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	New information, however scant it might have been, led to an increased sense of wariness. This was part and parcel of the adventuring life. In the hopes of maintaining greater openness of movement, the decision was reached among the majority of the party to leave the wagon behind. In all fairness, the increased mobility options were actually secondary to the safety of the mule in a potentially hostile situation, were one to read the metaphorical room. 

	Being on foot came with some advantages. A mostly unobstructed view was one such advantage, as thick trunks posed the greatest threat to the party's vantage rather than wagon canvas or bright, autumn-kissed leaves. This led to a series of revelations that might test the resolve of persons lesser than the stalwart team of professional soldiers of fortune such as the group which came down the road. To be blunt, it was a brutal sight that posed many more questions than it answered. But let us start with the answers: The laughter and jabbering indeed came from Goblin-folk. What looked like a supposedly organized squad of the mean, green beasties could be sighted in the general vicinity to a cart which was indeed turned over on its side. Three could be seen gathered around a large barrel near the cart. Another three around a campfire, above which something fleshy cooked. One might barely be seen a ways back, near a large rock which jutted from the ground; atop said rock was another Goblin carrying a shortbow. He seemed to have been placed there with the intent of keeping some sort of watch. 

	But the devil, so to speak, is always in the details. Three large barrels littered the area, either empty or being emptied. One might imagine from the scent wafting about the area that those barrels held wine, and probably very good wine, once upon a time. The scent of noble grapecraft did have its competition, though - the aroma of some manner of cooked, probably unseasoned meat hung greasily in the air as well, lending this place to have a feeling of excesses. And perhaps more stunningly out of place from everything else, a carefully crafted coffin lay out in the middle of open ground near the tipped wagon. It was large enough to fit a Human or Half-Elf, were one in the market for a body box. Perhaps even more gruesome and related to that last detail, was the portion of meat sizzling above the campfire. You can't quite tell from this distance, but you think you might see toes and an anklebone to one end of it. 

	The Goblins appear to be unaware of the party's presence, or really anything else, at this point. More to the truth of thing, they appear to be in differing states of drunkenness. Hostile to one another as much as anything else, as well. Two of them by the campfire appear to be dead to the world, as is their "lookout" atop the rock. Most of the others are armed with wicked looking knives and short swords. Those who are more active are gingerly filling cups and bowls from the casks of wine, treating it with the utmost of care before scurrying back a few paces and slurping it down unceremoniously. Some still chew on sections of crudely hacked apart meat. Mystery meat, one might imagine. 

	Your initial intelligence when coming into this region was that Goblins were sighted near the edges of the region bordering wilder lands. To see an obvious presence near to the center of Avonshire went against the usual reports of the region, and counterintuitive to words picked up from speaking to locals.

	The ball is in your court, Adventurers.