A week had passed since his untimely encounter at the wrong end of a fireball but Zalrodal was back, stronger than ever before. Over the course of the last week, he had assembled most of the scattered goblin tribes and pulled them to his side to raid the human villages along the Eberon river. Over a hundred nasty green goblins were gathered before him at the edge of the forest, daylight was slowly fading and soon they would appear to be nothing more than shadows in the night. The only thing that could give them away would have been the smell. The goblins spoke in quiet whispers among themselves, although they were not the most intelligent of creatures, they had great experience in quick and silent combat and knew that the flaring of trumpets before a surprise attack would make any attempt anything but surprising.
All the goblin leaders of the forest except for the Greyfangs decided to join the raid either by Zalrodal’s powers of persuasion. The leaders of the goblin tribes were sitting in a circle in front of him, he had appointed Guglak as their leader and for now, they were behaving and listening to the Guglak’s strategy not that it was any more complex than running in getting what their slimy little hands could and immediately make their way out before any proper resistance could mount.
As night came Zalrodal looked once again at his small army, he had been made their leader and wore a crown of assorted bones that the goblins claimed to have belonged to some great beast, by the size of the bones it must have been no greater than a particularly ferocious squirrel. As anyone that has had dealings with goblins could tell you, the greenskins came with eyes capable of seeing in the dark near as well as in broad daylight and Zalrodal as future lord of darkness had gotten himself accustomed to seeing in the dark of knight as well as any goblin. Zalrodal gave the sign and the goblins starting their march towards the small farming village.
The horde of goblins was completely unseen, not a single torch was lit that night and their bodies melted into the shadows and disappeared in the tall grass. If there was any peasant looking over the fields that night they did not notice anything unusual, Zalrodal later heard that there was someone keeping watch. However, the person in question only noticed the goblin after it had stabbed him in the leg and dragged him into the farmland.
The goblins halted their assault on the village directly on its border. The light firelight coming from the houses only a jump away from revealing their position. Zalrodal made his way to the front, although not as stealthy as the goblins he moved unseen in his black cloak. The village sprawled out in front of him. A number of houses were laid out before him, thatched roofs and wooden walls the only thing in between his horde and treasure. Perhaps the most important building to the goblins stood in the centre of the village, the tavern, the only place at which food and drink were sure to be found and the wealth of most peasants was most probably spent.
The goblins streamed into the village like water over cobblestone, groups verging out into every house and sneaking in as the last conversations of the night subsided into snoring. Zalrodal walked into the village, if nobody had noticed the goblins they wouldn’t notice him. He walked to one of the houses and looked in through the open door, the goblins stepping lithely around the sleeping bodies and dragging out whatever valuables they could find. There was no point in killing these people, it would only bring retribution from a proper army and Zalrodal knew he could not contest such a thing at the moment. As he leaned against the house, his goblins doing his dirty work he noticed a large axe leaning next to him. He grabbed it one-handed, it was a long, designed for cutting wood, but it would be better than the goblin sword he carried around at the moment.
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Zalrodal stood in the middle of the village and watched on as his green horde carried their loot away from the village. There was an abundance of food, utensils and the odd purse filled with copper coins. Zalrodal was happy, finally, he had done something worthy of being called a villain and that without ever having been discovered. Perhaps he should leave a mark behind so that the world would learn to feel his wrath. As it turned out this thought was unnecessary.
As most of the goblins looted the houses of peasants there were some that made their way into the inn. It was by far the largest building in town, tables and chairs filled the room and the smell of spilt ale protruded from the floorboards. The goblins inside had a look around and started taking from the bar, bottle after bottle of the finest this town could offer. Their little bodies disappearing through the inn’s door which was framed by the head of a dragon.
Zalrodal heard a loud crashing sound and moments later he saw the outline of a goblin’s body flying towards him. He took a step to the side and the goblin landed where he stood just moments before. Zalrodal looked to see where the goblin had come from, there was a single figure standing in front of the tavern and his minions were running from it. Upon closer inspection, the figure was that of an old man, hunched over as if his back could not support him any more. The old man looked at Zalrodal, an overwhelming sense of dread filled Zalrodal’s head. This was no normal old man, the man threw aside his cane and pulled out a massive greatsword from a small pouch at his side, some sort of magic. He swung it at the goblins leaving the building while yelling, “How dare you steal from my Tavern, don’t run away from me!”
It was obvious that the old man was one of the most hated things to any creature of evil. An adventurer, but not any adventure, a retired one. Adventuring wasn’t really the kind of job one retired from at an old age, retirement for most in that line of work looked more like a departure from life however a few have managed to survive past their prime after fulfilling countless quests and heroic deeds.
If Zalrodal and his goblins knew anything it was not to mess with an adventurer such as the one in front of him. Immediately the goblins sounded the alarm and started rushing out of the village, jumping out of windows and crashing through thin walls as they escaped with whatever loot they could. Zalrodal followed them out of the village, it is unknown to this day how many goblins were killed by this adventurer however there were many reports among the goblin troops of their comrades raining down from the sky and crashing into the ground in front of them.
The goblin horde regrouped inside the forest and in the late hour recounted their loot, a good haul which would have been a greater one without intervention. However, it was a good start, a great start in fact considering the success of usual goblin raids around these parts. Perhaps good enough to start working on more evil machinations.