Goblin Hunt

Brother Yakov sighs at the mob-like energy in the hall. Later he will say a prayer to Zirchev to grant the people wisdom. He thinks about trying to talk to the crowd, or maybe just the baron, but dismisses the idea. He is not good with words, and the town is in no mood to listen. The townsfolk will do what they will do. He feels some sympathy for the starving goblins, but they chose to raid the area. Such is life, sometimes.

The best thing he can do, he thinks, is to investigate the deeper problem on behalf of the town, whether they care or not. Hopefully his new companions will help.

"Not a question." All eyes turned to the woman at the back—an adventurer with a blouse undone way more than was appropriate

"I, and the Scruffers, scouted the ruins of Castle Mistamere. A tribe of goblins has taken refuge there. We also spotted hobgoblins among them. Whatever’s driving these goblins , it seems like a widespread problem"

The haunted ruins of Mistamere were over a day's journey from Threshold, making it unlikely that these specific goblins had traveled so far to cause trouble near the farmlands surrounding the town

The sheriff hesitated, unsure of how to process the new information. He stood silent, contemplating, when a sudden commotion broke out in the crowd. A man, gasping for breath, shoved his way to the front. His face was pale, eyes wide with distress, teetering on the brink of a breakdown.

"Baron. Sheriff." He tipped his head weakly "Please, anyone. My daughter..." He paused, struggling to steady his breath "She was supposed to return from the market this afternoon, back to our farm. She never arrived." His voice cracks "She was due hours ago. With the goblins out there... I—I don't know what to think... I can’t..." His eyes sweeps over the crowd, pleading for someone to help

Several members of the crowd rushed out of the town hall without hesitation, eager to take action. The sheriff, however, remained more measured.

"Baron," he said with a heavy voice "The goblins are active at night, and it’s already dark. We won’t be able to track them, and we wouldn’t see her even if we walked right past her" His words already imply the worst. "We have to wait until daylight."

The baron didn’t contest the sheriff’s assessment. He knew he was right, but he also understood the weight of the moment. He couldn’t stand in front of these people and tell them they weren’t going to try, not when there was even the smallest chance of finding her.
"No," he said firmly "Gather everyone we can. Bring torches. We leave—now!"

Be careful, Will says warily. It sounds as though, goblins and hobgoblins working together. You don’t want to take villagers out there with torches against a force of evil strength, Baron.

Brother Yakov sighs and rubs the spot where he was stabbed earlier in the day. "I feel called to join the search," he tells his friends. "The sheriff speaks true, but perhaps because of that, I believe Petra would want me to protect them."

I’ll help too, but…where are we going exactly? Are we just taking as many people as we can and start walking in that direction?

Nightshade watches the mob get riled up and wonders quietly if the Baron isn't trying to free himself of some townsfolk by feeding them to the goblins. Also, I doubt this Baron is the type of man who likes his orders questioned.
Feeling a sense of obligation, Nightshade steps forward, his voice cutting through the din. "The Sheriff is right," he says, calm but firm, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "We'd have a much better chance of success if we waited until morning. Charging into the forest at night, exhausted and unprepared, would be suicide."
He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle over the mob, "I suggest we use the time wisely. Talk to the merchants in the market, find out Pavelescu's daughter's last known whereabouts, and prepare ourselves properly. This isn't a fight we can afford to lose."
As the crowd begins to murmur among themselves, Nightshade steps back, counting the arrows in his quiver and checking the rest of his gear. He glances at his companions, acknowledging the look of determined resignation, knowing that whatever we decide to do, we will do it together. He fears the mob's determination to storm into the forest may override reason, leading them to their doom and dragging him and his companions along with them.

Will gives Nightshade a valiant nod of acquiescence.

The baron couldn't find any fault in what Nightshade and his sheriff has said. They were right. However, that didn’t change the fact that if he failed to act and search for the missing young woman now, he would face intense backlash from the people. Even worse, they might take matters into their own hands, further complicating the situation. By the time dawn arrived, they could be looking for more than one missing person.

"We can’t afford to delay," he said decisively. "We will search the road from Threshold to the farm and see if there’s any sign of her." He determined it was safe enough, if they moved in groups "Henry, assemble your men and anyone else willing to help. Search along the road, but stay clear of the woods."

"This may be a fools errand but I sympathize with the family. I'll join the search." Anton took up his lantern, ready to join the search for the missing girl.

Nightshade falls in step with his companions as they trail the search party leaving the Town Hall. Sliding up alongside the Sheriff, Nightshade matches his pace, his voice low but steady. "Sheriff," he begins, his tone respectful but inquisitive, "what can you tell me about this Castle Mistamere? I’ve heard the name, but stories grow wilder with each telling."

Perhaps against saner judgement, Will feels the need for urgent action. Gathering his gear, our fightery fellow follows his friends outside.
Baron, while I feel we’ve a difficult trail at night, still you have my sword. I will help you. Would you like me to help lead a group along the road?

"Thank you for volunteering" The baron gave them a rare look of acknowledgment. He didn’t yet know their names, but his appreciation for them had already grown "Henry, keep me updated. Make sure no one does anything foolish"

With that, the baron departed the town hall, flanked by two of his personal guards.

The sheriff waited for the baron to exit before barking orders at his guards. He dispatched a few to catch up with the peasants who had already left, to organize and lead them, and to keep them out of trouble. Then he turned to Will with a nod. "Yes, your help is much appreciated. Take your group and head up to the farm. You can walk along the left side of the road, while we’ll stick to the right. That way, we can cover more ground."

He checked his sword, then stepped out. While he wasn’t particularly interested in discussing Castle Mistamere at the moment, he indulged the stranger’s question, recognizing his willingness to assist. "The story goes that it's haunted. Strange lights can be seen from a distance. I don’t know much more, but I’m sure Humphrey has plenty of information." He referred to the head of the mages’ guild in Threshold. Humphrey was the go-to for anything related to local lore, magical or otherwise.

"Let’s get moving," he added, cutting the conversation short "Time is of the essence when someone’s gone missing."

*****************

The night is thick with darkness, the air cool and heavy as the party makes their way down the narrow, dirt path leading from Threshold to the nearby farm. The moon, hidden behind thick clouds, offers no help, leaving them in near-complete darkness. The faint crunch of their boots in the gravel and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees are the only sounds breaking the stillness. You keep your eyes trained on the path ahead, trying to find any hint of the missing young woman.

Suddenly, a soft fluttering sound catches your attention, followed by the unmistakable caw of one of Zichrev’s messengers. From the shadows, a large, jet-black silhouette lands with an eerie grace on a nearby fencepost, its dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. The creature stares at you with an unsettling intensity, unmoving and silent. For a moment, everything feels still.

The bird tilts its head slightly, its eyes unblinking, before croaking once—deep, throaty, and hollow. The sound is almost too deliberate, too heavy for a mere bird. It flutters its wings, hopping a few feet farther down the path, then croaks again, this time louder and more insistent, as if beckoning you forward. The messenger looks back over its shoulder, its gaze unblinking, and waits, as though challenging you to follow.

Brother Yakov begins to follow the bird, looking back over his shoulder at his companions. "In the old tales, Zirchev sends messengers to guide and reveal things to the faithful. This could be just a bird, but perhaps it is more."

Will eyes the bird inquisitively. He checks the ground for any obvious tracks of recent activity.
Should we follow it, he asks his companions.