Drogo avoids taking a bag of caltrops as it would be too heavy for him to carry. "I won't be taking a bag of caltrops. It will really slow me down."

Everyone finishes their meals and rounds up their gear for their trek.  Before they leave, Harris, the young man who had been taking notes at the mayor's last night, runs up with a scrollcase.

"Sirs and Sir, these are the things you wanted last night," he says, opening up the case and drawing out two papers.  One is a fairly new roll of paper, the lines crisp and dark.  "This is all what's been taken from people who've been raided.  Widow Bray didn't know, not having gone back to her home, but there's been enough folks who've seen their house to probably tell what's hers, if you find anything.  There's been a fair bit of food taken, but that's not likely to return."



The second one is a older piece of parchment, which Harris smooths out for you.  "This is the map of the ruins, done by one of our scholarly types a while back.  There's the temple-structure in the middle, and the roads.  The V-shapes are the crumbling walls, and the long single lines are the fallen pillars.  The double lines are the paths."

OOC:  Please check the map for Group 0 to see this map.

"Good luck," he says, handing them to you with a brief bow.

Varick Forrester shoulders his bow and arrows after glancing at the map, waiting until Sir Aberlayne and Dellas saddle up their mounts, and then leads the whole group into the wild.  The group is wary, eyes casting about, ears perked for danger.  Haazheel sends Mystique ahead to take as close a look as he can at the goblins, and before the group is halfway there, the owl has returned, hooting softly.  Dancing on Haazheel's shoulder, he understands that Mystique has more to show them.

Pausing, Mystique flies to the ground and begins to awkwardly scratch a map into the path with his talons.  Owls are not exactly suited for fine detailed drawings in that way, and his bond with his master is not enough to speak clear words, but after a minute it becomes clear Mystique is drawing the map of the goblins' encampment - it matches the map they've been given in the gross details.

Mystique also adds a few new features.  One is a small square near the temple.  Mystique goes into a pantomime of cheeping like a chick, then pointing to the square.  With Varick nodding in understanding, you realize this is the hutch where the goblins keep their young.  In a few places, Mystique has also drawn circles.  To explain them, he points to Dellas' burned fingers.

These, you gather, are fireplaces.

Finally, he pointes at a jagged line to the west of the temple, and clacks his beak together in a predatory manner.

This must be where the wolves are.

When asked about the goblins, Mystique hesitates, and taps the map in a few places, mostly near the fires, and sits up straight emphasizing there are awake goblins there.  But then he spreads his wings in wide swaths over the rest of the map and makes a distinct sound like a snore.

It seems most of them are asleep, though not all.

OOC:  See the map for Group 1 to see Mystique's map.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:22, Thu 10 July 2014.

"They have young here?" Bruenor asks incredulously. "If they have young, then there are presumably mothers...there may be more goblins here than we first thought. Even if they aren't warriors, those mothers will fight with infinite resolve to protect their young..."

OOC: What direction, relative to the map, is the wind blowing, and am I correct in assuming that the top of the  map is due north?

"They're still goblins, and they'll die just as easy as the males. Their young in cages makes it easier to slay them, they can't run away," Farian says grimly.

"'Tis what I said in the Pig, youngster!  I said they had their young in a cage.  The owl saw true," Varick says, scratching his beard.  "They treat them like animals, truth be told."

OOC:  Top of the map is north, yes, and the wind is currently blowing from the west.

"Yes...Well, at least the wind favors us; the wolves are on the far side of the ruins, according to the wizards's bird, and we will be facing minimal resistance," Bruenor says, almost waving off his mistake.

Bruenor points to the fire to the north-east,"Volsh should perhaps use this opportunity to charge the guards at the first fire, bring the fight to them, take the initiative, and these walls give our initial engagement some cover."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:52, Thu 10 July 2014.

If inquired, between Varick and Mystique, they can tell you the crumbling walls range from a foot to three feet high.

"If we get a little bit closer, we can leave off Honeybee so she's within easy reach."  Sir Aberlayne looks over at her brother and Drogo and nods.  "Should we have to retreat, for any reason, Valiant can only carry two.  I doubt it not that one of you strong men could carry one of us halflings, but Honeybee is made to carry burdens as swift or swifter than you tall folk.  And if we are victorious, Honeybee could help cart stolen goods back."

She looks down at the map and presses her lips together a bit.  "Valiant can jump, but when I come in it will probably be on the road.  Which way does the temple open, east?"

Varick nods.

"Then perhaps our second group could come from the direction of one of the southerly roads."

"I disagree," Bruenor responds, pointing back to the map, "The southern road is the most well protected. It would be less important if we can assure that the guards will abandon those positions, but if we don't group two would be walking into heavy resistance..."

"Which direction will your group come from then if we are to arrive from the East with the wind blowing at us?" Volsh inquires of Bruenor from the rear of the huddle. Being a head above his companions allowed him to see the map clearly enough from where his stood.

"My instincts tell me the South would serve the best approach though. Those little bastards will charge my position. And coming from the South or the even the Southwest might allow your group to get the jump on the shaman or even their hounds if they have not released them yet."

"I will reconsider the southern option, but going too far West risks the group being sniffed out by the hounds, and separates us more than I would like. We'll just have to insure that the goblins have no wits with which to mind the other group."

"That's okay, I'll tag along with one of these big folk." He said with a smile then turned his head to the others about the plan. "I think Volsh had a good point. I think we should do that. Either way I think the trick is to move fast before they get our scent."

Narthian shifted through his belongings, trying to bide his time.  He was ready to follow the plan.  Ready to go!

"Let us be off then. We'll decide how to proceed exactly once we see it first hand."

"Farian spoke with wisdom" says the wizard. "Mystique and Master Forrester are here giving us great intelligence but let's move on closer to our target and decide depending of the situation."

The group can close the door carefully, and do as much as they can to conceal how to open it.  Loading the rest of the stuff in the wagon, Sir Aberlyane will cluck to Valiant.  Lead by Mystique, they wend their way back on the path to Boltharrow.  Part of the way there, Varick Forrester meets them with a look of relief on his face, a smile lighting his craggy features.

"Ehlonna favors you!  And everyone alive?  Gods be praised!" he says.  Walking back with them with a great spring in his step, he ask the group their tale, it is later in the afternoon when the wooden walls of Boltharrow loom.  Varick gives a victory yell, and the visible silhouettes of the guards on the walls cheer back.  The gates are thrown open as the group walks and drives the wagon into the town square.  There are many of the townfolk there in what seems to be the daily market, and they set up a cheer of their own.  Pandemonium reigns for a few minutes until Mayor Harrow finally waves his hands and calls out for silence.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Guildsmen," Mayor Harrow says.  "Tell us what happened, or the lot of you won't get a wink of rest and barely a bite to eat from all the questions you'll be getting at the feast tonight!"

Seeing no need to convey more information than the townspeople need to know, Narthian addresses the gatherered throng simply, but not in an unfriendly tone, "We located the goblin's camp. You will see no further threat from them, they have been returned to nature. As you requested, we have recovered much of the stolen property. I, for one, am looking forward to a good meal, a hot bath, and a good night's rest."

"Of course, of course!" Mayor Harrow says.  "I'll have Harris return people's things to them, and you go right on ahead to the Pickled Pig.  Alerik was feeling confident you'd come back safe, and he's got the bathhouse fired up.  If you're in need of tending, Brother Darius can help patch you up.  We'll be back in a while after you've had a chance to eat, so we can hear this tale of yours."

With that, you can all go to the Pickled Pig if you like.  Alerik Feykin, the half-elf bartender, welcomes you with an odd little half-smile, like he's been expecting you for hours, and waves towards the bathhouse.  "Fire hot and ready for those who've freed us.  Be only four tubs within, so those who not be cleaning first can have their fill of food, then a switch."  There's a scent of roasting pork in the air from a spitted pig in the fireplace, along with a great pan of vegetables roasting over the coals.

With that, you're all left in peace for a while, to eat, bathe, and put down your things.  Harris, Mayor Harrow's assistant, comes back part of the way through with everything you gathered that wasn't part of the items stolen from Boltharrow and puts the less bulky items in a corner of your rooms.  The larger things, he'll tell you he put in an empty stall in the stables.

As you clean off the muck and debris and blood from your battle, Sir Aberlayne goes to speak to Drogo and anyone else near.  "What are we going to do about this little goblin youth?  She's still alive in that little barrel, but we have to let her out soon.  But I'm afraid the townsfolk would take it amiss if they saw her."

With a bright grin, Dellas followed and tried two things at the same time, not to stand in the spotlight but also not to be overseen. But as soon as he heard food, his mind was made up, he quickly occupied a bathtub and went down to eat his fill. Only after another 2 servings he felt good enough to talk and to look around at his companions who probably noticed that he had stuffed his cheeks as if he starved for days.
He was looking at other when he heard his sister's voice, barrel goblin? Did he forget something? Dellas looked at his sister: "Couldn't we just take the barrel with us and let the goblin out when we are out of town?"

"No doubt that would be easiest, but I don't know how long she's been in there or when she was last fed.  I think she was in the barrel so her siblings wouldn't eat her," Abby says with a grimace.

In reply to Sir Aberlayne Nump (msg # 151):

After an extremely enjoyable soak and scrub, Narthian too makes his wY to the table. Giving thanks to the spirit if the pig for the sustenance it was destined to provide, he tucks in enthusiastically. Overhearing the exchange between the siblings, he chimes in,"While there no Druid encampments nearby, perhaps you can discuss the matter with the local priest. Perhaps there is a monastery or an paladin enclave nearby where she can learn useful skills.  "

Farian smiled gratefully at Alerik and headed straight to the bath house to scrub the dirt and grime of the road from his body. He stripped his arms and armour from him and piled them beside the nearest tub, humming a hymn to Pelor whilst doing so. Undressed at last he eased himself into the tub with a sigh, the scalding water invigorating his tired muscles.

As he lay back his mind wandering onto the captured...or rescued...goblin child. The matter still concerned him, within the Church matters were simpler; good and evil, black and white, not this dirty grey of moral ambiguity.

Pelor teaches us compassion, it is a prime tenant of His faith. Yet He is also the vanquisher of Evil. So can one be born evil? Is our nature predetermined or is it a result of the way we are nurtured? he thought, a frown creasing his brow.

He finished his bath in silence and dressed once again in his travel stained clothes, as he heads back in to join his companions for a meal he vows to pray long and hard on the subject of the goblin whelp.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:54, Tue 27 Jan 2015.

Drogo looks like he's been thinking for a while, and finally pipes up.  "I have an idea.  Look, it was my idea in the first place to capture the little goblins, and I found little Fleabite here," he taps the barrel gently.  "With Sir Aberlyane's help, of course.  But I was the one who wanted to save one of them, and I speak goblin, and I think I could find a place that could help raise her right.  Only problem is it's a bit far away.  There's a cousin of mine who has a place in Clam, north of here on the Sea of Song.  He's a priestly type, more compassion than sense sometimes, but he has the patience of a saint.  Well, he'd have to, growing up with me."  Drogo grins.  "I want to take her up there and get her settled.  And the faster she gets out of this town, the better, I say."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:10, Tue 27 Jan 2015.

In reply to Drogo O'Logo Underbough (msg # 154):

More patience than sense, sounds like most clerics I know. Most don't have the brains to serve their gods like the Druids do...thinks Narthian. Out loud he says, "Sounds like an excellent idea. Perhaps we can do that after investigating the hidden rooms beneath the goblin camp."

Volsh is unceremonious in his retreat from the group. His bathing is quite the opposite however. He lingers in the volcanic heat of the water, both as muscle relaxant and spiritual awakening. It has been since the heavy rains in Redhaven since his last cleansing. After a long soak, the barbarous man returns to civility and dons his attire; dried blood, the hue of midnight, stains his cloth and armor.

The smell of flame-touched swine reinvigorates him as he finds his way to the tables. With plate piled high and the appetite of a ravenous beast, he listens to the ramblings of his companions. "Someone should feed that thing." he blurts between mouthfuls of roast pig and gulps of ale.

"Sounds like a fair plan." He plies, directing his speech at the Halfling. "I do think the matter of the leftover goods should be tended to before leaving though. I've no interest in them, but if there is something that should strike the fancy of the rest of you, have at it. Otherwise, it should be given as tribute to the townsfolk or the guild."

During lulls in the conversation, Volsh can be observed slurping, chewing, and gulping of his much earned fare. He retires be the fire and the half-cut pig. There he doffs his boots and sets his feet upon the rim of the hearth.