Bah! Goblins! He spits on the ground. What do you need to know about goblins? You poke them with the pointy end of the stick, and they stop fighting. Tovar roars with laughter, not noticing that no one else is joining in. Fine, I'll do yur dirty work my round fella. He laughs again.

With only a slight effort, he manages to straighten himself up to standing. He half saunters, half staggers over towards the dragonborn.

Without asking, he flops into an empty chair. Barkeep, a round for my new friends he bellows. Unsuccessfully trying to hold in a loud belch he looks around. So, you've got information on the goblins? Well? Speak up, I don't have all night. He looks around. Barkeep, where are the drinks!

Furiel and his companions nod their welcome to Tovar, and gladly accept the drinks offered by the kobold tavern wench. "We only know the goblins came upon us suddenly, as we went up the slopes. We weren't sure of how many there were -- at least a dozen, maybe more. We were traveling northwest from here. There's a small deer path we were following," Furiel says. One of the dragonborn says something in a fluid, rapid language, and Furiel nods. "It was dusk when they fell upon us," he continues, "So we can't be certain. But these goblins also looked blue. We fought a few off, but you know how goblins are--they overwhelm. We beat a hasty retreat back here, and have been soliciting adventurers every day since. None have accepted, prefering the warmth of the Giant Slip and the accrual of their daily wages. We've heard some of their masters talking, however, and it seems like if the roads do not open soon, their gold will run out, and then there will be little celebrating."

Blue Goblins? Tovar chuckles. Maybe you fellas need to lay off the magic beans! He erupts into a full blown laugh, spilling drink from his mouth all over himself.

So, you dragonfolk got beat up by a few goblins, and now you're looking for someone, anyone by the looks of it, to help clean up the mess. We'll...I 'spect we can help you fellas out. He looks down at his empty cup. Mayhap they were turning blue due to this infernal cold. Barkeep, one more my good lady, and I do use that term loosely. He leers, unless you know another way to fight off this cold?

He looks over at Aregano across the room. What do you think, my paunchy little friend? Are we a match for a dozen or so blue goblins?

He laughs again, trying to picture a blue goblin, which causes him to drop his cup. Barkeep!

The kobold wench doesn't appear to know how to react to Tovar's wink. But she smiles her tiny lil' kobold smile and drops off a large tankard of ale in front of him and murmurs, "On me..." She titters, and whisks away before Tovar has the opportunity to respond.

The dragonborn drain their cups, nodding their thanks to Tovar, though their tone is cold. "Thank you again for your assistance," Furiel murmurs. He and his group head out of the pub area and up the stairs.

Tovar drains the ale as he stumbles over to Aregano. I best find a bed, or I'll be sleeping on the floor. He looks around, trying to remember where the stairs are. G'night he slurs out once he sees the stairs. As he wanders in that general direction he lets out another hearty laugh. Blue Goblins! We'll have to see what color they bleed! he says, a bit too loud as he starts to climb up the steps towards the rooms.

Night tumbles into day, marked only by the waning jolly in the tavern below, the squeaking of your cots as you roll over, and the patter of fat snowflakes flinging themselves onto your room's windowpane. Just after sunrise the storm stops, and after a quick breakfast of coffee, rolls, and dried meat, you gather your things and head out into the winter morn. Spitwick is awake already, seeing to the teams of horses and his carts, and trots over to hand you a pack filled with rations and a winter tent. "Just in case," he murmurs. Then he hurries back to his work, yelling at his halfling teamsters that they were going to work through their hangover, or so help him...

Furiel awaits you outside, nodding his thanks and informing you of his exact trek from the tavern: across the road, up a shallow slope, and into an area populated by wide, towering evergreens. He wishes you luck as you climb the slope, then he slides down the fine powder and back to The Giant's Slip.

The going is not easy. The fresh powder is difficult to negotiate, and if it weren't for the craggy joints of the mountain protruding through the banks, you would have a very little idea of where to step, where firm ground lies. As you hike deeper into the forest, the powder lets up, save for when a gust bowls through the frozen limbs and avalanches a wagon's worth of snow just ahead of you.

Or was that something else...

Tovar rubs his bleary eyes, trying to regain a semblance of clear vision. You all better keep it down, you're too loud, I could hear you from a mile away. Are they really loud, or is that just a pounding in my head. Damn this cold. I need something to warm my blood. He looks around at the snow. Anyone see any of them blue goblins yet? He laughs and cringes in pain. Maybe I'm too loud. No one break any bones, I sure don't want to be carrying any of you in this mess. .

Anyone see any signs of trouble? Or are we just going to freeze to death. He looks around again and then starts feeling around in his pockets, looking for a flask that's not there.

How much further we got, he asks to no one in particular. And to think, I could be all cozy in bed right now, maybe even with a little company, instead, I'm freezing my beard off with you all. .

At the sudden appearance of the snow he blinks a few times. Looks like we might have some work to do. I really don't want to be buried out here.

Aregano's purple hand is holding a stick it picked up, and poking the snow at regular intervals ahead of him. When he lags too far behind the group, he steps out and back in a little closer to the group.

His magically warmed garments are keeping him quite jolly as he enjoys the brisk morning air and the beautiful scenery. Now and then he'll reach out to grab a ball of snow from a low tree branch, sprinkle it with a little magic, and then start taking bites off the deliciously flavored treat.

Mostly to himself "...and it just falls from the sky...so delicious...like mana from heaven....mmm"

Libi turns around and walks over to Aregano. "Why is it you feel the need to do everything with mage powers? Do you realize that it puts a giant target on all of our backs if someone has a grudge against a mage? We're mercenaries, and drawing that kind of attention to us will eventually be detrimental to our cause. I tried to get you alone last night to tell you, but you're either too drunk or too stupid to figure it out!" She quickens her pace back up and returns to Flint.

~SE++

Aregano stops for a second taken aback at the sudden arctic chill he received from Libi, which his warm undergarments were unable to deflect.

Then he turns pensive and starts to rub one of his many chins.

"Libi, I think you may be seeing this situation in a poor light. Consider that I'm a fat eladrin wizard in a city of mostly humans and halflings. There's no chance I'm NOT going to draw attention, no matter where I am. But remember that attention is a limited commodity. There's only so much attention that anyone has. So if I'm drawing all the attention, then you, my sneaky slinking dagger toting friend can slip away to do your stabby work much more easily. I'm actually doing you a favor."

He considers for a moment longer.

"And if anyone did have a grudge against a mage, me being a mage, I'd be the first one to be attacked, thus giving you more time to react."

He considers for another moment.

"You should be paying me to do all this for you! But none the less, you are welcome."

He grins to himself satisfied at the logic of his argument, and takes another munch of the magically flavored snowball in his hand.

Lucian shakes his head in despair as he pushes his way through the snow. Do these idiots have nothing better to do then shout and argue? Do we not have a mission to be focusing on? He let's out a long sigh before shouting "Libi! Aregano! Could you kindly keep your quarreling down to a dull roar? Have you forgotten we are supposed to be searching for goblins here? Or do you intend to inform every creature on this damned mountain where we are that we may fight them all at once?" He shakes the snow off his boots before continuing to trudge forward.

Your argument is cut short--literally. The twang of crossbow strings echo throughout the frozen forest, followed with the whip of bolts darting through the air, and the fleshy THUNK of solid impact. Aregano takes a bolt to his shoulder; Flint takes one in the stomach and lets out a whelp of pain, falling to his knees; and Lucian's leg is pierced as well. Blood stains the snow, and screechy pitch of a goblin whooping up a warcry comes tumbling onto your ears from fifty feet up ahead. Seconds later, a smattering of 8 goblins step out from behind trees, their skin blue, their breaths chuffing out tiny puffs of steam--though they seem unaffected by the cold. They're wearing an assortment of leather armor, and all wielding frost-covered short swords, which begs the question...

Who fired the crossbows?

Clutching at his leg Lucian cries out "Watch yourselves! We are in an ambush!" He begins chanting a melodious tune and as the words wash over Aregano his wound begins to close. With the healing finished the Tiefling strides forward and begins berating the goblins for their poor marksmanship, his every word reverberating with power.

The goblins snicker at Lucian's taunt. "We poor marksmen, but it OK because you such willing targets!" one taunts back.

Libi races ahead to the enemies as quickly as she can stopping behind cover along the way.



~SE++

The tree Libi ducks behind is massive and would take two, possibly three people to link their arms together to reach completely around it. Her footsteps belie her position, but she's protected from the view of the goblins.

Aregano screams like a woman as the bolt lodges in his shoulder, but his screams quiet to a whimper as Lucian's healing takes hold.

He then shuffles his bulk uncharacteristically quickly up to get behind a tree, snatches his orb out of his bag, and sends gouts of flame to explode amidst the blue goblins.

He then shouts out "Let's see if you taste good roasted with a little salt and pepper, and some rosemary, with a side of mashed potatoes, and some stewed carrots, and...." his voice trails off as he really starts to consider how delicious this meal might turn out to be.

Aregano's detonation sends to goblins flying... to their dooms. Their screams of sudden, fiery agony melt on their scorched lips. The other goblins rally and surge forward, one group going after the lone Libi, the other after the overweight caster and funny-talking-taunter. In the stampede, only one of their blades finds its target: Libi's arm is raked by a frostbitten blade, the cold of its steel almost imperceptible as it slices into her.

Tovar rips his sword from it's sheath and rushes at the goblins. As he runs, he bellows at them Lets see if you really do bleed blue as he swings wildly

Tovar's sword swings in a swift and reckless arc down on one of the blue goblins, narrowly missing his target. The triptych twang of crossbow bolts being fired pierces through the grunting and clanging of battle. Two bolts thump into one of Tovar's thigh, the third comes from directly above Libi. Three crossbow-wielding goblins crouch in the trees overhead, you see now: one over Libi, one northward across the battlefield, and one in the western-most tree. They snicker gleefully, safe and twenty feet up in their trees, having yet to miss their targets.

Flint crawls forward, fishing his dagger out of his belt and flinging it feebly at one of the goblins facing off against Libi. It slides easily into the back of the goblin's neck, its tip protruding gorily from Flint's victim's throat. The goblin falls forward, its blood puddling beneath him.