Goblin Hunt

13th of Flemont, Nytdain, 990 AC. Threshold.

It was a beautiful summer day on the outskirts of Threshold, the warm sun casting a golden light over the rolling hills and winding river that cut through the land. The air was crisp and sweet, filled with the scent of wildflowers and fresh earth. The Windrush River gleamed a deep blue, its waters catching the sunlight as it flowed lazily by. Along the path, the hills were thick with green, dotted here and there with the vibrant purple blossoms of foxglove, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze.

But as you approached Farmer Pyotor's homestead, the peacefulness of the day felt distant, almost cruel. The farmer stood outside his house, his face drawn with grief and exhaustion. The serenity of the landscape couldn’t mask the storm that had torn through his life the previous night. Pyotor’s voice cracked as he spoke, thick with emotion.

"They killed Felix... my poor dog" Pyotor said, forcing the words into his mouth "He was always the first to bark when something wasn’t right. That night, I heard his bark... but it wasn’t the usual warning. I rushed outta bed, but by the time I made it to the stairs, I could hear him yelping, and then the awful sound of his last squeal." He paused, his hands trembling as he wiped his brow. "I couldn't get to him in time. The goblins—they....Felix didn’t stand a chance" The sorrow in his voice was raw "He was just trying to protect us, and they... they killed him. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye."

He stood there for a moment, clearly struggling to hold back tears, before he took a deep breath and continued. "After that, everything happened so fast. The missus, she grabbed the children, and we ran up to the attic. We hid there, trembling in the dark, while those goblins were doing... their work." Pyotor’s voice hardened with anger "I heard my pigs screaming, squealing like they'd never been before. And then the silence...When it was quiet again, I dared to go down... and I that's when I saw the mess they left."

Pyotor led you toward the pigsty, where the scene was a nightmare made real. Blood was splattered across the earth, staining the green grass in gruesome streaks. Bloody footprints led from the pens and into the woods, evidence of the goblins’ hasty retreat "They butchered my pigs—took ‘em, too. And my poor dog, well... they took him with ‘em, didn’t even leave the body to bury. Just carried him off, probably to eat him." His voice wavered again

"I don’t know what to do anymore" he muttered, his voice heavy with defeat. "Find those bastards... make sure they don’t get away with this. They’ve taken everything I had. If something isn’t done, they’ll be back to some other farm. Again and again, till there's nothing left for them to take"

Anton took in the scene with pity, disgust, and anger. "Savages" he said under his breath. "Sir, it is a shame what has happened here, it is our full intent to bring these goblins to justice. May I ask, how many total pigs were taken? It might give us an idea of how many Goblins there were"

The moment of quiet digestion is interrupted by a commotion outside the tavern. apparently, there's some trouble at one of the farms near the outskirts of town. Stepping outside, Nightshade sees the townspeople in their element. They have something to feel outraged about and complain about, and bonus, there's an obvious villain to blame. The source of the commotion is easy enough to find a farmer standing at the end of his driveway telling his tale of woe to anyone who will listen. As the story unfolds, I think to myself, yes, goblins will eat pretty much anything, but it is probably best not to mention that with the children missing. After hearing the farmer's tale, I started strolling around the homestead's perimeter, looking for clues. Goblins aren't subtle creatures, and I should be able to pick up their trail easily enough using my survival and knowledge of the woodlands.

At the end of the farmer's tale, Brother Yakov makes the sign of The Faith with his hand, touching his forehead, right shoulder, left shoulder, then forehead again. Then he puts a hand on Pyotor's shoulder.

"May the Gentle Queen shelter you in this time, brother. I wish that I could return what you've lost. At the very least, my companions and I will seek retribution on your behalf."


To his companions, he says, "The villains seem to have left a significant trail. We should follow soon before it fades."

"We have," the farmer stopped to correct himself. "We had a couple of sows, and twenty-one piglets".

The farmer quickly performed the ‘sign of the three' when Yakov mentioned the queen, touching his forehead for wise Zirchev, his right shoulder for Warrior Halav, and his left shoulder, near the heart, for the compassionate Petra. "Seek them out, brother. I will pray the three guide your path and protect you from harm"

Anton did some quick math in his head and shook it, "That's nearly twenty goblins." he looked back to the farmer with intensity, "We are going to do everything we can to put this right"

Anton looked toward Nightshade, they seemed to be tracking a trail. "We should strike while the iron is hot"

Will nods in a manner most heroic.
Yes, we should make all this right. Let’s find those…tracks, and…and get those goblins!

Yakov adjusted the shield on his pack. "Into the woods we go then."

After identifying the goblin trail Nightshade returns to the gathering adventuring party. "I agree with the group we have to move quickly if there's any chance of saving the children. Twenty of them might be a little much for us to fight but I think a band of quiet adventures could rescue the children and be off before there're missed. If nothing else let's have a look and see what we're up against. We can then report the goblin strength and location at the Baron's townhall meeting."

I move stealthily placing a tree between myself and the goblins. After which I use hand signals to inform the others of the goblin ambush. I ready my bow and notch and arrow as I prepare for the fight.

Will tosses a javelin at the nearest goblin!

So much for being stealthy and subtle, I shout out "AMBUSH" to let the party know that we're in a fight. I'm doing a Fighting Withdraw as I fire an arrow at the gnarled legged Goblin running at me.

Will tosses a javelin at the nearest goblin!

Anton was startled by the cry out for Ambush, he quickly scrambled to grab a dagger from his belt and as soon as a goblin presented itself he threw it and then began retreating backwards, trying to find some cover to get behind.

Yakov momentarily thinks of falling back, but sees that Will has chosen to stand firm after throwing his javelin. "Petra protect me," he prays aloud as he draws his warhammer and readies his shield. He prepares to clash with the first goblin to reach him.

Will drops his remaining javelins, and draws his trusty longsword. The business end of which, he gives to one of his goblin assailants!

Nightshade soliloquies: "By all that is green and growing, you shell defile the forest no more." He then fires an arrow at the goblin attacking him.

Anton held his side where he'd been slashed as he drew another dagger, "We've got them on the run, don't let them escape!" he then threw the dagger at one of the fleeing goblins.

Will picks up a javelin and tosses it!

Brother Yakov grits his teeth, holding back the pain from his wound. It looks like the battle has turned. He starts to swing his warhammer at the last goblin, but then thinks again. Perhaps a live goblin would be more useful than a dead one. "Yield!" he shouts, holding his hammer above his head ready to swing. "Yield or die!"

First, I will check on the health and well-being of my fellow adventurers. "Yakov, are you okay? Do we need to fall back to the town so you can rest and recuperate?" Well, the party is discussing our next move. I'll take a moment to recover my arrows and search the fallen goblins to see what lootable items they're carrying. Maybe there's some clue that will help us understand this villainy.

Will attempts to retrieve his mighty javelin!

"Does soneone have a rope to tie this goblin's hands?" Yakov asks, cursing himself for not bringing any himself.

In response to Nightshade's question: "It's a grievous wound," he says. "I can go on, and I will if we press forward, but I won't survive another injury like this."

Once the goblin is tied up, Yakov does his best to staunch the bleeding and bind his wound.

"Do any if you speak goblin?" Yakov asks the group? "I had hoped we could get information from this one, but it didn't occur to me that he didn't speak the common tongue.

"If we can't get information in the field, we could take him back to town. Someome there might be able to communicate with him. But then we give up on the fresh trail." Yakov looks at the blood on his hands, most of it his own. We're it not for his calling and his promises to the farmer, he'd definitely turn back now.

"On one hand that man's pigs are not long for this world given the emaciated state of that goblin" Anton said pointing a dagger at the goblins ribs. "On the other hand, neither are we if we are ambushed by goblins again."

Anton looked back to town, "I was also wounded and could use some rest, or does anyone know any restorative magics?"

Will cuts off a length of rope and helps bind the goblin prisoner.
I do not speak goblin, sadly. Maybe try signing with him?

Since we have two injured adventurers, I think our best option is to return to town. Maybe there'll be someone in the town who can speak goblin, and we can interrogate the prisoner. It looks like our options for healing are a full day's rest for 1d3 or finding a healer who can cast cure light wounds. One additional question is, do we want to carry the goblin corpses back and try to collect the bounty?

The party trudged back along the forest path. The road to Farmer Pyotor's farm seemed longer than it should have been, and from there, it would be another couple of hours before they reached Threshold. The journey felt even more drawn out with the captured goblin in tow, forced to walk alongside them, its hands bound tightly. The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting long shadows over the road as they made their way heading south along the Windrush river.

As they neared the farmlands to the west of the town, familiar voices drifted on the wind. Hunter and Natasha, returning from a similar goblin hunt, were chatting and laughing as they made their way back to Threshold.

"Man, I would’ve been sooooooo embarrassed had I been killed by that goblin" Hunter said with a chuckle, his arm wrapped in a bandages. Several goblin bodies, their forms draped over the backs of their mules, swayed with the movement of the animals.

Natasha raised an eyebrow as she pointed out dryly: "You wouldn’t be alive to be embarrassed about it"

Hunter’s face flushed a bright shade of red. It took him a moment to recover, but when he did, he grinned sheepishly. "Right you are. I meant, I would be embarrassed once I reached the Crystal Halls. Telling everyone how I got done in by a goblin."

As the two adventurers continued down the road, they finally noticed the party up ahead. Hunter gave a quick wave, ready to shout a farewell, but his greeting turned into a look of utter shock when he caught sight of the party's prize: a live goblin, tied up and stumbling behind them.

"The Limbo is that? Is that…a LIVE goblin?!" Hunter’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in disbelief. He stopped in his tracks, staring at the bound creature. "What are you planning to do with that bugger? It’ll stab you in the back the first chance it gets!"

The feeling was that we’d find a translator and interrogate the creature for important information. Who in your wonderful town speaks Goblin, good sir?

"It's a gob-lin!" Hunter said, as if Will hasn't noticed "What information could it possibly have? They're all liars, thieves and murderers" the big man stepped sideways, to check whether any of them suffered serious head injury "They'll never let you take it inside Threshold. Not in a million years!!! Better put it out of its misery now. Save you a whole lot of trouble"

"I think Balan knows a bit of Grub’nak" Natasha was much less certain about the value (or lack) of interrogating the goblin than her companion "If you want, I could go fetch him for you, while you wait outside the city walls. Hunter is right, at least about that – the guards will never let a goblin inside Lugsid"

Please fetch good Balan for us. I will keep a watchful eye on the prisoner.

"Grub'nak eh?" Anton noted to himself. He wondered if that was a slang term for the Goblin language, or a proper dialect. "So, Hunter, seems you all killed a fair few Goblins yourselves?"

Well trudging back to town Nightshade would be quite happy to leave our pet goblin to Balan tender mercies. We need to think about our party if we're going to return to the woods and get to the root of this devilry. Nightshade asked Natasha "is there a Healer in town?" Already missing the forest to he thinks of another night spent inside eating a cooked meal, ahh the problems of civilization.

"I killed me a couple, yea" Hunter says proudly "nasty creatures, these goblins. One of ‘em nearly took my eye out with ‘ees spear"

"Balan is a healer. A holy man of the faith" Natasha answered the cowled stranger "the only other healers in Lugsid are at the Church" she gave the others a short nod, before leaving to fetch the man, Hunter hurrying behind her after nudging their mules onward.

It’s well over an hour, maybe closer to two, before they spot a man coming up the trail. He’s older, likely in his late fifties, wearing a yellowish shirt that has long since lost its white hue, and a wrinkled grey hat, not meant to shield him from the sun, but to cover his bald head from view. His eyebrows lift when he sees the group, and he quickens his pace, striding purposefully toward you.

"Good afternoon, sirs. May the blessings of the Three be upon you," he says, but his words falter as he notices some of you are injured, the blood staining your clothes unmistakable. "Are… are you all right?"

Nightshade steps out of the concealment of the woodland to meet the healer and introduce himself. "Greetings Balan, I am Nightshade a child of the forest. May the growth of the forest add you in your journey. Two members of our party are injured and would benefit from some healing. We'd appreciate it if you could help us. Also, we've captured a goblin, and I understand you speak a bit of the Grub'nak tongue. Would you be willing to help us interrogate him? Anything we could learn about this gang of marauders and who's riling them up would be useful in restoring Justice to the forest." Nightshade watches Balan trying to sense his motive (Insight) as he talks to the healer.

Brother Yakov bows his head politely to Balan. "I'm badly wounded, but I believe I'll survive another day. Nightshade hear has the right of it." Yakov looks at the captured goblin. "I'm beginning to wonder if I should have killed this one here. But I thought maybe he could prove useful."

Anton nods in response to Balan's blessing, and then chimes in after Brother Yakov, "I am injured as well." he then removes his hand from his side where it's clear the blood on his clothes has emanated from.

"Bless my beard! An Elf!! I haven’t seen one of your kind since I was a little boy" Balan could barely believe his own eyes. Elves very rarely left their wooden realm to travel among humans. For some, their existence was nothing more than faerie tales. He wondered what drove Nightshade to leave his home, he was sure there was an interesting tale behind it. But that question, and also the one regarding the tied-up goblin, would have to wait.

"In your tender mercy, Petra, heal this body and ease this suffering. Restore them with the gentleness of your grace" as soon as Balan finishes uttering the prayer, a warmth spreads throughout the wound, easing the pain as the skin knits together. The swelling fades, and the cuts close perfectly without leaving a trace of the injury.

Once your wounds are tended, the old priest nods at you "I will do what I can to help you with this one. I’m afraid I’m not fluent at Grub’nak, but I know enough to carry a simple conversation. What will you have me ask of him?"

Nightshade watches, feeling comforted, as he sees his companions restored to health. He then looks at the goblin prisoner with distaste. "I can think of three questions we could ask: How many goblins are there, where is your nest, and who is your leader?" Looking to his companions, Nightshade then asks, "What other useful information might this goblin have?"

"I'm curious why they seem so starved. Is something driving them from their usual hunting grounds into our lands?"

Anton felt his wound stitch together and he sighed in relief. He of course would have to spend some time scrubbing the blood from his clothes, but for now he was just happy to be whole.

"Thank you" he said to Balan

In response to the goblin questions Anton added, "What traps or defenses should we expect at your camp? And also is there a secondary location the tribe might move now that they are warned we are coming?"

Balan begins speaking with the goblin. The conversation is initially stiff and cautious, until he offers the goblin some water from his own skin, and the goblin drinks gratefully, sipping until his throat is no longer too dry to speak. After a few more brief exchanges, Balan offers him a small piece of bread, feeding him bit by bit in return for information. The goblin eats quickly, his hunger evident in every gulp.

"Mmm… He says his name is Wormpit. Their leader is Skunkmouth. He’s with the rest of the tribe"

Balan's brow furrows as he listens intently, his face tightening with concern. He turns to Nightshade and apologizes "I’m sorry, but the goblins don’t know how to measure distance, don’t use the four directions, and have no concept of numbers beyond ‘many.’ He can't really answer any of your questions"

He pauses for a moment, watching the goblin closely as he continues "He says a large pack of wolves drove them from their land. With no other place to go, they’ve been living in the forest for the past few weeks, hiding under the ‘hated’ sun and without any permanent shelter. They’ve lost many to starvation and disease, and their tribe has shrunk to barely half its original number. He sounds desperate, like they are all about to face extinction"

Nightshade listens to Balan interview the goblin, not surprised but annoyed that the goblin can't count or understand simple navigational techniques. Shifting impatiently on the trail, he eyes the goblin's gaunt, twitching frame.
The business with the wolves is interesting, as goblins have been known to ride wolves. Perhaps the wolves have a new alpha, leading them to rise up against the goblins. That thought sends a chill down Nightshade's spine. Wolves with a cunning alpha are dire enough, but a force capable of uniting them against the goblins? That hints at something far more sinister, something unnatural.
Regardless, there's something bigger than the goblins out there causing trouble in the forest. The problem is Wormpit isn't a reliable witness. He'd say anything for a scrap of food.
If nothing else, we'll have a story to tell at the Baron's town hall meeting.
"Balan, do you think the Baron's got a dungeon? Or maybe the Sheriff's jail could hold this slippery little rat for the night?

Yakov is pleased that his decision to spare the goblin has brought them potentially useful information. But now he is troubled by the question of what to do with the goblin. Assuming the goblin cannot understand him, he speaks openly, but keeps his voice calm and conversational.

"If the rest of the community has Hunter's attitude, we probably won't get him in the gate. In fact, we'll probably be expected to kill him on the spot or turn him over to be killed. I fear we may be faced with the choice of either killing him or setting him free. Neither option pleases me."

"I am just as reluctant as you are to kill him" the old priest sighs "The Sheriff will never put him in jail, even if we can somehow convince the guards to let him into the city. I think, all things considered, we should take a chance and let him go. One goblin isn't going to make much difference, and maybe we can get him to deliver a message to the rest of his tribe. Keep them from raiding the farmlands"

"All right," Nightshade says, his tone edged with impatience. Here's what I suggest. We release Wormpit back into the wild, but not without a task. We instruct him to relay a message to this Skunkmouth character. Tell him the town is off-limits. It's a death sentence for any goblin who dares to attack or poach from the townsfolk."
Nightshade crosses his arms, his expression thoughtful. "I suspect Skunkmouth won't take it as a warning. He'll see it as a challenge, and we'll have to deal with him sooner or later. But it will do for now." he glances toward the distant silhouette of the town as lights start to flicker on in the late afternoon." Let's meet the Baron and hear what he and the townsfolk have to say."

"We still have to contend with the Goblins to get the farmers pigs, and potentials his dogs corpse, back right? An alternative might be that we take Wormpit with us, bound and gagged, to serve as a bargaining chip for the pigs and dog corpse?" Anton was fine killing goblins before when they were armed, and dangerous, but he didn't have it in him to just kill a prisoner, even if a head on a pike might serve as the best deterrent.

Balan, do you think the township would support bringing the goblins into a commune together? It seems they might simply need a safe haven to thrive.

"Goblins are savage, but they are also cowards. They usually don't attack human settlements, unless they can overwhelm us with numbers. I don't think their leader is out looking for any challenges" Balan shakes his head, and decides to refrain from saying anything about the poor farmer's piglets. Or the farmer's poor piglets? Who knows, maybe some of them did survive so the goblins could raise them, but he wagered most of them were already slaughtered and eaten, considering 'Wormpit' from the same tribe, was barely skin and bones.

"The sun will set in a couple of hours. You don't want to be hunting for goblins at nighttime" he gave them one last piece of advice "I'm going to head back to town myself. I'm sorry - " he nodded at Will "but the people of Lugsid will never accept goblins in their midst, and I can't say I blame them. There is no way for a goblin to earn his keep there, even if he was inclined to"

"Sending this fellow back with a message sounds like the best compromise between sense and ethics, at least for me. Balan is probably correct that we won't be getting the farmer's pigs back. The dog's body is likely a lost cause as well. Starving goblins aren't picky eaters."

Nightshade feels an unexpected touch of camaraderie as Yakov seconds his suggestion to send the goblin back with a message. For a moment, the shared sense of purpose eases the tension building since their encounter with Wormpit. He nods in agreement, the faintest flicker of a grin crossing his face.
Turning to the group, he speaks with measured calm. "I’ll follow Balan’s lead and head back to town for the night. I’m curious to hear what the Baron and the townsfolk say about all this. They’ve lived with these woods longer than we have, and they might know more than they’ve let on."
He glances toward the shadowy forest, "Tomorrow, after a long rest, we’ll return to the forest. I’ve no doubt there’s more devilry lurking out there than just goblins. Whatever it is, we’ll get to the bottom of it."
For a moment, he hesitates, his gaze lingering on Wormpit. "Let’s hope this little rat remembers the message. If not, we’ll be meeting Skunkmouth soon enough, one way or another."

Do we get payment for nabbing the messenger gob,in, or is that a wash?
I’m sorry, what was the message again?
Will waits for business concluding, then settles his fightery self at ye ole Inn!

The Baron finally decides to speak, his low and gravelly voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd

"I know the farmlands have been under attack" he says "and we’re taking measures to put a stop to it. We’ve doubled the guard. Brought in adventurers. We will eliminate this threat"
He lets the words hang in the air for a moment as the crowd falls into an uneasy silence.

From the back of the room, a gruff voice rises above the others. A man steps forward, his face flushed with anger and frustration.

"It was the flour mill," his voice trembles with fury "They attacked it in broad daylight! Knocked me out cold. Took every sack of grain. Everything we’ve worked for—gone."

He clenches his fists, glaring toward the front "How are we supposed to feed our families now?"

The room erupts in a chorus of angry shouts and frantic murmurs. Voices rise from all corners of the hall:
"These goblins are nothing but pests! These goblins!!!"

A man, weathered and rough-looking, pushes his way through the crowd:

"They cut my nets! Stole all my fish!" he shouts in a parched voice "I've lost a week’s worth of work in one night! How are we supposed to survive if they keep taking everything we’ve got?!?!?"

The crowd's anger reaches a boiling point, their voices rising together:

"Those goblins!!!! The goblins!!!"

Another man sways as he stumbles forward, flushed-cheeked, he slurs his every word
"I—I was out in the forest, chopping wood," he mumbles "I closed my eyes for just a moment, and when I opened 'em... my axe was gone! Goblins! It’s gotta be the goblins!!!"

The crowd falls silent for a moment. Eyes roll, and a few people exchange skeptical glances, clearly unconvinced

The drunk stumbles again, his face flushed with urgency. "No, no, I’m tellin’ you, the goblins took it! the gob-lins!!"

A faint murmur ripples through the crowd, and the mob, reluctantly, calls out again "the goblins!!"

The Baron’s voice cuts through the murmurs:

"Calm yourselves," he says firmly, his gaze sweeping across the gathered townsfolk. "I know you’re angry, and I understand your fear. But rest assured, my men will track down these goblins come morning. We will find them, and we will end this."
He pauses, his sharp blue eyes locking with the crowd "You have my word. Everything will be taken care of. For now, return to your homes, stay vigilant, and trust that we will put an end to this."

Nightshade listens patiently as the Baron delivers his speech, his sharp eyes scanning the gathered townsfolk for their reactions. When the crowd begins to disperse, he confidently composes, introducing himself and his companions to the Baron and Sheriff.
"Good evening, Baron. Sheriff," he begins again, his tone respectful yet direct. After the introductions, Nightshade offers a concise report. "While tracking the goblins that raided Farmer Pyotor, we encountered an ambush of five goblins, more aggressive than I’d expected. Their leader, a goblin calling himself Skunkmouth, came up in our interrogation. I wonder if that name means anything to you?"
He lets the question hang momentarily, gauging their expressions before continuing. "I hope you’ll forgive me for stating the obvious, but it seems these goblins are stockpiling food. That behavior points to something larger, a sizable force, or perhaps a large creature, hidden in the woods outside your town."
He pauses, his gaze steady, scrutinizing their faces for any sign of recognition or concern. "I was curious, what are your plans for counter-raids in the morning? If this is the start of something bigger, we’d be wise to act quickly."
After a moment, he leans back slightly, a faint, wry smile playing on his lips. "And, not to be indelicate, but there’s also the matter of compensation. Who should we speak to about payment for the five goblins we dealt with earlier today? It was hardly the welcome party we were hoping for."

Yes, payment for services rendered would be most appreciated.

The baron gives a brief nod, and the sheriff steps forward to address your inquiries.
"I don’t know any goblin names," he says coldly "As far as I’m concerned, the only good goblin is a dead goblin."
A murmur of approval ripples through the crowd.

"We'll leave at dawn tomorrow. Spread out and follow the trails into the forest. With so many of us, we should be able to handle whatever we encounter," the sheriff seems confident they could handle the situation "Vasile here will handle your compensation for today’s work." He seems irritated at having to address this now, but he knows it must be done. "You may approach him once the meeting concludes."

He pauses, scanning the room. "Now, unless there are any further questions—"

Will shakes his fightery head. I’ve no questions presently,he says with wary confidence.

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.

Any lingering doubts they had about the raven’s intentions were quickly dispelled. The bird, with its glossy black feathers, hopped forward, cawed loudly, and then paused, as if waiting for you to follow. It glanced back over its shoulder, its beady eyes locking with yours, and then fluttered its wings again, calling out in a series of sharp, urgent cries. It led you off the main road, its calls growing more insistent with every step you take.

The journey doesn't last long, barely a few minutes of walking, before you find yourselves standing at the edge of a thick cluster of bushes. The raven, unbothered by the undergrowth, perched nearby and emitted another loud, commanding call, its sharp tone cutting through the stillness of the surrounding forest.

You push through the dense branches, and once you clear the last of the foliage, you're met with a gruesome sight.

The body of a young woman lay in the underbrush, her delicate features pale and lifeless. She was dressed in a bright yellow gown, its vivid color almost too vibrant against the pallor of her skin, and her dark hair, now disheveled, was spread out around her like a dark halo. Her face is ashen, her eyes closed in eternal slumber.

The raven, as if urging you to take closer note, flew closer, its wings stirring the air as it circled above the woman’s head before landing on the ground next to her.

Anton felt his stomach turn at the site, he suppressed the urge to vomit. "By the gods...did Goblins do this?" he hated to admit it, but it almost looked too 'put together' for a Goblin attack. In fact it was hard to tell what had killed her at all, were it not for her breathless form one could think she was just sleeping.

"I agree. This whole thing feels staged," Nightshade says, his tone low but firm. He pauses, meeting the Messenger’s gaze, and offers a respectful nod. "It’s unsettling, to say the least, that a known trickster and harbinger of death has led us to this site."
He falls silent for a moment, bowing his head in a quiet prayer to the forest, asking for guidance and protection.
Raising his head, he casts a wary glance at the Sheriff and the mob, their agitation palpable. "All right," he says, his voice steady. "Let’s take a look at the scene before the Sheriff and his mob trample over any clues that might be left."
With that, Nightshade kneels near the body, his movements deliberate and precise. His sharp eyes scan the area as he begins a slow, methodical search of the corpse and the surrounding woodlands, alert for anything out of place, disturbed earth, broken branches, or signs of a struggle. Every detail matters, and he knows the forest holds answers if only he can read its signs.

Will gazes emerald eyes over the scene, and strides carefully along the area. Joining in the investigation.

"Seems quite un-goblin-like to strangle a young woman. They cant' even reach her throat without having to knock her down first. We've learned first hand they'd rather stick you with a long spear and run away.

More likely, someone less gobliny did this, perhaps hoping to use the goblin raids as cover for their foul deed. We should bring this to the attention of the sheriff quietly. He seems reasonable, and would probably recognize that blaming goblins could mean a murderer is still loose in his town."

Edit to add a skill check. Not sure if INT (11) or WIS (14) applies.

Will gazes upon divergent tracks with wary emerald eyes. Gauntleted hand rubs fair-skinned chin a moment, then our fightery fellow proposes, I feel like the human is the quarry we’re after, my friends.

Shall we continue after the human tracks, and see where they lead?

"Agreed, but do the Goblin tracks indicate it stumbled upon her? Or was the goblin working with the human?"

Speaking quietly to his companions, Nightshade says. "Now we have proof this deviltry runs deeper than just goblins."
He waits patiently as his companions complete their inspection of the scene, his eyes scanning the forest’s edge for any sign of movement. Once satisfied that every detail has been examined, Nightshade straightens and signals to the Sheriff.
"Sheriff," he begins, gesturing toward the body and the two distinct sets of tracks leading back to the main road. His tone is calm but firm. "We’ve found something worth your attention. Two sets of tracks here. They might lead us to whoever’s responsible."
He pauses, his gaze shifting to the body, his expression softening slightly. "I suggest we return the body to the family. They deserve the chance to mourn and prepare for the burial ceremony. Whatever’s behind this, we’ll need to approach it with care and a clear head."

Will rises from forested ground, and kindly sides up to Nightshade. Confident in his friend’s diplomatic dispositions. Our fightery fellow stands stoic, ready to help.

When the sheriff finally arrives, the crowd falls silent. He asks the same questions, but doesn’t press too hard. He knows he must gather the rest of the search parties first, before he would lose more men to the terrors of the night

"I’ll see you back in town" he signals to a couple of his men to move closer, so they can relieve you of the body "I don’t want anyone walking outside during such late hour. Not if we don’t have to"

The silent flutter of wings are not noticed by anyone. The croak of the raven is not. Zirchev’s messenger, flying away, accompanying a soul toward its final destination

After politely enduring the torrent of questions from the townsfolk, Nightshade trails behind the Sheriff and the others as they trudge back to town. The weight of their discovery hangs heavy in the air.
Nightshade lets out a quiet sigh, his gaze fixed on the darkened horizon. "Well," he murmurs to his companions, his tone a mix of resignation and grim satisfaction, "our assignment was to find the girl, and we've done that. Perhaps not in the state we'd hoped, but we've fulfilled our task."
He casts a glance at his companions, gauging their moods before falling silent again. The road ahead feels longer than it should, the forest's shadows pressing in as the group marches on.

Yakov says a quick prayer for the girl as her body is taken away. Then he solemnly accompanies the others back to town. No mirthful drinking tonight - though perhaps a solemn drink to calm the nerves.

"Get some rest," Yakov tells his new friends. "I don't know what tomorrow holds for us, but I suspect there will be more deeds that need doing."

Sleep? How could anyone sleep with a killer on the loose?

"We are not going to try and find this young ladies killer this evening?" Anton was rattled at the proposition of merely calling it a night. Sure, he felt a weariness in his bones, but it was overcome by a sort of zealotry. The look in the Sherriff's eyes had summoned a fire up in him. He didn't have kids, but the thought of losing one still caused him a sort of anxiety that he could not shake.

Yakov looks at Anton with sympathy. "I understand your desire to see this wrong avenged. But the night is black. People are scurrying about, upset. It will be very difficult to gain new information before morning, and if you stay up all night, then you won't be at your best tomorrow. We should preserve our strength if we are to continue to be of use."

Anton heard Brother Yakov's words, his logical brain understood it, but there was something about just...going to bed that seemed so wrong. Still, he would have a clearer head in the morning.

He nodded, "You are right, thanks for setting me straight"