblin is typical of his kind, a head almost too large for his body, little piggy eyes, a too-large mouth full of too many teeth, and enormous ears that stick out prominently on either side of his head.  He's wearing a small barrel as clothing, with a fine hat of three sparrows stuck together with pins and then tied to his head with a bright red ribbon.

Craning your necks and looking around, you can see a couple other goblins near some of the fallen columns, with their own awnings of forest gleanings and human clothing pressed into service, along with the occasional bit of canvas or a pelt.  Some of the goblins snort or wriggle in their sleep, and one is actually singing a little ditty about all the ways to eat a puppy.  ("Roasted and toasted and burnt and fried, smoked or salted or freshly died.  Catch 'em all wriggling and barking and nice, throw 'em in the stewpot with a fresh bunch of lice!")

It's catchy, if not appetizing.

In the middle of the ruins you can see the tall temple with its columned entrance.  The bulk of the goblin young cage is off to one side, and a throne of broken wagon wheels, old quarried stones, and flour sacks has been set up outside by the fireplace.  There's a young goblin in a leather tunic painted bright orange, a watermelon rind on his head, poking the flames and occasionally adding wood.

You cannot spot anyone that looks like the shaman from here, at least not from this distance.  Sir Aberlayne nods, and points off to the south, indicating she's ready to go.  She holds up five fingers, asking for a little time to get into position before Volsh makes with his distraction.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:49, Tue 15 July 2014.

_{"Perhaps we can eliminate this small group by the wall first? Or do you think we should do as first envisioned?"} Farian whispers to the others.

"It occurs to me that the first can easily become the second; the sounds of battle should attract the goblin's attention just as well as Volsh. Circumstances allowing, he may still get to perform whatever primal display of superiorty he chooses."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:10, Fri 18 July 2014.

I agree.  If we cut down some of them in the mean time, all the better. Narthian whispers

Aver'e had spoken little that morning, and less as they moved through the forest, scouting in advance as much as possible, cautioning quiet at all times, and only nodding in reassurance to those whose eye he happened to meet.

At this last, he moves in closer, whispering "If we could take down all 5 before they could spread the alarm, that would work - otherwise, one target is as good as another.  Tho' if we can kill some who are sleeping without raising the alarm, so much the better."

"And I think we're getting close enough to split our groups?..."

"Agreed, we wait for a signal from you to let us know you are in place, say have the familiar fly above and let all know we are ready?"

"Absolutely," Bruenor says, drawing his own longbow in preparation

Sir Aberlayne frowns.  "Kill sleeping goblins?  I don't object to ambushing them, or taking them by surprise, but slaughtering them in their sleep is no better than what they do.  What if we were to throw in a smokestick to get them up without causing a huge ruckus?  Then we could ambush them still, but without killing them where they lie."

"Having to battle twenty is preferable to battling thirty Lady Aberlayne, don't you agree? It may not be honorable, but goblins have no honor. Why grant them a consideration they would deny you in your sleep? You need not participate in this portion of the, 'cleansing'. Please feel free to hold yourself in reserve for the actual battle."

Aver'e's eyes narrow a bit at the newly expressed concerns of the paladin.

"Sir Aberlayne - this is indeed neither the time nor place for new-found hesitation. At the guildhall I expressed this exact concern, and I noted your response - that against foes so vile as goblins, there is only one answer, that the best attack is one they don't see coming, and that if they were to try to stab you in the back, you didn't mind returning the favour.

"This is no more or less than that. Fight as you will, but leave us to do the same - I for one would not risk one honest life for any ten score of theirs, sleeping or no."

Not waiting for response, he looks to the others.

"We are here, the enemy is nigh, no more discussion - we have a plan, luck to all."

With a nod to Haazheel and Narthian, he moves back up the trail a bit, to maneuver to the next trail, the one the three were to approach from.
]

"Send your bird skyward when you are in place wizard, then we will begin the assault."

Sir Aberlyane puts her hand on Averdante's arm.  "Even in the midst of peril and death, even when the distasteful becomes necessary, it is my oath and my conscience that guide me to voice what does not want to be heard.  Such things must be remembered, even if we cannot hold to the most perfect of ideals."  With that, she swings up on Valiant, and says to Dellas, "[Language unknown: T era a ssmediti, handnc.  I llarhi.]"  And then she will head out to the south to her group's position.