The three stare out towards the goblin settlement, watching as the goblins within plod along, doing their various goblin-y things. Food and things that can be turned into food - with a little creativity - were being transported here and there in no order that could be discerned. Crude weapons were being banged into shape or sharpened out of materials which were easily on hand. Occasionally, a fight would break out between two or more goblins, consisting mostly of tugging and biting until they separated, sometimes nursing new wounds and other times carrying a new, shiny thing away with them with pride.

  The three peeping adventurers were trained extensively over their mandatory three-day Adventurer Starter Seminar on how to identify the relative population size and threat level of goblin encampments. Goblins were the most common pests to be found in the wild, so everything from “What is a goblin” to “How best to kill a goblin using nothing but a twine, three sticks, and a warhammer” was drilled into them mercilessly by the grizzled veteran that was their teacher. And as their teacher had hammered into their heads:

  'Goblins’ intelligence directly scales with their population. '

  A small goblin encampment will consist of a few half-built tepees and maybe a fire or two, while a medium-sized goblin encampment will typically have dedicated cooking stations and some rudimentary buildings.

  A large goblin settlement, on the other hand, will have sentries outside of the camp, watching for any intruders. Maybe a fortification of some kind, made out of crude sticks. Perhaps a shaman or two that can sling spells from the backline.

  As the trio gazed upon the wooden ramparts surrounding the goblin town, and the sentries posted on said ramparts, and the smoke from multiple campfires drifting past the massive goblin castle, they came to the same realization:

  “We’re screwed.” Emily whispers, her eyes not daring to move away from the sight before her.

  “Not… Screwed, per se.” Replies Nora, gripping her bow in an ironlike grip. “Just…”

  “Woefully inadequate?” interrupts Alastair.

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  “No… Inadequate would imply that there’s a potential ‘adequate’, and in this scenario? I don't think there's such a thing as 'adequate'.” says Emily. “Do you see how many goblins are in there? That’s got to be…”

  She glances down at her fingers, rapidly counting them underneath her breath. After a few seconds, she pauses her counting, her eyes going wide. “The most amount of goblins anyone has ever seen, ever…”

  Nora turns to look at Alastair, a worried look on her face. “So… What do we do now?”

  Alastair takes a deep breath, considering the situation in front of them. He stares out at the encampment again, making a mental note of all the key points in the camp, as well as trying his hardest to estimate the general population within it.

  Nodding to himself, he looks back to his party. With a reassuring smile, he gives them a thumbs up.

  “We fall back.”

  Nora cocks her head to the side, confusion on her face.

  “Fall back?”

  “Yeah, fall back. You know, run away. Go back to town and request backup from the guild.”

  He looks back at the encampment, a haunted look in his eyes.

  “There’s no way we could handle this on our own… We’d die.”

  Nora lets out a small, relieved sigh, nodding in agreement.

  “Alright… Good. I thought you’d at least want to scout out the place first... I was ready to knock you out and drag you away myself.”

  Alastair shakes his head vigorously. “I like life, thank you very much.”

  Emily lets out a relieved sigh, feeling thankful for the first time this week that Alastair calls the shots.

  “Let’s go, then, before any patrols come back and accidentally –”

  A twig snaps to their left, the sudden sound startling the trio as they all pivot towards the source, weapons drawn.

  Through the foliage they spot a group of goblins staring back at the humans in just as much, if not more, surprise. Both groups have their weapons half-drawn, one of them holding up what looks like a massive, speckled rock.

  For a moment, the two groups stare at one another, neither knowing exactly how to react.

  “-- spots us.” Emily finishes weakly.

  Alastair leans in close to Nora. “Do you think they spotted us?” He whispers to her.

  Nora glares daggers back at Alastair, as the goblin at the head of the procession slowly lifts one of its skinny arms into the air, pointing towards the group with a gnarled, knobbly finger. It opens its mouth wide, its rotted, sharp teeth on full display. It takes a deep breath, readying to bellow the bellows of its life, before a soft “thwang” sounds out from Nora’s bow and an arrow lodges itself deep into the goblin’s throat, cutting it off.

  Nora turns to her companions, her eyes wide.

  “What the hell are you two doing? Run!”