Tuakiin had grown quite accustomed to the sound of massive Goblin head trauma. It had a certain satisfying quality to it.
The bloody red insignia on their shields was new, though. As was their determination.
And they’re all heading south. Is this the army we were warned about by the scouts? They seem… disorganised, at best.
It had been several days since the siege at Hommlet. No doubt they’d be safe and getting back on their feet with the new garrison.
So, he headed north. Might as well get some concrete intelligence. A quick gallon or two in the (soon to be no longer) only pub in Fandolin on the way.
Onwards north. Another band of marauding goblins.
SPLAT. CRUNCH. URG.
These goblins can’t be it. Surely. They’re no kind of army th—
tromp. tromp. tromp. tromp. tromp. tromp. TROMP. TROMP.
Oh. That’d be them.