The goblin was quick to talk, although he still felt the need to lie about the marauders’ origins. “The mountains” he said, but it was obvious he was scared of being the one who ratted out his friends.
Not as if it mattered what he said: a horde of goblins isn’t hard to track.
But before I went galavanting off to make sure my family was safe, out little group caught the attention of Lord Eoffram Troyas, a member of the Brindol City Council. He had no men to spare, he explained, but he wanted to know where this horde had come from.
I wanted to know, too: if they passed through the Witchwood then my family might have been caught in their path. Troyas’ generous offer of a reward was nice– I need some money to continue the search for Father– but my favorite part was that it got all these others to come along.
We followed the trail of devastation that the army left as it marched on Brindol. They did indeed come out of the Witchwood, but more westerly; Mother and the Twins were safe. A sigh of relief, but now instead of bringing allies along as I find information for my own purposes, I find myself honor-bound to stay along for the duration as we discover the genesis of this attack.
This morning we crested a ridge and saw a ruin in the valley below; Montiago identified it as Rivenroar while I was still searching my memory for the name; the gnome will keep me on my feet, I see. Good.
But Rivenroar is long-abandoned. Why, then, is there smoke rising from its tower? We’ll have to find out.