Beshaba’s Breath! The horses of Gundren and his man-at-arms lay dead in the trail before us, when we’re suddenly ambushed by goblin archers. I was stunned when Jorad Luvien threw himself into the fray, wielding fearsome eldritch magicks. He may be reckless, but my doubts about his loyalties are put to rest for now, blessings be to Beshaba. From my vantage point in the wagon, I saw the bard Tegan stab a goblin to death with a dagger. It was terribly exciting!
We followed the trail to the goblin’s cave lair, where we were forced to slaughter them all. Though they begged for parley, we dispatched the unscrupulous creatures with malice, including their Bugbear leader, Klarg, whose skull was beautifully smashed by Gunx’ fist.
We recovered valuable booty from the cave (coins, a statuette of a frog with golden eyes, and stolen supplies from the Blue Lion costermongers of Phandalin), and also Gundren’s man-at-arms, barely alive.
I personally roasted Klarg the Bugbear over a fire, spitted upon his own javelin outside the cavernous lair entrance, as an offering to Beshaba, and an ominous message to all who pass his grisly, charred remains.
We will allow Sildar the Feeble, as I cannot help but think of him, to ride the wagon to Phandalin with us for a fee of 60 gold pieces, a fair price considering we saved his life, risking ours, without any gracious offer of a due reward.
We’ve loaded everything into the wagon, and set up camp under the stars, outside the gruesome, corpse-littered cave. I am exhausted.