Hieronymous stops, his head bows down a bit for a minute. He then shakes his head a few times and looks around the room as if he just awoke from a nap.
"Wow," he says, surveying the carnage.
Garrokmal's rage drains from him and he feels momentarily spent... "As reenactments of the attack on Sandpoint go, I'd say that was pretty accurate!" he grins wickedly at the others. He wipes black gore off his blade before sheathing it, and adjusts his armor fittings.
Garrok then begins a thorough search of Ripnugget, both for clues and prizes. "Glad as I am to be done with this one, I doubt even a goblin chieftain is capable of coordinating the kind of activities we've been seeing lately. There must be something larger at work here."
Once done searching Ripnugget and the others, he turns his attention back to the room, particularly the warchief's seat, then the doors leading east and north.
As the group begins the search for goblin trinkets, Zafzalurg casts detect magic, hoping to cull the wheat from the chaff in a more expeditious manner.
A few interesting items are scattered throughout the goblins possessions. You find a pile of potions, a mound of swords and daggers, a bow, and a stack of leather armor. From Ripnugget, Garrok pulls a dented crown that formed a helm for the goblin chief. You also find a ring with keys.
Hieronymous begins to bundle up the haul, except for the potions, wrapping the blades up in the leather armor and stuffing it all in one or more bags that he is carrying, "Speak now, anyone who wants any of this, otherwise I'll carry it all back to the market so we can sell it and split the proceeds"
Garrokmal nods at Hieronymous "A couple nice things if you know what to look for - but nothing we'd use, it seems... Except these." He takes two of the vials and stows them in his belt pouch.
Knowing it looks ridiculously small on his large, hairy half-orc physique, he gently places Ripnugget's crown on his head and grins at the others. "How's it sit? Pretty cunning, don't you think?"
"Now about these..." he says, turning the keys over in his hands. Looking at their newest companion, he holds them up, saying "You're pretty smart, right? Make anything special of any of these?"
He hands the keyring to Ithrinniel, then he turns back to the room. "Well, what now?"
Hieronymous brandishes the wand and aims it at Garrokmal.
"Is anyone else injured?"
Zafzalurg pats himself down, looking for bruises or open wounds, and declares, "I seem to be fully in tact. Where do you think those keys go? Hmmm, maybe there are secret doors with secret treasure chests!"
Noticing that Garrokmal is not truly injured, Hieronymous pulls his arm back at the last second. "Well, I guess we somehow managed to find our way to the heart of the goblins, but still no clue as to who was giving him the orders. We'll have to keep looking until we find out who or what is behind the attacks."
Hefting his bag over one shoulder, he motions with his spear for Garrokmal to lead the way, looking back and forth from the northern door to the eastern door.
"I suppose either one of those doors is as good as the other"
"Alright, then - let's see what's really behind all this."
Garrokmal checks his gear one more time and then proceeds to the door in the north wall of the room, opening it as carefully and quietly as he can.
Inside the room to the North, several rugs made from dog or horse hide lie strewn over the dirt floor of this room. Against the north wall stands an impressive collection of horseshoes,each nailed to the wall. To the east sits a ragged padded chair next to a rickety desk that may have once been an expensive antique. In the northwest corner sits a canopied bed covered with silk sheets and sporting an elaborately carved headboard that features nymphs and satyrs cavorting in a forest. The bed’s sheets are stained with dirt, while the headboard is bashed and battered.
"Charming."
Garrokmal walks to the east end of the room and scrutinizes the desk.
You root around the desk and chair looking for anything of interest, but after most of the desk collapses after your ministrations, you give up.
Seeing Garrokmal walk in the room as if there was no threat, Hieronymous follows him in and looks around, yaking some time to lift up the hides on the ground to see if something is hidden underneath.
Hieronymous ransacks the room looking for anything of value but comes up empty handed after a minute of searching.
Ithrinniel follows closely behind Hieronymous. Taking it all in and turning the keys in her hand, Ithrinniel searches for an aura as Nuala flies to the top of the canopied bed, to seek out anything out of sight from the others.
Ithrinniel studies the keys and determines that they hold no magical properties, while Nuala stares down from the top of the bed then leaps down onto the chair, turning her head from side to side. After turning her head several times, her beak darts into a dark crevice in the wood and pulls out a black skeleton key, then drops it in Ithrinniel's hand.
Hieronymous nods his head at Nuala's discovery, "Not bad, wonder what it opens?"
Seeing nothing else of interest, he moves back into the previous room and waits for the others at the eastern door, the whole time looking at his spear and then at the dead goblins littered around the room, as if he still hasn't come to grips with what happened earlier.
"Hm - smart bird. We have a lot of keys... Look out for keyholes, I suppose."
With that, Garrokmal joins Hieronymous at the door on the east side of the throne room. He nods to the man, then carefully opens the door to see what's on the other side...
This room contains a small armory of crudely made weapons (mostly dogslicers and shortbows) and several small goblin-sized suits of studded leather armor and dented shields. To the south
stand a pair of workbenches.
"Suppose it's too much to hope they were hoarding some gems for a scabbard or something..." Garrokmal examines the workbenches in detail.
"What can you expect of goblins, huh? Hey, I think I know where we can try those keys."
Leaving the armory, Garrok returns to the locked door near the southeast corner of the throne room. He wrinkles his face up against the smell emanating from the room behind. "Let's see if one fits."
Hieronymous looks around the armory, grabs the exceptional looking dogslicer, and follows Garrokmal back out of the room, adding the dogslicer to the weapons he stuffed in his bag as he goes.
Garrok fits one of Ripnugget's keys into the door and smiles when it turns and the door pushes inward. His smile dies when he sees the butchery beyond. This foul-smelling room is a horrifying affront
to all the senses. Haunches of poorly smoked meat hang from hooks along the ceiling or lie heaped in and atop crates. In some cases, the meat seems to be dog or horse, but in many other cases, the meat
has all-too-recognizable features, like feet, hands, or grimacing faces.
Before the group gets too far away from the site of the original conflict, the gnome decides he wants a closer look at the throne and the walls around it. Maybe there's a place for one of the keys where the filthy beast parked his scaly buttocks.
Zaf spends a few minutes closely examining the Ripnugget's "throne" and the horse's skull that sits atop it. Unfortunately the thorough going over only finds fleas and dirt.
The gnome harrumphs and turns to catch up with the rest of the group.
Garrokmal grimaces, recoiling... He attempts to regain his composure enough to make sure there's nothing important hidden among the carnage.
Hieronymous wretches a little, deciding on seeing this room that his violent actions this day were justified.
He backs away from the room, uninterested in it's contents.
Seeing Hieronymous' reaction, Ithrinniel decides to avert her eyes and wait for the group to explore the next room.
Hieronymous says, "I'd rather fight those dogs than fight that stench!"
Your group retraces its steps to search the rooms you passed on your way to the throne room.
At the first door, Garrok stops to listen.
He hears nothing.
"Alright, let's see what's in here."
Garrokmal gently opens the door in case there's something hiding or sleeping on the other side...
Six poorly constructed bunk beds, little more than hammocks slung from rickety frames, stand along the walls of this room. Each is heaped with a vermin-infested blanket, a lump of straw that serves as a frustrating pillow, and one sleeping goblin.
Turning briefly only to signal to Hieronymous and those behind to remain quiet, Garrok slips gently into the room and drives his longsowrd into the goblin's abdomen.
Upon opening the door, Garrokmal takes in the scene, then quietly closes the door again. He whispers. "Goblins... six of them, sleeping. We can try to take them all, or we can move on - maybe we can lock them in there."
While waiting for suggestions, Garrok tries keys on Ripnugget's keyring to see if there's one that locks this door.
From what you can see, the door doesn't have a lock.
As much as he hates goblins, and he hates them a lot, the thought of slaughtering unarmed opponents in their sleep turns the gnome's stomach. He voices this concern, wonders if they could jerry-rig the thing shut with a sturdy wedge or a rope or both. "Maybe a few well-placed caltrops?"
He begins to quietly rummage through his pack.
Hieromymous closes his eyes and mutters to himself, then opens his eyes and says, "When I ask the gods what must be done, all I can see is the carnage in that last room we were in. In a world where everything is varying shades of good and evil, I would say these goblins definitely fall on the evil side of things."
He then plants his spear on the ground and utters another prayer to emphasize what he is prepared to do.
"Yes, these are not the goblins picking through trash at Junker's Edge... These are minions of an evil that has attacked us and so must be eradicated. The three of us take them. (to Ithrinniel:) You stay here in the hallway and make sure they don't scatter."
With that, he gently opens the door again and leads Hieronymous and Zaf inside. When all are ready over a goblin, he nods to strike.
No idea what modifier for a stealth roll, though it looks like our mighty half orc may have already made enough noise. Let's see if I can roll lower!
Grumbling quietly to himself, Zafzalurg follows the party into the room.
The three of you enter the goblin barracks, careful not to awaken the sleeping terrors. With six quick thrusts, their evil is extinguished from Golarion. Each of them has the excuse of twisted metal for a sword that the goblins call a dogslicer and a dingy dirty suit of small leather armor, you also find 12 gold scattered among their belongings.
Hieronymous grimaces as they dispatch the last goblin, "Do not despair, good friend Zaf, surely these cretins would wipe out every gnome in the world, given the opportunity. No doubt we just saved many lives, possibly even our own."