Maxwell’s good nature dissolves and he scowls down the passageway.
“Well,” he says grudgingly. “You may be on to something about leaving our flank exposed. Consider this, though - these horses are bait, not kobold loot. Those fuckers about shit themselves when they saw us come down the passage.”
He shakes his head.
“Whatever’s down there isn’t going to be any kind of picnic, and if it’s a demon we’re going in on its terms. But yeah… I’m ready.”
Since it seems like Tasha’s player is still out, I’ll npc her until Time Stranger returns to the game.
Tasha responds to Gerald’s observation about the horses. “I’ll take them outside!” she says a bit too eagerly. She hands her torch off to Moftar as takes the animals back toward the entrance. It’s clear she has no desire to delve further into the claustrophobic caves.
The others gather together and follow behind Maxwell and Clayton, weapons drawn. Progress is steady but slow in the dark caves, with only the torch in Moftar’s hand to light the way. The caves and tunnels are in remarkably good condition. Surprisingly, Clayton is the one best able to remember the party’s progress and prevent them from becoming lost.
There is a sudden sound ahead, quiet but sharp, in yet another of the large chambers in the cave. Moftar lifts the torch high, casting light upon a figure in the cavern. The creature scrambles backward, shielding its eyes with its arm.
“No! Away!” the creature hisses. It’s a goblin, unarmed and terrified. Strangely, the goblin is speaking a human language which everyone can understand.
“I will never join you!” the goblin screeches in a pitiful, sobbing voice. “Kill me, then. Kill me!”
From its reaction to the torchlight, Cobar is quite sure this goblin hasn’t been outside in a very long time. Has it been living here for months, overlooked by the Obe people when they drove the goblins out?
Cobar instinctively reaches for his bow with his left hand while grabbing for an arrow with his right. In a blink of an eye he could end this horrid creatures existence. However, his better judgement checks his actions before he can follow through, not out of pity, but out cold, calculated business. He speaks to the creature in Goblin and then in Common, speaking the same words:
“Relax. We’re not here for you.”
He then continues in common, an edge of not very well held back menace in his voice:
"Normally I would kill you outright. Your people have fouled your own lands for too long, and have tried to foul my people’s. We drove your kind out of here a few weeks ago. Apparently we missed your twisted self. But in exchange for what you know, I promise I’ll let you go, provided you leave here and slither back to whatever cesspool you spawned from and never return. And I highly suggest you do so quickly. My people regularly patrol these lands, and they have no bargain to strike with you, so they will kill you on sight.
“What do you fear? And if you fear it so much, why do you remain, when the rest of your people have fled or were killed?”
The goblin’s eyes squint warily at Cobar upon hearing the human speak its language.
It’s over so quickly that nobody could see it but Gerald; the goblin’s eyes dart aside and back to Cobar. This one is clever, Gerald realizes. It’s planning. Even as he makes this realization, the goblin catches Gerald’s eye. There is a moment of understanding between them, like two predators deciding whether to destroy each other, or cooperate for bigger prey…
“Cannot leave,” the goblin replies, his attention back to Cobar. “Am chained here. Held by terrible power. A brute haunts here, orc called Garn. Tribe leader, fallen to demon. He hunts me, but stay hidden. His magic will find. Feel it already. Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Take you to him.”
20 hours of silence later…
Moftar to group: “Don’t look at me, my hands are full. I can’t even scratch myself!”
Moftar: “…okay. Fine.” Moftar strides forward towards the goblin, raising the torch high in one hand, and his staff before him in the other. “I AM MOFTAR, CHOSEN ONE OF SOVIN THE MIGHTY! TAKE ME TO THEIR LEADER!”
Cobar watches Moftar’s actions with a mix of amusement and bemusement. He then says to no one in particular:
“Looks like we have a deal then.”
He then addresses the goblin.
“I will keep my word that after all this if you don’t double-cross us you are free to go. Leave here and don’t look back.”
I’m going to give everyone a bit more time to respond, to see who’s still with us before updating the thread. Expect a game update tomorrow evening.
Gerald eyes the goblin, clearly uneasy with the situation…
“Let’s go, then. I’ll guard our rear.”
The goblin’s eyes light up, and he scrambles to his feet.
“Kill Garn! Yes! I help. Follow!”
The goblin gestures excitedly toward a passageway, and slinks off, seeming to melt into the darkness. Cobar is astounded at how stealthy the creature is. This goblin is quiet enough that it certainly could have been the horse thief, but it still doesn’t explain why the horses themselves didn’t make any noise…
Moftar knows demon sorcery when he sees it. The goblin seems to be protected by a magical aura of silence, dampening the noise around him. Did the goblin cast this sorcery himself? Or was it part of the witchcraft that “Garn,” the orc tribe-leader, used to enslave this pitiful creature? The horse thief mystery is solved, but it leaves even more questions to be answered.
Cobar knows a bit more than he’d like about goblin culture. Individuals wouldn’t have names. This one shows remarkable cleverness just to be capable of referring to himself with a pronoun.
It’s difficult for the party to keep up with the goblin, as it is so eager it’s practically leaping forward. “Hurry!” the creature urges, as the party is led even deeper into the caves. The further into the earth they delve, the lower their spirits sink. Even the boldest among them are nervous as the passages become narrower, and the air more stale.
“Stop!” the goblin demands suddenly, finger to its lips. “Garn is near. Dwarf-built stone ahead; a door to his lair! I am weak, but you? Strong.” The goblin pounds its fists together, a broad and ugly smile on its face. “I lied to Garn. Told him you were only two soft, fat merchants with horses. He said ‘bring them to me, so I may consume their souls.’ Ha! I bring them, but not what he expects! I bring him warriors! Kill him, and I am free! You keep his treasure. Gold, books, maps, axe, and jeweled crown!”
Cobar and Gerald exchange glances, sharing similar thoughts. This goblin just admitted to his crime! Perhaps the creature isn’t as crafty as they thought…
The group has one final chance to turn away, leaving the sniveling goblin to its fate and ignoring the demon-possessed orc in the chamber ahead. Garn will not be easy to defeat!
At the mention of treasure, Maxwell’s eyes gleam. His tongue flicks out and he licks his lips.
“Gold, huh?”
He moves up next to Cobar and leans in, whispering in his ear.
“We truss and gag the goblin so that it can’t betray us during the fight ahead. We can come back for it after, when it’s time to go to the surface.”
Clayton draws his sword(if it wasn’t drawn this entire time). He prepares to fight and is not afraid of what lies ahead.
Moftar strides forwards towards the door, examining it carefully for signs of traps, magical wardings, and the like. With his torch he motions the goblin forward.
“Come forward, ally, and listen with me carefully to this door… perhaps we can hear what Garn is up to inside? Your goblin ears are certainly much more sensitive than mine, press them up against the door like this and tell me what you hear?”
Moftar leans his ear up against the door, and motions for the goblin to do likewise (which would conveniently leave it with its back turned towards the rest of the party, hint hint. 
)
Cobar to Maxwell:
“Agreed. Goblins are an untrustworthy lot. I don’t want to turn my back on this guy for one second. You grab him and muzzle him before he can so much as squeak, and I’ll tie him up and gag him.”
The group approaches a giant, circular stone door.
“No other way in,” the goblin whispers. The creature is trembling with nerves.
Moftar puts his ear to the door. After a moment, he gestures to the goblin. “Come forward, ally, and listen with me carefully to this door… perhaps we can hear what Garn is up to inside? Your goblin ears are certainly much more sensitive than mine, press them up against the door like this and tell me what you hear?”
The goblin seems reluctant to approach, and takes a moment to consider. Finally he steps forward and puts his own ear to the door, face-to-face with Moftar. It’s hard for the group to decide which of the two is more unappealing.
Suddenly, Maxwell seizes the goblin! One hand wraps around the goblin’s mouth, while his other arm wraps around the goblin’s chest and pulls it to the ground. Cobar is upon the pair immediately, and expertly ties and gags the creature while Maxwell restrains it.
Despite Maxwell and Cobar’s promise to return when the fight is over, the goblin glares at them with murder in its eyes. It might take more than a promise to undo what the goblin surely considers a heinous betrayal…
Gerald is the first to approach the heavy iron crank in front of the door. He turns the crank, and the massive stone begins to slide noisily aside. There’s no way the group could take anyone inside by surprise.
As the stone door clears the entry, the party can see inside a large room, sturdy and well kept in contrast to the rest of the tunnels. An orc sits on a massive earthen throne carved into the opposite wall. The orc is physically typical for its race; much taller and broader than a man. Tusks emerge from his mouth in a low arc, ending in forward-facing points. His skin is a pale mix of gray and green, with wild bleach-white hair covering his head and neck like a mane.
“We hunger,” the orc growls as he stands. His eyes glow bright orange in the darkness, and he raises a wicked axe in his right hand, high above his head. “Your flesh, for me! Your souls, for Zine! We are invincible!”
The orc smashes the axe against his shield, and shouts a battle cry as he charges toward the group!
Maxwell grins ferally and reaches up to adjust his helm. He glances aside at Clayton, hefting his shield and drawing his blade.
“All right, kid. Showtime. Stay on my flank and keep the fucker away from the soft targets.”
He strides forward, only a step or two so as to avoid giving too much room for the orc to maneuver around him, shouting, “Zine can lick my taint, you pustulant sack of crap! I’ll send you to hell to bugger your grandmother!”
[Sentinel protocols activated. Beep boop. If the taunt fails, he’ll stay close to the rest of the group to protect them, attacking if given the opportunity.]
Cobar quickly draws his bow and begins pumping arrows into the goblin as fast as they can fly.
Moftar screams and scrambles away from the goblin as arrows fly. :eek: “The ORC, Cobar, shoot the ORC instead! It’s the big mean one with the axe, not this little guy you just tied up!”
FTR, I meant the Orc.
Gerald steps back from the doorway to make room for those better armed and armored than himself. He keeps one eye on the orc, one on the goblin near his feet, and one eye scaning the passageways for any new arrivals.
(feel free to adjust the number of eyes as appropriate)