The air began to cool as night approached. The trail of the warpath split ahead, one heading North, the other, East. The warriors were unsure whether or not they wanted to follow their tribes at all. As they trudged reluctantly forward for a few hours, a soft glow appeared in the sky to the West as the night began to darken. Encouraged by an alternative to facing a possibly hostile army of their kin, they broke from the warpath and pursued the warmer horizon.
After two or so hours of marching, the glow became a well-lit village, almost big enough to be a city. As they approached, the warriors saw a modest caravan attaching itself to the south of the village. Cautiously optimistic, the six kept from calling out to the familiar Goblins who appeared to be loading their vehicles with looted goods. Instead, they stole towards the town's center, stealthing their way through the alleys.
It quickly became apparent that their stealth would bring no reward. The town, rife with the trappings, precautions, and symbols of life, was completely deserted. The warriors braved the main road, wary of ambush, yet saw no sign of movement. Quickly, they stole into a nearby inn. Food sat half-eaten on the tables. Lamps burned on the mantle. Ruling-out poison, due to a lack of bodies, the group sat at a large round table and devoured what remained of a large meal, ravenous from the combat and marching.
“So.” Vulcan said between mouthfuls. “What do we suppose happened here?”
“Hard to say” Ramfell frowned. “There is no sign of fighting.”
“No blood, either.” Said Torym. “Did they vanish?”
“Maybe they all left for a gathering.” replied Minas.
“Then why did they not finish their meals?” asked Ashpaw.
Made only more curious by their discussion, they agreed to take what supplies they could from the town and confront the Goblin caravan. Upon exiting the inn, they spied a breach in the road between them and the Goblins. A large glyph had been torn into the hard earth in a ten-foot radius. The markings were crude and deep, inlaid with a viscous black ichor. The warriors walked its circumference, hoping that its meaning would arise from another angle. Not wanting to be completely bewildered, Torym stole an empty flask from a nearby home and filled it with the ichor, taking special care to not make contact with the substance.
One of the Goblins exited a home as the group walked towards the caravan and nearly dropped his looted goods from surprise.
“Oh! Oh! If it isn't the young champions!” He laughed, excited. “I'll go tell the rest! Come, join us!”
The warriors met Sargle with confused grins on their faces. It was the Goblin who spoke first. “We thought you lost to the fire! We're happy you survived!” He then went on to explain how as the massive fire approached the caravan, three travelers walked in out of the forest; two Hobgoblins and an Orc. The unarmored Hobgoblin was frightfully sick, but he still held enough power to raise his ceremonial blade, cutting a swath through the forest with some kind of unknown power. Once they made it to the chasm, they helped the Goblins construct a bridge just sturdy enough to transport the caravan.
The younger Hobgoblin frantically looked for remedies amidst the goods of the Caravan. Finding nothing which could be immediately used, the Orc found one of the books that had been excavated from a recent dig. Within hours, they had left the Goblins for the Eastern mountains.
Divided by twin mysteries, the warriors shared a gaze with each other. Understanding their link to the three travelers, Torym opened his pack and put the flask of ichor away, the decision made. They rested for the night at the deserted inn. In the early morning, they began their march Eastward. By midday, they had reached again the warpath and followed its eastward branch. Four hours gone, a black dot expanded to the smoking ruin of a small hamlet. The very ground had been milled by the footfalls of war. Ash and blood coated the earth in broad swaths.
Studying the marks of conquest, red and yellow moons on every building large enough to survive the fires, the warriors knew they had missed the razing by more than a full day. Searching for signs of Garnt, Krusk, and Tarkrim, Ashpaw found a series of miniature footprints in the ashes which led away from the village to the south. Falling prey to curiosity, the warriors decided to follow the footsteps of these unknown creatures, agreeing upon the virtue of interrogating any possible survivors. Before long, the land broke into a series of small hills. As they crested the first, the floor below them opened into the gaping maw of a large cave.
The warriors descended, spotting immediately a tripwire which would otherwise have dropped a spiked log onto them. Chuckling at the vulgar obviousness of the trap, Ashpaw stepped over the wire onto a dry twig. The snap echoed down the throat of the cave, chastening the six immediately.
Cautiously, they descended and rounded the narrow hallway into a large chamber, where crossbow strings twanged, breaking bolts against the ancient cavern walls. As they took cover, the warriors identified their foes; small humanoids, roughly four to five feet in height. Five of them, from behind immense stalagmites, stood guard over sixty or so females and children of their race. Frustrated by hesitation, Torym stole from cover, whipping arrows at the exposed guards, forcing them to take cover as the young warriors charged forward.
Their defense compromised, the Halflings were quickly dispatched by the savage warriors. Forgoing any formality and still painted with the blood of the guards, Ramfell stepped forward and demanded information in his most terrifying voice. The cowering screams of the children and women confirmed his success. However, any hope at obtaining help from these creatures vanished. In a display of inter-cultural diplomacy, Mahog began an inquiry in a less threatening tone. His efforts, however, were met immediately with flying stones.
Infuriated by the cowardly gesture, the warriors roared in unison and waded into the survivors with almost gleeful abandon. Tearing an infant from its mother, Ashpaw made a show of opening its abdomen with his teeth before slaying its mother with a wanton yip. The six splatterpainted the chamber with gore until even the twitching of the dead ceased. They heaved from the effort and collapsed, supporting themselves on the hilts of their weapons as their feet sloshed in the fresh muck.
\Having had no experience with cultures whose women and children weren't counted among its warriors, the perplexed six left the cave and returned to the small hamlet. Within an hour, Torym and Minas had sniffed-out a solid lead on where the three travelers had gone and began to follow their trail Eastward into the mountains. As they ascended the steep folds between the range, the air chilled immensely, and they had their first encounter with the alien substance of snow.
As the sky darkened, Minas overcompensated for the chill by constructing a massive bonfire to warm the troupe. Into the very first watch, the group was descended-upon by a ferocious pack of overlarge wolves. Surprised by the nature of the creatures, yet seeing the virtue in this encounter, the warriors slaughtered the huge beasts and skinned them by the fire. They washed the skins with snow before falling into a welcome rest under their new furs.