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Having seen the problem with the guards about the same time as Brutus, Drombar's cry of warning was stifled by Brutus' quick response. Glad that the Drow prevented Mogwai from rushing blindly in to what could be a trap, Drombar trailed along behind the others with his bow ready. Stepping over the beartraps, Drombar spies the fletching of a quarrel sticking out of the nearest sentry, and he goes over to inspect it more closely.
"Traps." Mogwai growls back at the others. He sniffs around the trap and the body, anxious to figure out what happened.
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"Whoever did this was sneaky enough to creep up on hobgoblin sentries, and kill them with one shot. My guess is that it must have been at least two snipers firing simultaneously. It looks like the same poison that killed Jim's man. I suspect that the Bear traps are the hobgoblins doing; they strike me as oddly inept compared to the finesse of whoever perpetrated this assassination. Brutus, have you found any tracks?"
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The hobgoblin died very quickly and was obviously poisoned before being propped in place, probably about a day before.
There aren't any obvious tracks around, even hobgoblin, its likely they were covered up.
You aren't sure who put the traps, but they seem to be placed within the campsite rather than just at its perimeter.
Mogwai nods at Drombar's assessment, still looking very unnerved, but shakes his head at the last bit. "Traps in camp, not around. Not tactical. Not style hobgoblin." Mogwai looks to Leth for confirmation but finds that the hobgoblin is still inside the tent. Steeling himself for what he might find within, he approaches quietly and follows Leth inside.
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Moving so you can see inside of the tent Leth moved into, you find him on his knees holding a young hobgoblin's limp form. Several other's lay within the tent, still wrapped in their bedding, the dirt around them pooled with thickened blood from deep blade wounds.
The other tents hold more of the same, the various members of the tribe accounted for. Beside the guards, Talks-With-Fist is the only one who is found outside of his bedroll, having crawled several feet leaving a blood trail behind him. Laying beside him is a sheet of parchment, hastily torn open breaking the seal upon it. Words are scrawled upon it in a neat and careful hand, though there is a smear of blood across it badly smudging the lettering. The blood carries its own message, though it is a much more simplistic "NO"
Once inside the campsite, the holy warrior channels some of his divine power into his sense, scanning the tents and layout, looking for enemies
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There don't appear to be any evil auras in the nearby area.
You don't find any magical glows on the outskirts, but there is a fading magic aura on the text of the parchment. It appears to be a conjuration aura, but it is quite weak now. If the spell was tied to the words, smudging them probably disrupted it.
Brutus relaxes the bow when Mogwai reports that the time of death looks like it was more than a day ago. He moves over to the bodies and looks them over as well, to see if he can find any other evidence. As he circles the camp, careful to stay clear of the traps, he looks for signs of a trail on the outskirts, something that could give them some direction. "This killer is on the loose, do we still take the message to Saragost, or do we find this assassin?"
When he gets to the tents, he is horrified to see the rest of the tribe, killed in their sleep. His heart breaks for Leth, but his mind is overwhelmed by his emotions. Pity, empathy, mourning at the loss of life, hatred at those who did this, disgust at the dishonor evident here. He closed his eyes as the tent begin to spin. Taking a deep breath, Brutus stepped back outside, and moved off into the valley, giving him a few free moments to sit on the ground, hands shaking, eyes closed, bringing forth once more the candle with its flame flickering in the breeze.
His anger was so raw, so deep within him, that the candle almost went out more than once, but in a few moments, slowly feeding thought after thought to the flame, he found stillness once more, he found peace again. Turning back he joins the others and asks them, "What do we do now? We have a task to complete, but this seems like a terrible loose end to leave hanging."
The scene of murdered children within the tent is too much for Mogwai to bear, and he quickly escapes through the side of the tent, tears streaming down his face. He lets out a loud howl before collapsing onto the ground.
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Aetherni grits his teeth, but manages to open his mouth to speak. "Indeed. We have other people to save. Don't get carried away now." His voice is full of anger, but he doesn't stop. "The killers wrote this letter to provoke us, so we would go after them in a meaningless chase. Talk-with-Fists will not be saved by going after the killer, but other people might be if we go the opposite direction. We have to go to Saragost at once."
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Leth slowly rises up to his feet and moves quietly, almost roboticly to the other tents, seeing the extent of the loss before finally stepping over to the supply tent and coming out with a bottle. His eyes are red, but for being such a slacker as a guard he obviously has seen enough of death that he is compartmentalizing it quickly. He takes a drink from the bottle and then speaks in his poor common. "What you do?"
Brutus scouts the outskirt of the small valley, beyond the camp area you can find obvious hobgoblin prints that come and go and haven't been wiped away, but he doesn't see any other prints that would give an idea of the attackers.
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"Wait a minute. This spell is conjuration not abjuration. The only spell I know of that is a conjuration cast on words is Sepia Snake Sigil. The reader is cast into a state of suspended animation; they can be harmed or healed, but the effects only occur when the spell expires after several days."
Drombar takes another look at Talks-with-Fists to see if he is really dead, or in suspended animation.
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"All right, we have a blood trail. It was important enough for him to crawl out while he was dying and write the 'No', defacing it and destroying the spell; so he knew about the spell. If the scroll was left by the attackers, then the spell was meant for us. Talks-with-fists decided that if his death was to have any meaning, he must spoil their plan and destroy the spell. The only reason to cast such a spell is so as to come back later and take whoever reads it and is left in suspended animation."
"So, if that's true, would that mean we could reasonably expect our killer to come back later tonight? If so, perhaps we could set an ambush?" The paladin muses aloud.
Brutus returns to the group and listens as they discuss the scroll. "I am torn. I know that we have a task to complete, one that is vital in preparing for whatever is to come. An army of unknown number streaming up from the realms of darkness below, that is why we are here, that is what we were brought here to stop. But this..." He gestures around at the tents, and at Talks-with-Fists body, "This is evil, and this is wrong. I want vengeance, and I don't want this assassin to have any more blood on his hands that I could have stopped. What if his next victim is Morton, or Davan, or the Father? But wouldn't, in the end, if this threat is real, wouldn't delivering the message to Saragost, save more, give this island, and these people a fighting chance?" Brutus shakes his head, and stops speaking, the wheels still turning in his head, as the battle rages over which direction to take.
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"Well, whoever comes back may choose to wait a few days. The spell works for a minimum of 4 days, though the longer they leave it the more chance that something would happen to the reader. But Brutus is right. Much as I might wish to ambush the ambusher, we have a task that will save more lives. For Talks-with-Fist's death to have any meaning, we must rise above petty revenge and concentrate on preparing these people for war. The greatest revenge would be to spoil their plans to catch these people by surprise. It would also save the most lives."
Although Mogwai knows that Drombar is right, it still takes him a few minutes to collect himself and stand back up, while the others continue looking over the camp and forming hypotheses about what happened.
Drombar's words echo in Mogwai's head. 'What about Leth?' Mogwai knows it was his fault that the hobgoblin is alive - or that the others had all died. They wouldn't have been here if he and the others hadn't made them leave the cave. Whichever the case, it still feels as if Mogwai had some responsibility in the matter for having separated them.
'What about Leth?'
The hobgoblin was in worse shape than even Mogwai had been. His grasp of language was bad, and his obsession with dizzy-beverages would be problematic before long. If Talks-With-Fists couldn't get him into shape, what chance could Mogwai have? But the goblin knew, too, that there was no way that the humans would possibly take him in. It wasn't safe for him anywhere.
Mogwai reflects that it feels as though the both of them had lived too long, and were completely separated from their people permanently. Mogwai looks at the others. "Mogwai not want leave Leth." He says, quietly.
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The dwarf makes some momentum raising the bottle over his head and tosses it with all his strength in the floor, breaking it into several pieces and spoiling the contents. He speaks in a kinda angry voice, but speaks slowly, cause otherwise the hobgoblin will not understand. "Stop. Being. A. Coward! We are buried in s&+~, and we need you to be strong right now, if you want to one day avenge your companions. Only death waits for you if you stay, and we are leaving. IF you want to come with us, first you will have to stop being a coward and stop drinking."
He walks away for Leth, keeping his ears alert in case the hobgoblin tries to avenge his broken companion-bottle. "Please translate it to him in case he doesn't understand, Mogwai."
Mogwai's still-damp eyes fill with hope as Leth hands the bottle over to Aetherni, but his ears fold downward when the Dwarf speaks to Leth in such a way. Realising that it's something that needs to be done doesn't make it any easier. Obediently, the goblin approaches Leth, his head hanging low.
He pauses, and looks up at Leth, obviously trying not to cry. "Mogwai's fault. Mogwai should be here. Should warn. Should protect." He looks at the shards of bottle. "Mogwai want dizzy-juice, too. But not fix. Not bring back. Only make sick, more lonely." The little goblin swallows hard. "Much darkness in world. Leth need be strong. Takes work, Mogwai know. So many work. Mogwai and Leth come from same goblin god." Mogwai points to the sky. "Is strong. So we strong." Gesturing to his companions, he continues. "Not goblins. Not always understand, but try. Mogwai try, too. Mogwai want be new Tribe for Leth. Learn him words. Help survive." Mogwai's eyes changed quickly from sorrow and understanding towards righteous fury. "Mogwai and Leth find those did this, and we eat them. They blood is only dizzy-juice we need. And we drink all."
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As soon as the bottle hits the ground, Leth's eyes well with tears and he winces, looking like all he has left in the world was taken from him. Considering the circumstances, its not that far from the truth.
He responds rapidly in goblin to what Mogwai says.
The hobgoblin bends for a moment, lifting Talks-With-Fist's body up slightly so what is left of him really shows and speaks in his broken common, the tears coming down his face again. "This all left from strong, this blood. You thirst more?"
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Mogwai swallows hard, but stays quiet, some part of him knowing that Leth is probably right. Looking to the sky, he wishes the stars were out, and that they could give him some guidance.
"I seriously dislike leaving a murderer on the loose. It pretty much flies in the face of everything I believe in"
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"Granted. But staying would mean allowing a Greater Evil; the death of countless lives due to lack of preparation. You cannot right every wrong singlehanded, my friend, and there comes a time when you must truat others to do what you cannot. I think we must let the Sheriff deal with this murderer as best he can; If there is opportunity when our task is done we can come back and tie up any loose ends."
"And what happens if this lunatic murders the sheriff, and Morton, and our good friend the Father, and who knows who else? Did we not just place delaying our enemies in these townspeople's hands and now we're just going to abandon them? If they are all dead, they won't be slow down that invading army at all, will they?."
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"I agree with Drombar, Drow. Also, hopefully they won't stay here long enough to be a target, but in any case, we have no chance against a single archer killer on these hills, Drow. You and me are slower than life, we cannot hope to catch him unprepared in a terrain like this. He will simply run away."
Brutus listens to the conversation that voices his own struggle, and finds himself still torn. With each comment, with each argument, Brutus feels like he is trying to find the path across a raging river, each point a stepping stone, none of which are trustworthy. Taking a sigh, he looks up and says, "Whatever we decide, time is running short. The note said we had ten days before an army was coming to bring destruction and enslavement to, not just this town, but this island, this nation, this world." He shakes his head as if he hates the conclusions he is coming to, but he continues speaking while staring at the ground in front of him. "As much as I hate seeing innocent death's going unavenged, I have to believe that in time, this assassin will be dealt with. But we have been entrusted with a task that can empower Saragost to possibly stand against the darkness that is coming. I don't want to be the one who made a decision that caused those in Bronce to be picked off one by one, but I also don't want the blood of the entire island, of a nation on my hands either."
Breathing deeply, as if finally coming to a decision, Brutus looks up and says definitively, "I say we get the horses, and head to Saragost."
I'm kinda alive, sorta.
As they make their way back toward Bronce, Brutus looks over at Leth and asks, "Leth, do you know how to ride a horse?" As he glances at the others he shrugs as if to say, someone had to say something because the awkward silence was getting, well... awkward.