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	The fall of the last, retreating Goblin signaled a greater sense of quiet which befell the once chaotic stretch of lightly wooded road. Blood stained various bits of the detritus of recent combat, showing a clear cut victor in this skirmish. The sound of a light wind through leaves and the creaking of one slowly revolving wagon wheel upon the overturned merchant wagon were the only things to break the quiet of the afternoon, now that the clanging of metal and expressions of the arcane had ceased. In moments that the wind died down a little, the sound of meat sizzling could be detected. 

	Taking a quick look around the battlefield, one can easily point out eleven Goblin corpses. Mostly because they're out in the open and, let's face it, the party assisted greatly in the decor with this. An interesting item of note for whomever looks over the bodies of the fallen is that, while their armor is unattractive yet functional in the manner of their people, their weapons looked fairly new, uniform, and not of usual Goblin manufacture. 

	One can also spot the campfire, which still contains a now scorching leg from the knee down. The coffin remains where it was abandoned, now opened to reveal a fairly plush, comfortable looking interior. Between this and the construction noted before the fight began, it could be assumed that the former owner was likely financially well off. Three good hogshead casks could be seen littering the area, two of which are completely intact. One of them bears the obvious marks of having one end pried open, the majority of its contents missing and (one might assume) imbibed by the ropey green bandits.    

	As for the wagon itself, a cursory examination reveals that damage done to it is minor, and if righted, the vehicle may still be serviceable. Still inside, held by wooden bracing and stout rope, are five more casks, marked in the same manner as the others. For those versed in more epicurean or oenophillic pursuits (or someone whose background has them in taverns a lot), one can point out the words [i]"Fortified Zinnoberrot"[/i], indicating an interesting balance to the vintage, and a vineyard name, [i]"Rose River"[/i], burned into the barrel staves. As a touch of irony, it might have paired excellently with moderately spiced cannibalism.   

	In the distance, large herd animal bellowed. The sound of it seemed comically out of place with the surroundings being what they were then. 

	The day is yours! So far, anyway. There's a lot of daylight left, so... how are you spending it?