Dear Uncle Goatbender,
This is why you can’t trust humans and halflings. Having tracked the mud of the undertunnels half way across the overworld, I had fallen in with a group of what could loosely be termed ‘adventurers,’ though I’ve yet to see much evidence of a thirst for adventure in them. We have a big fella with a burned up face, a couple of halflings- one of them wouldn’t stop going on about his special bacon, and the other claimed powers of magic. I saw tiny Halfling pigs, which admittedly looked delicious, to back up the claims of the first, but nothing more than glowing rocks to back up the latter. There was a woman, too, but she kept her thoughts to herself. In truth, they were all fairly quiet except the little butcher.
Looking for adventure in Fallcrest, we decided to seek out the ancestral home of the big human, Baurim, Bacim, something like that. Human names tend to roll unpleasantly around the mouth like week-old meatballs. Regardless, we endured a wolf attack during the night as we travelled the King’s Road- some king, I say. Everything above ground seems pretty transient, and the ‘safety’ of the road meant that the poor starving creatures sought their last meal from our cart, and we were forced to slay them. Unfortunate, but the pelts may sell if we can get them scraped and stretched.
When we reached the manor, it was burned down- poorly constructed, I suspect, but humans don’t build to last. The party was so reluctant to seek out the goblins who had slain our companion’s whole family, that it took me aback. I know that surface folk have strange concepts of honour and courage, but it seemed that all courage left them at the first sniff of green blood, and they had to be cajoled to even consider seeking out the greenskins. Some elves turned up, and talked to the human a while in their chirping birdsong language. Whatever they said, it seemed that at least we could seek some combat at last. If they’ve been fighting the goblins for 200 years, and we can raze the keep in a few days, they’ll hear me laughing all the way to the Granite Halls.
We tracked the goblins to one of their bolt-holes, and while we dithered, the little butcher refused to climb the platform that housed the goblin scouts, because “he was too little to climb.” Well, I don’t need to tell you, my blood fairly boiled, and it was clear to me that this group, so frightened of a few goblins (they barely outnumbered us! Six to five! SIX to Five! One apiece if you count Rumbles!) that they betrayed the colour of their livers. If only to get the stench of fear from my nose, I climbed one of the platforms and slew one of the goblins, while the human killed the other. Took an arrow, but returned it with interest.
I fear for the future- although I am eager to storm the Goblin Keep, I am concerned that I am doing so largely alone, as none of the others have demonstrated much fortitude for a real fight. With only goblins for enemies though, I haven’t much hope for a noteworthy battle, but I will write you when I can, all the same.
Your devoted nephew,
PS- Rumbles is well, but his horns are starting to peel a bit. Is that normal?