From the corner of the tavern, the mans nervous drunken ramblings could be heard by all. At first, those that heard it, discounted it as the babbling of a ale soaked traveller. As his words began to take on a sinister tone, more of the patrons turned to hear his tale.
"it was carnage I tell yea, dead and multilated goblins everywhere, and the smell, I tell yea, it was awfull."
His companion; a young looking man, put his ale mug on the table, and turning to the drunkard with nervous look on his face; Nodded to confirm the mans story.
"I aint never seen such a horrible sight. Now I aint no lover of Goblin kind, and I'd do all I could to rid the world of them foul green creatures. But no creature deserves such treatment. It looked as if they had been ripped limb from limb, it was hard to tell how many of them there was, there was so many pieces." Although obviously full of ale and spirit, the mans demeanour conveyed a deep terror seated in his soul. His speach, though slurred, conveyed a fear that no amount of firey liquor could dispell.
From the table opposite, a tall willowy fellow interupted the drunken story teller, "Where did you say this was mate?"
"The Goblin mines to the North West of here, in one of their alter places, you know, the one with them odd lights." Came the reply.
"If it is as you say, what did this to them then?". The willowy mans interest obviously increasing.
"I aint no idea, but what ever it was, made short work of them goblins. I tell you what though, as I entered the place where they was ripped up, I felt as if something very evil was watching me..." The drunks words trailled off and he slumped forward onto the table, the vast quantity of ale he had consumed had caught up with him. The only sound now coming from the tavern, was the sound of a drunkard snoring in the corner. Maybe he would awake with an almighty hangover, but still in the depths of his mind would be what he had seen, and the fear that he was being watched. Every corner, every tree would harbour some hidden stalker. The paranoia would eat away at him, slowly driving him to madness.
*The Wild Surge Tavern's landlord had the man carried out and thrown into the street. The taverns revellers returned to their business of drinking, eating and general merryment. None noticed the drunkards companion stand and stagger from the tavern and collapse into the undergrowth near the pond. The last thing he saw before he lapsed into unconciousness, was the eyes, those burning eyes watching his every move.*
