The days following what, by preference of the army's commander, has come to be called the 'Greenskin Massacre' pass with a flurry of activity. The Evenwood forces, reinforced by both the recently healed as well a few dozen men sent to by Lord Evenwood from the castle's garrison (Castle Guard is fully recovered), move swiftly after their victory to consolidate their gains, spreading out all across the woods in search of every remaining goblin they can find. The humans pilliage the greenskin's primitive hovels, taking what they can and destroying what they can't along with any resistance they encounter. Black blood pours profusley in every corner of the woods. Those goblins that aren't slaughtered while trying to keep their things are chased into the Serpentcoil Mountains to the north. By the end of the two weeks, not a greenskin remains alive in the Evenwood.
The pilliaged loot that has been collected is very diverse, a collection of items the goblins had orginially aquired through raids on richer, human lands over the course of a generation or more. Coins of every sort are also very much on display, with seemingly every known lord, king, or even emir or sultan, being represented on atleast one bit of silver or gold. Strangly, their seems to be a disproportionate number of imperial coins bearing the representation of the Emperor to the South.....
The business is nasty, but that hasn't stopped it from attracting like flies to meet a trickle of merchants from the valley, the Empire, and the northern reaches of the Kingdom who come to trade both barter and metal for the army's pilliage. These are the type of men who would take even the risks associated with trudging through a thick forest, under possible threat of goblin attack for whatever profits they can squeeze from a successful army. They bear food, alcohol, trinkets, and of course weapons, both mundane and magical for the waiting soldiery, including both the nobles and, of course, the Fist. Talk of veangeful goblin spirits subsides as the men enjoy their payoff...
That slaughter behind them, the army now finds itself camped on the western edge of the Evenwood, looking out on the barren flats of the valley, and, in the distance, small farms and homesteads surrounded by fields of wheat and barley. Less than a days march to the villiage of Travensburg lies ahead, followed by perhaps another day it reach Duvik's Pass and a possible confrontation with the army of human rebels that covets the Fist's patron town....
The sun just having appeared along the western horizen to wake the sleepy camp, two scouts, shortswords at their sides and bows are their back, approach the place where the party is camped. They flank another, a disheavled, youngish man, who simple knitted and tanned clothing marks him as peasent. As he gets closer, the fact that he is shivering with fear becomes apparent, a condition not mitigated as he stares frantically all around at the hundreds of heavily armed men that surround him. Once his eyes settle on the members of the Fist, the look of fear is atleast partially displaced by a look of awe. Awe and silence...
One of the scouts speaks, "General, Sirs, we found this serf fleeing from the west towards our encampment. He says he is from Travensburg and brings a message for the "strong claw" that lead's this army. He refused to tell anything more..."
The pilliaged loot that has been collected is very diverse, a collection of items the goblins had orginially aquired through raids on richer, human lands over the course of a generation or more. Coins of every sort are also very much on display, with seemingly every known lord, king, or even emir or sultan, being represented on atleast one bit of silver or gold. Strangly, their seems to be a disproportionate number of imperial coins bearing the representation of the Emperor to the South.....
The business is nasty, but that hasn't stopped it from attracting like flies to meet a trickle of merchants from the valley, the Empire, and the northern reaches of the Kingdom who come to trade both barter and metal for the army's pilliage. These are the type of men who would take even the risks associated with trudging through a thick forest, under possible threat of goblin attack for whatever profits they can squeeze from a successful army. They bear food, alcohol, trinkets, and of course weapons, both mundane and magical for the waiting soldiery, including both the nobles and, of course, the Fist. Talk of veangeful goblin spirits subsides as the men enjoy their payoff...
That slaughter behind them, the army now finds itself camped on the western edge of the Evenwood, looking out on the barren flats of the valley, and, in the distance, small farms and homesteads surrounded by fields of wheat and barley. Less than a days march to the villiage of Travensburg lies ahead, followed by perhaps another day it reach Duvik's Pass and a possible confrontation with the army of human rebels that covets the Fist's patron town....
The sun just having appeared along the western horizen to wake the sleepy camp, two scouts, shortswords at their sides and bows are their back, approach the place where the party is camped. They flank another, a disheavled, youngish man, who simple knitted and tanned clothing marks him as peasent. As he gets closer, the fact that he is shivering with fear becomes apparent, a condition not mitigated as he stares frantically all around at the hundreds of heavily armed men that surround him. Once his eyes settle on the members of the Fist, the look of fear is atleast partially displaced by a look of awe. Awe and silence...
One of the scouts speaks, "General, Sirs, we found this serf fleeing from the west towards our encampment. He says he is from Travensburg and brings a message for the "strong claw" that lead's this army. He refused to tell anything more..."
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