Spectrum stands back to watch Noro's "people skills," slightly amused.
It takes a good few minutes for the creaking, jerking, cracking sounds like the unleashing of a long-dead volcano bursting into life behind the door. Eventually the extremely hungover form of Das Korvut pulls open the door and stumbles into view. He lets loose a quiet shriek of pain at the burning sun and shades his eyes. "Awright, who the... oh god it's whatsherlispingface.... whaddayawant?"
Wyam shakes his head in unabashed dismay.
"You've got to be kidding me... he's second in command of the milita?!" Wyam muttered as Noro's taunts finally brought forth whom they were looking for. "I don't suppose we could just leave and say he wasn't here, and take over the milita - could we? That's not typically the kind of thing Iomedae favors, but I'm sure she'll make an exception in this case!"
Isme seems quite amused at Wyam's reaction and cocks her head into his ear to whisper to him, "He could be more than he seems. Possibly. There's a very, very slight chance. Who knows?"
"I'll go get him something for his hangover. I don't know who's in the militia and I don't care for us to go through the trouble of rounding them up."
Before flying off, Isme whispers another comment. "Come to think of it, perhaps I should make a stock of hangover cures. Noro could definitely use it, if she doesn't have one already."
Korvut looks at you all and snorts. "I answ'r to Hemlock, not you 'heroes'. Why don't you go fend if off yourself? If there even IS one..."
"Because there are only three of us, and a bird. Hemlock is gone, you are next in command, and we need you to do your job."
"Ohhhhh no, Hemmy and tha'mayor made clear that you s%#&s were in charge with him gone, so very un charge unlike poor ol' me and the rest of us..."
"Well, in that case we are in charge, and we still need you to do your job." Spectrum said, his patience already wearing a bit thin.
"'m on leave."
"Well, in that case I suppose we'll just have to go speak to the mayor about replacing you with someone who isn't on leave. We apologize for the inconvenience." Spectrum turned and began to walk away.
"She already d'd, with you fools."
He makes to shut the door.
"Noro!" Wyam choked back his laughter at Noro dragging to filthy sot around by his ear. Regaining control of himself, he continued, "Really, Korvut, you should do your job and come with us to help round up the whole of the town guard - surely your grasp of the arts of war are sufficient for you to lead the town to victory? Being a general is much different than taking on only one or two goblins at a time, as you know, and surely Hemlock knew you were the man for the job if he couldn't do it himself!"
Korvut lets loose a yelp of fury as he struggles vainly and drunkly to free himself. Noro eventually letting him pull himself to the floor, he growls and stands, glaring at her and Wyam in turn. "Shut up with your pretty words, you bastard!" He clumsily brushes dirt from his clothes off onto the ground. "You idiots try raising my boys and a g~#*~%ned war'll start... and I hate those gobbos more than you, barely; so fine" he pulls out a hip flask, takes a small gulp then flings it back into his house. "I'll help. But!" he glares again at Noro. "I wanna... waddyacallit... apple-gee... apology! From you. For yanking me outta my own house. Then, I get to punch you. Or else I go back into that house or get my boys to rough you up good. Done?"
Spectrum rolled his eyes and kept walking. He didn't suffer fools. If this was the man entrusted to organize Sandpoint's defenses, they were as good as doomed.
The mayor had put them in charge in the Sheriff's absence? Fine then. They could simply find someone else to take up the position of Militia Commander. Practically anyone would be more qualified than a belligerent drunk.
Korvut lets loose a punch and drives it into Noro's belly, below her arms.
He grins a little and stretches his fingers. "Better. I'll have th'lads ready and drillin' at the jail 'fore dinner."
Leaving his door ajar, Korvut heads along the street and turns a corner; you hear him loudly encountering the first of his 'boys', taking the form of orders for his preferred hangover cure- a gallon of coffee and small but quickly served quantities of cold water.
Wyam shakes his head in wry amazement as the drunk 'general' disappears around the corner.
"Well, I suppose that's one way of getting a job done.... Alright, Noro and uhh, Isme - we'd better catch up to Spectrum before we lose him completely."
A few hours pass; you hear a shout or two from the streets, nothing special. After a little longer you make your way into the Sandpoint Fort which serves as the sheriff's office and staging point for the town's garrison. Korvut meets you, much more aware, and shows you through an unpassed door to an open courtyard ring with target dummies, small arenas and the detritus of long hours of practice. Standing in formation is the Sandpoint Garrison; a dozen watchmen, unlit lanterns at their belts and the sixty-two men and women who act as the town's militia, regularly trained and called in times of trouble. Korvut waves a hand and beckons for you to speak.
Spectrum spoke clearly and loudly to the crowd.
"The goblin attack was orchestrated by a man named Tsuto. Some of you may have known him."
"He found a ruin beneath the glassworks and used the attack as a sacrifice to feed its magic. We stopped him, but there is another attack coming. The nearby goblin clans are working together, and they are coming soon."
"There is much to be done, and little time."
Isme perches on a nearby unused target dummy. She cocks her head, and watches the crowd, listening to any mutters as the others make their speech.
The crowd is skeptical of a ruin underneath the town, and some sort of 'sacrifice' being made. But the memory of the last goblin attack and what you did to save them is fresh in their mind; they're worried but determined not to suffer the same casualties as last time. They'll do their duty. As to the ruin... benefit of the doubt.
"Let's hope they know enough to defend themselves," Isme whispers to the others, voice faint and carried to them by the wind through magic. "Well, maybe. Korvut at least can get the people working and the mayor can take care of the details. We should go meet the mayor now."
After your rousing speech, you make your way back to the mayor's office for a miniature council of war. Shalelu has arrived early; she nods at you as you enter, already brought up to speed. One of her maps is spread out on the table.
"Sorry about Tsuto" the elf says. "I'd say more, but it seems to be business time."/b] She nods at the map. [b]"Sorry it isn't more clear; I've never been able to get that close, and anyway I've preferred trying to keep them cooped up in there going slowly insane rather than clearing them out to scatter to the winds. I can tell you that of all the goblins in the area, the most powerful and well-organized are laid up in Thistletop. It's an odd little island; it's actually the head of some ancient statue, believe it or not. The sides are stone and very tall, so I wouldn't try climbing up them. I can also report that Bruthazmus, a bugbear who's been a significant bugbear of mine, has joined up with the goblins; maybe we now know why, with this invasion." Shalelu grimaces. "I've also seen at least one human or elf entering the place unmolested. Either they're running a particularly good con, or Chief Ripnugget has some human allies."
"That's it for the bad news, however. I was on my here anyway with a suggestion that someone make an attack. I've noticed quite a few of the goblins leave- I'd say at least half. If they mean to invade, I'd guess they're off getting recruits from the other goblin tribes, fetching some reserve goblins out scouting or hunting, maybe doing some final scouting of the village themselves. Thistletop is more undefended than its been for the last five years. And I know goblins. The only reason they managed to attack Sandpoint like that was because they had someone or something helping them; in that case, Tsuto. If someone takes out the chief or their allies, they'll give up and go back to hunting dogs or miscounting their fingers."
She grins, for a second, then sobers. "But... that still leaves us with our problem." She looks to the mayor and the party. "Consider me at your disposal. I don't know the town well, I'm not sure where I'd best be of use. Should I help out the town guards with their defense, in case an attack is launched quicker than we anticipate? Should I head out and try to scare off some of the other tribes from contributing their goblins? Or do you want a strong bow at your sides to take down the chief?"
Isme thinks over Shalelu's proposal.
"I think defending the town would be where your services will make the most good," Isme says to the elf before turning to face the mayor. "But if the mayor believes Korvut can be trusted with the town's defenses, then I think it would be best for you to go and prevent the other tribes from contributing their goblins to the forces."
Shalelu nods, too wood-wise to be shocked at a raven speaking or the keen insight it offers. "That's what I've been doing for decades, I can keep it up; draw them away, lay some traps, play on superstitions..." Deverin adds "Whatever Korvut is, he's also a soldier who doesn't want to die; he'll protect the town well."
Spectrum nodded. I concur on all counts. We should leave at soonest possibilty."
Deverin grimly nods and looks between Shalelu and you all. "Thank you for helping us in our time of need; if we survive, we'll never forget it." With no more time to waste she calls for Korvut and enters itno discussion as an aide directs you to the stables near the town gates where horses wait.
The journey across the Sandpoint Hinterlands to Thistletop is an uneventful one- ominously so. No goblins spring out to attack you, dangerous animals seem content to hide in their burrows, necromancers and otherworldly tears in reality content to sit on their hands. The entire countryside seems to be holding its breath, ready for the exhalation of war and conflict.
Eventually, following the hidden trails Shalelu directed you on, you discover Thistletop, the greatest goblin stronghold and hideout in the region. You pull out Shalelu's sketches of the stronghold, combining it with what you can see yourselves.
Spectrum whispers a bit of arcana and encases himself in magical protection.
"Glimmer, Array, I think some scouting is in order." Spectrum says to the pair of dragons on his shoulders.
Oh! Trees!
In a flash Glimmer was into the canopy, her reflective scales making her practically invisible.
Array actually laughed at Glimmer's enthusiasm, an odd half-mental, half-vocal pulsing of his throat. He winged off to flank her, staying about 50 feet away, the two moving in practiced tandem.
Gliding and diving through the trees, the two dragons are able to get a beautifully accurate picture of Thistletop and evade the goblin sentries' probing eyes.
Area C3 ends at the mouth of a small tunnel nearly clogged with Thistles; none of the dragons can see in.
In area C4, this thirty-foot-diameter, low-ceilinged chamber stinks of smoke. A shallow fire pit smolders in the center of the floor, while nine tangled reed and leaf nests line the walls. Sitting crouched, despondent and huddled together on the ground are a group of twenty goblins, ten of fighting age and build and the rest children and old men and women. None of them carry weapons.
In area C5, the floor and walls of this musty-smelling chamber are covered with matted, wiry fur. Well-gnawed bones lie scattered about the floor, and a dozen wooden stakes have been driven into the ground near the walls. Glimmer spots four pink and wretched goblin dogs kenneled in.
Areas C6 and C7 and choked with vines and thorny walls; Glimmer is just about able to pick up a sleeping cougar in C6.
At area C8 the dragons spot watchposts, currently ungoblinned.
Flying over area C9 reveals that a rope bridge spans the gulf between the cliff and a roundish, fl at-topped island sixty some feet to the north. Thick patches of nettles and briars grow here and there atop the island, but its most impressive feature is a wooden one-story stockade. Two thirty-foot-tall watchtowers guard the stockade’s southern facade. The rope bridge itself is made of hairy rope and thick wooden planks; the whole thing creaks and sways in the wind above the churning surf eighty feet below.