The bright light of shadowed sun shone down through the broken boughs like a spotlight on a grand stage. A mountainous statue stood in the glow, carved in exquisite detail, one arm raised to shield stony eyes from the sun’s gaze. Behind it lay the shattered stump of a felled tree, home to thousands of now displaced bats. 

In the final moments of the battle, just after she’d cast her new spell, Autumn had ducked under a sturdy protruding root to shelter from the wrath of the stampeding troll. Unfortunately, as the sunlight turned the beast to stone, it’d stepped in front of the gap to Autumn’s hideaway and sealed her in. 

It wasn’t like she wanted to be under another root again; it was just how things worked out. Autumn had to admit as she awaited rescue that it was strange that this had happened three times so far: first in the canyon, then hiding from the fairy-dragon, and finally now. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone and her friends swiftly extracted her from a prison of roots by axe and magic. The plant life gave way where the stone would not. 

Even as stone, the troll’s hide proved impossibly tough.

“It’s a pity,” Nethlia said as she pulled Autumn from the root prison. 

Autumn blinked. “What is?” 

Nethlia nodded at the troll statue. “That we couldn’t get that hide. Troll hide is highly prized as leather armor; it’s highly resistant to magic, as you saw. Not that I’m criticizing you or anything; we’d have lost far more people if not for you.”

Autumn's eyes met the troll's frightened, stony gaze as it stood tall above her before she looked over towards the wounded and dead.

Sir Rashe lay under a holy light of healing, critically wounded but somehow not dead. The fate of the other two guards was not as kind. One was but a crimson stain on the ground and the face of a broken calcified club, while the other was in two, with one piece occupying the troll's petrified digestive system. The other wounded that the troll had scattered like dolls griped and groaned but possessed nothing worse than a few broken bones. 

Autumn helped where she could to lay the dead to rest by collecting up shattered branches into a small pyre. As was custom for the Inferni peoples, they were cremated; luckily the covered tunnel offered shelter from the rain and their new skylight allowed the drifting smoke to escape. 

Once their bodies were into ash, they swiftly doused the fire.

As they were no longer in a rush the adventurers were free to rest inside the shelter of the tunnel and loot the troll’s lair. Those that went out brought back a treasure pile of gold, gems, and artworks. However, the greatest prizes in the troll’s horde was a minor magical scroll and four minor Healing Potions. 

While the scroll ended up tucked away for sale later, they handed the four potions out to the parties. Seeing as there were five parties, Captain Ekrus opted to go without as they were less likely to remember them in their battle rage. Pyre grabbed theirs and set about tending to the party’s wounds; Autumn only had a few bumps and scrapes from dodging the troll and the rain of splinters. 

The light at the end of the tunnel welcomed them alongside the downpour of rain as they continued on their journey of extermination. 

---

 

A flick of a crooked wand sent a bolt of guided fear at a giant frog pretending to be a boulder. Autumn watched with faint amusement as it croaked and bound away into the muddy waters with a splash; she’d sensed the beast following them for a while now, hoping to pick off their lame members. 

Ever since they’d left the tree-way tunnel, the landscape had opened up once more into hills of peat and flooded pools. However, with the cover of dense trees gone, their progress had slowed the closer they got to the goblin encampment.  

It appeared off in the distance as a trio of massive trees bound together with patchwork homes and walls. A wicked sound of discordant drumbeats and foul singing filled the air as they steadily approached, dodging stealthily between hills and clusters of dense vegetation. 

Silently, a witch rose out of the murky water behind a small hill. The last stretch before the goblin camp was an open plain with sporadic clumps of vegetation, forcing them to swim underwater to get closer undetected. Autumn quietly gasped for a breath as she wiped the mud and grime from her eyes. 

Judging by the continued ruckus the goblins were making, they had not seen her.

Nethlia rose out of the murk beside Autumn, and the pair crawled up to the lip of the hill where the others were waiting. Peering over the edge, they got a look at the goblin camp in all its foul glory. 

Silhouetted by an enormous orange fan of vegetation was a trio of titanous trees rising from the fetid bog, parasitized by goblin structures like giant leeches feasting upon the carcass of some once proud beast. Leafless, they rose like gallows awaiting the hangman. No sane mind had taken part in the construction of this ramshackle fortress; huts of dismal quality tore, shoved, or lashed themselves into whatever cramped space there was in a bewildering maze. 

Whether intentional or otherwise, the goblins had created a hellish terrain to assault.

The keep was painted crimson. All along the walkways and towers hung the broken and butchered bodies of Bogward’s lost residents and any soul unfortunate enough to fall prey to these beings of unmatched cruelty. It wasn’t clear to Autumn whether they’d been dead prior to being displayed. 

These macabre displays of cruelty further cemented their place within the grander game of good and evil. 

Surrounding the proxy keep was a moat of piss and shit, crossable only by a makeshift drawbridge of questionable integrity. Currently, it was raised and lashed in place by a series of weathered and molded ropes. That’d likely, and hopefully, be their intended port of entry for their assault. 

Autumn didn’t envy who’d have to cross to cut it down.

Hundreds of recaps and other goblinoids stomped as they sang, or croaked, horrible hymns with their high-pitched voices; a great orchestra of foul-intent. Amongst the gathering hobbled bigger, uglier goblins smacking those that got in their way. Fights were a common sight, even in the few moments that Autumn watched. 

Lifeblood flowed freely in the blood-stained fortress. 

Goblins as descendants of the Feywild were afeared of cold-iron, so they bore none of its ilk. Instead, they armed themselves with wicked knives of bone or great glaves and spears made of bog-worn copper. 

Having seen all she needed, Nethlia crept back from the hill’s lip while gesturing for Autumn to follow in her wake. The rest of the party, excluding Pyre and her beacon-like hair, remained to monitor the goblin fortress. The alchemist herself looked downright miserable from the short swim; her flaming hair quenched to just flickering embers atop a scalp of cracked, charcoal-like skin.

The other parties spread themselves out behind the other low hills bordering the fortress and set up cold camps for the night. They would not attack in the night as the gloaming would not aid them; Redcaps and goblinkind possessed the grace of darkvision and would see their approach in the cruel shadows cast by a dying sun or rising moons.

As Autumn and Nethlia retreated to the water’s edge they were met with the faces of the other adventurer captains rising out of the murk. They’d convened to their little hideaway to assess and plan. 

Nethlia nodded to the others as they crept out of the waters. “Nice swim?”

Captain Ekrus snorted. “Cold as an Ice Elemental’s balls.” 

Autumn blinked. Did Ice Elementals have balls?

“As amusing a thought as that is, how about we go over our plans, hmm? Captain Nethlia, what kind of opposition are we looking at?” Captain Arsit asked. 

Nethlia nudged Autumn forwards into the spotlight, giving her a nod to speak. Surprised, Autumn took a moment to collect herself before speaking about what she’d seen as confidently and concisely as she could. 

“W-well, there’s about at least over a hundred, possibly two hundred smaller goblinoids and about a dozen larger ones. The structure is very ramshackle, but the biggest obstacle is a moat they’re using as a latrine that encircles it. However, there is a drawbridge over it, but it’s currently raised. I spotted a few watchtowers here and there in the boughs, but they seem sparsely manned and I have no clue if they have a rotation or something sophisticated like that.”

Captain Ekrus snorted again. “I very much doubt it. These pests don’t do things like ‘organizing’.” 

“I would not be so dismissive. They gathered here, didn’t they?” Captain Xiltuil interjected. 

“Right. Back on the subject, please?” Captain Arsit turned back to Autumn. “Were the larger goblins Bugbears by chance, or shamans?”

“Uh, if a Bugbear is a lankly looking bear, then yes. I didn't catch sight of any spell casters, but there are numerous buildings up there they could hide in.” 

Captain Gilralei hummed. “There should be. Usually there’s one for every sixty goblins, or so I’ve read. It’s not a hard rule, but we should bear it in mind.”

“Do we think this group is large enough for a Goblin King?” Captain Ekrus asked. 

The atmosphere chilled at the mention. Nervous eyes darted over at the hillside behind which the fortress lay. Autumn swallowed as the tension crept over them like a hive of baby spiders breaking free of a cocoon; she didn’t know what exactly a king would mean in this world, but from the other’s looks of trepidation, she could infer it wasn’t a good thing.

“No, this group is too small. If it was a thousand goblinoids then I’d be worried and we’d be seeing trolls.” Everyone looked at Gilralei with raised brows and she blushed. “I meant Goblin-Trolls.”

Everyone gave quiet chuckles. Autumn just raised an eyebrow at the strange humor, not quite getting the joke. 

Captain Arsit stroked his chin as he thought. “So, we need to cross stealthily the, ahem, excuse my language, excrement-filled trench, and lower the drawbridge. The watchtowers make it impossible for all of us to cross without being noticed.”

“My people can take care of the watchers and give you a chance.” Captain Xiltuil said. 

“You sure? It’s not going to be a pleasant experience.”

“Pleasure has nothing to do with it. My people will get it done.” 

The other captains all gave nods of respect. 

Captain Ekrus spoke up next. “I suppose me and my boys can get that bridge down. Heh, and here I thought I wouldn’t have to wade through shit again after becoming an adventurer. Shows what I know.” 

Captain Arsit nodded in appreciation. “A heroic deed, both of you. I’ll honor you with a drink once this is all over.”

“Heh. I’ll hold you to that.”

Captain Arsit smiled. “Right. Captain Nethlia, Captain Gilralei, once the bridge is down would your two groups be able to secure the bridgehead and alleviate pressure from Captain Ekrus?”

Nethlia nodded. “Sure thing, but we don’t have much staying power in the long run; we’re more heavy hitters than pure defenders.” 

“That’s fine, you just need to hold long enough for my company and the Duskguard to take over.” 

“Speaking of, where is our ‘illustrious’ Captain Morlech?” Nethlia asked, barely holding back a sneer. 

“He’s holding back for a moment, ‘leading from the rear,’ he said.” Captain Arsit shook his head. “Moving on from that, are there any other questions? No? Alright.” 

“One last time. Captain Xiltuil crosses to eliminate the watchers, Captain Ekrus follows after receiving his signal and cuts down the bridge, Captain Nethlia and Captain Gilralei secure the bridgehead while I and the Duskguard follow behind. After that, we clean up the goblins without taking any undue risks.”

Seeing their looks of acknowledgement he carried on.

“We’ll attack at dawn; that’s when they are least likely to spot us. Head on back to our camps and get a good night's rest. Remember to keep a solid watch and a hush; we don’t want them alerted before we are ready.”

As the captains broke up the meeting, a flutter of movement caught Autumn’s attention. Perched upon a lonesome tree was a many-eyed raven, its red eyes gazing intently at Autumn. She frowned before turning away to follow Nethlia. When she next looked back, it was gone, leaving behind only a few black feathers drifting in the breeze.

A cold camp awaited her just beyond the watchful eyes of the murderous Redcaps.