The Screeching Goat

As I said, our rest was short-lived. As we were on our haunches, a mass of rotting corpses ambled toward us.  Zombies...I hate zombies. We all gathered ourselves and hoisted each other to our feet. Carrick and Miresta headed toward the sea of undead and the rest of us followed. We were in no rush to start splaying body parts on the pavement. But it was inevitable.  We set to work, pinching off the mindless creatures one by one. As hammers swung and blades cut, a reverie of precision came over us. Sabel, the obvious leader had unleashed these hellish creatures upon us. She was leading the charge, an attempt to put us in our place. We were making some headway when she retreated into the hallway, leaving us to deal with her horde of undead. Until the bell was rung.  A loud, gonging bell filled the air. A timer. An indicator that something had begun for which we were not fully prepared. We worked our way to a large room with a platform in the center. As we rounded the corner ...

Having no luck finding Quasequeton, we rally and exit the caves intent on search the next set. As we exit, we halt in our tracks. We'd run smack in middle of an endless array of  hobgoblins, goblins, and kobolds lining the slopes leading to the cavern entrance. It was a sea of creatures: male, female, children and families. All seemed armed and at the ready.   In regimented form, each semi-organized group was fronted with what appeared to be their leaders. When we came in full view, they all tensed as if on the precipice of attack. We jerked back, mostly out of a desire to run back into the caves. We knew this was far too many to take on. Sure we could chop down a good number before they overwhelmed us, but this was not the hill we wanted to die on. One among them, a leader at at the head of the hobgoblins, thrust her fist into the air and then slowly retracted it. It seems to invoke a clattering of iron against shield and sword to sword, some sort of symbol of obedience ...