The fragile peace broke at dawn, and suddenly, two villagers were missing again. But this time, there was a helpful clue—a trail. Not of ghosts, but heavy, clumsy footprints and a faint, sickly-sweet smell of goblin filth mixed with grave dirt. It seemed like their patience had finally run out. The trail led away from Oakhaven, not into the deep forest, but up a rugged, neighboring mountain range they hadn't yet explored.
The trio followed the trail with calm determination. It wound up steep switchbacks, through narrow passes, and finally reached a hidden, foul-smelling valley. There, clinging to the cliffs like a sickly growth, was a large, surprisingly organized goblin village.
Huts were built with timber and stone. Watchtowers made of lashed-together bones stood guard at the valley's entrance. In the center, a larger hut made of tanned skins was topped with a creepy totem pole of animal and human skulls.
