Fervour of the Goblinbrainer

Feeling somewhat the worse for wear the next morn, Squoan decided that the Caravan needed a morale boost. To accomplish this, he convinced one of the Guards to let fly an arrow at his chest, which he snatched out of the air and hurled at a conveniently positioned apple, piercing it through its core. There was much amazement and applause at this feat, but Our Hero simply bowed and stroked his magnificent moustache, his inscrutable mien communicating that it was NBT (Nothing But a Trifle).
 
It was not long before Squoan's recently demonstrated arrow-stopping skillz were given a practical test, for shortly thereafter smoke was spied rising in the distance, and once again the male members of Team Riddlefist scouted ahead to investigate. As they reached the crest of a hillock, they saw a Bloodied Man staggering towards them. From out of nowhere flew an arrow aimed at the Unfortunate Fellow's back, but the Serendipitous Riddlefist's instincts kicked into action and, following a display of acrobatics almost too swift for mortal senses to apprehend, the missile was deprived of its forward momentum and the Beaten Wayfarer's spine was saved from harm! Alas, such were his injuries that he dropped dead anyway. Still… impressive!
 
After burying the Mystery Man, Squoan & Co. decided to separate in order to expand the scope of their search for the Hidden Archer: Sarett would head west while Steingrimur and Squoan (the BCFs) would sojourn east. Sarett the Contrary resisted the plan at first (let us all pick our jaws up off the floor, before Ants notice and take an interest in them) but was eventually convinced of its wisdom.
 
Hearing voices over the next rise, Squoan ventured ahead of the somewhat more blundersome (yet no less endearing for it) Steingrimur to espy their source in secret. He came upon a Man and a Woman, Humans both, engaged in conversation. Only after using his renowned Whizzing Gnome trick to gauge their intentions did he emerge from hiding to greet them. The man – Ralafiss by name, a tinker and priest of Resh – appeared entirely unfazed by Squoan's sudden appearance, taking it all in stride, much as he did everything, including the disappearance during his sleep of the caravan with which he'd been travelling until a week prior, when it had Up and Poofed, a story which – along with his glib tongue and prying questions – aroused Our Hero's suspicions. He deflected the Tinker's unseemly interrogations with the riddles and paradoxes which were the tangible fruits of his long hours of deep meditation, contemplating the insoluble Knot of Existence.
 
During the course of their how-do-you-dos, it came out that Ralafiss' fetching travelling companion – a Bard named Locaryn – might be acquainted with the Beaten Wayfarer with the Miraculously Intact Spine. Squoan surreptitiously used his raven charm to send a message to Sarett, directing him to return to the site of the hastily dug grave, where Locaryn's fears were indeed confirmed. Tears were shed. Squoan urged Steingrimur to comfort the disconsolate Bard, having noticed the two enjoying each other's company during their brief journey together, but such was not the shy Werebear's way. Awww.
 
Squoan asked Sarett to return to the Caravan with the Newcomers in tow – instructing him to keep a watchful eye on the altogether too smooth Ralafiss – while he and Steingrimur continued on to investigate the smoke, and, after the inevitable grumbling and obstinacy, so it was done.
 
As it happened, the smoke was rising from a strange pit located at the junction of three steep hills. With some trepidation (and much coughing) Squoan descended. It soon became clear, after blundering about in the smoke for some time, that he was in a Goblin Lair, ravaged by fire and still smoldering, decimated by Forces Unknown. There were only two survivors: one hiding under a grate in the floor, traumatized and emaciated, and another bleeding out with an arrow in its belly, propped up next to the river leading out of the Lair. Interestingly, the heft and fletching of the arrow were identical to the one whose spine piercing ambitions had been so recently and emphatically thwarted.
 
Since his attempts to communicate with the first Goblin had failed, Squoan took pity on the second and ended its suffering by snapping its neck. With a mental shrug (“Goblins be trippin',” more or less), he left the Smoking Lair and returned to Steingrimur, and together they rejoined the Caravan. Only later that evening did he think to ask the Quite Becoming Lady Valethanna if she spoke Goblinish – or Goblinese – to which she replied in the affirmative, thus engendering a plan to return to the Lair on the morrow, so that she might question the remaining survivor. Ralafiss and Locaryn were encouraged to join the expedition, so that Squoan could keep them under his watchful supervision, but while the latter accepted, the former declined, doing nothing to ease a fretfulness which had only been further inflamed by the Tinker's evident and no doubt salacious interest in Val. In this concern, Squoan and Sarett were at last on the same page.
 
Words were exchanged between the Serendipitous Riddlefist and his Werebear BCF that night, concerning the wooing of women and the charms of a certain Bard and the dangers of confusing Physical Pleasure with Love when one has lived in the Wild for too long, deprived of stimuli of a certain kind. Awkward but – to Squoan's mind – necessary.
 
The return expedition did not go quite as foreseen. Firstly, the tunnel leading down to the bulk of the Lair was too narrow to allow ingress for anyone on Team Riddlefist other than Squoan, so it became necessary for him to fetch the reluctant Goblin out. Secondly, although Our Hero approached the Goblin with an open hand and an unclouded heart, coaxing it gently out of hiding with foraged food, the Treacherous Thing exploited an unguarded moment to seize his wrist and grapple him to the floor. Squoan broke free, whereupon the Goblin hissed something in the Common tongue whose meaning and import were quickly forgotten by the Diminutive yet Wrathful Monk, so blinded was he by his sudden rage at the fact that not only had the Subhuman spat on his good intentions, it had also understood Common the entire time! Brandishing his iron flute, he leapt upon the Duplicitous Scalliwag, beating it roundly about the ears until it begged for mercy and attempted to crawl away… but Our Hero chose not to relent, instead dealing one last, fateful blow, and finding with surprise that the holes of his flute were suddenly clogged with brain matter.
 
(Here he had a bit of a dark, uncharacteristically self-recriminating moment in which he realized that if one Goblin could speak Common, probably the one whose neck he'd so unceremoniously snapped could do the same… and now there were no survivors left to question. But let us not dwell on the past! Bad for morale.)
 
Luckily, when Squoan searched the Burnt-Out Lair for something to counterbalance the misfortune wrought by his lapse of composure and its attendant lack of judgement, he discovered a brittle note which had been obscured by smoke the day before. It read: “You had your job. No room for improvement. Do your job or face the consequences.” Mysterious indeed! Returning to his companions, he entered it as evidence that their journey had not been wasted, waving away all questions and suggestions to the contrary. Such is the onus of leadership.
 
And so they returned to the Caravan. The weather was balmy, the scenery quite pleasant. See? Totally worth the trip.