A week had passed since Zal’Rodal’s untimely encounter with the wrong end of a fireball, but he was back — stronger than he had been in a long time. Over the last week, he had assembled most of the scattered goblin tribes in the forest, rallying them to his side with promises of loot. They would raid the human villages sprawled along the Eberon River. By dusk, his mighty host of over a hundred goblins had gathered at the forest's edge. Under the cover of night, the goblins would appear as nothing more than shadows in the night, their only giveaway was their smell. The goblins whispered amongst themselves as they observed the village. Although they could not count themselves among the most intelligent of creatures around, they were certainly experienced in quick and silent combat. Any goblin however daft, knew that blaring trumpets and battle horns before a surprise attack would render the attack anything but surprising.
All the goblin leaders of the forest except for the Greyfangs, had decided to join the raid, swayed by Zal’Rodal’s powers of “persuasion”. The goblin leaders gathered in a circle before the Dark Lord. He had appointed Uglik as their commander, and for now, the goblins behaved themselves and listened to Uglik’s strategy. The plan was unsurprisingly, no more complex than rushing in, grabbing whatever their slimy little hands could, and escaping before any proper resistance could be mounted against them.
The moon had replaced the sun above, and Zal’Rodal took one last look at his army before ordering the attack. He had been made leader of the goblins and ruler of the forest and wore a crown of assorted bones, which the goblins claimed belonged to some great beast. The size of the bones indicated that the great beast could have been no greater than a particularly ferocious squirrel. Goblins, orcs, ogres, and any other of their ilk possessed the ability to see nearly as well in the dark as in broad daylight. While the Dark Lord could not claim to have such a biological advantage he had lived in a cave and marauded through the night long enough to be accustomed to the darkness. Zal’Rodal raised his right hand and swung it forward signalling to the goblins to start their march towards the small farming village in front of them.
The goblins moved completely unseen, not a single torch was lit and their bodies disappeared amidst the tall grass. If any of the villagers had been keeping a lookout on that night they would have been none the wiser of the approaching foes. Zal’Rodal later heard from the goblins that there had indeed been a watchman about. However, the watchmen had only noticed the goblins after being stabbed in the leg and dragged into the farmland. The goblins stopped their advance as they reached the first houses, waiting for the final order to attack. They could see movement in some of the houses as human shadows passed by the windows. Zal’Rodal made his way to the front, although not as stealthy and certainly not as small as the goblins he moved unseen in his black cloak.
The village was sprawled out before him. The thatched roofs and wooden walls of the houses were the only thing standing between his goblin horde and treasure. Perhaps the most important building in any goblin raid stood in the village’s centre, the tavern. It was the only place at which food and drink were sure to be found and the wealth of most peasants was spent.
The goblins streamed into the village, they separated into groups and spread out towards every house and snuck in as the last conversations of the night turned into snoring. 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. Zal’Rodal walked into the village with the confidence of victory, if nobody had noticed the goblins by now they wouldn't see him either. He looked around the village peering into houses and watching his goblins at work. The goblins were stepping carefully into the houses and around the sleeping bodies, dragging out whatever valuables they could find. There was no reason to kill the villagers, only to earn the wrath of a proper army which the Dark Lord could not contest at the moment. He leaned against one of the houses and continued observing.
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He saw a group of goblins lifting each other onto a roof with five of them standing on top of each other and the others climbing atop them. The door to that particular house must have been locked. Other goblins crawled into the space under the houses and emerged from the floorboards underneath the beds of the unassuming villagers. Perhaps the village children would for once be right about their imagined monsters.
The Dark Lord looked on as more and more goblins were leaving the houses with their loot. He saw an abundance of food in sacks, boxes filled with trinkets, and new purses hanging from the belts of the goblins. The goblins were stowing their earning away in the forest and returning to the village awaiting further orders, for once Zal’Rodal thought himself happy, finally, he was doing something villainous, to rob an entire town blind without anyone being none the wiser. He considered leaving a mark or message behind so that the world would know that it was he who had done this deed.
While most of the goblins had begun by looting the village houses there were some who had gone directly to the inn. It was by far the largest building in town. Its walls were not made of wood but of stone, and tables and benches were placed already outside the building. The building itself was sure to have enough seating for the entire village. The inn was filled with the smell of spilt ale protruding through the floorboards, and the smoke and roasted meat from the fireplace. The goblins inside immediately went to work, they started raiding the bar, and bottle after bottle disappeared into sacks. They took everything they found not even bothering to read the labels, not that they could have even if they wanted to. They dragged glasses, plates, and any coin they found behind the counter and started streaming in and out of the inn’s front door which from the inside was framed by the head of a dragon.
Suddenly Zal’Rodal heard a loud crashing sound from the inn and moments later he saw the outline of a goblin flying towards him through the night sky. He took a step to the side and the goblin landed where he had stood just moments before, the goblin’s face quite literally eating the pavement. Zal’Rodal looked in the direction the flying goblin had come from, there was a lonesome figure standing at the inn’s door, his minions fleeing from it in panic. Upon closer inspection the figure belonged to an old man, he was hunched over as if his back could not support him properly anymore. The old man locked eyes with the Dark Lord and an overwhelming sense of dread filled Zal’Rodal. He had seen such people before, they were the worst of the worst. The old man threw aside his cane and reached a hand into a small pouch at his side, from it he pulled a glowing greatsword which he swung one-handed. He chased after the goblins while yelling, “Come back here you green idiots, I’m not done with you yet!”
The old man was an adventurer, the worst sort, a retired one. There were a number of ways adventurers usually retired: Dragon fire, traps, stabbed, beheaded, poisoned, possessed, the list could go on forever. However, old age is not usually part of the discussion on adventurer retirement. Those who did reach such an age usually did so due to their cowardice or after completing countless quests and heroic deeds. The old man did not seem the cowardly type.
If Zal’Rodal and his goblins knew one thing it was not to mess with an adventure like the one before them. The goblins sounded the alarm and started rushing out of the village, scrambling from underneath beds, jumping through windows, crashing through thin walls, and doing anything in their power to escape with whatever loot they could carry. The Dark Lord followed his goblins out of the village, it is unknown how many goblins were lost to the adventurer that day, however, the reports of goblins raining from the sky and crashing to the ground around the village seemed to follow them for days.
They fled through the fields carrying their loot slung across their shoulders till they reached the edge of the forest where they added their loot to the growing pile. It was the largest amount of wealth that many of them had seen in their lives, Zal’Rodal himself hadn’t seen this much loot since the adventurers had thrown him out of his original citadel of darkness. Of course, their wealth would have been even greater if there had not been such strong opposition. However, it was a good start, a great start considering the limited success that goblin raids usually had around these parts.