As the first battle weary heads rose out of the horizon in the distance, the villagers of Rivercrest lit up with anticipation, hope of good news etched onto their faces. But as ONLY two individuals arrived, that hope died, the expression on their faces elucidating the results of the reclamation far more clearly than any flowery language. Rugome Fort had, despite their best efforts, not been returned to humanity, and the stories that they told were ones of horror, of madness. Power beyond what Goblins should have wielded. Tactics and strategy that did not fit humanity’s viewpoint on the intelligence of lowly monsters. There would be no feast today, and if this continued, there may never be any sort of feast again. With such terrible monsters, after all, who would feel safe being merely a half hour walk away? And with the confidence of having beaten back the adventurers, what if those green skinned freaks sought to continue to expand their territory, continue to conquer and pillage?
An undercurrent of fear raced through the villagers as they waved off the adventurers, not even willing to part with a fraction of the monetary reward that would have otherwise been given to the remaining members of the party. They truly had to scrimp and save now, for a greater bounty. This was no longer a problem that starting adventurers could resolve. Now…they needed to bring in true warriors of good repute to slay this abomination of a beast, not just a bunch of nobodies who’d do anything for a gold piece.
They needed the strong.
Almost lost amidst the dread and stress, the consequences of failure, was a simple, 'kind' notification in the corner of the adventurers' eyes.
You did your best, and, if nothing else, you shall be recognized for that.
A heartbeat later, fifty mastery points was added to each adventurer's status, living or dead.
