The forest canopy closed above them, swallowing the sunlight and plunging the narrow trail into a perpetual twilight. The air grew damp and smelled of moss and decay. Tordin, whose dwarven constitution was better suited to the deep earth than tangled woods, grumbled with every step.

"This is no place for a dwarf," he muttered, shoving a low-hanging, wet branch out of his face. "Give me a good stone ceiling and a straight tunnel any day. At least in a tunnel, things can only come at you from two directions." "Consider it a test of our senses, Master Tordin," Jerry said calmly from behind him. His hand rested on his sword's pommel, his eyes constantly moving, scanning the oppressive walls of vegetation. "The enemy has the advantage here. We must be the more vigilant." "Vigilant? I'd rather be the more killy," Tordin shot back. "Let them show their ugly faces. My axe is thirsty."

Kyria, who was moving several paces ahead of the group, stopped and held up a hand, her body going still. "Quiet," she hissed, her voice barely a whisper. "Both of you. Your chatter is a dinner bell in this forest." Nysse, who had been observing the unusual phosphorescent fungi growing on a nearby tree, drifted closer to the group. "She is right," Nysse said, her tone academic. "Goblins are not mighty, so they are cunning. Their greatest weapons are the woods themselves... and the carelessness of those who walk through them." "Careless? I'm as careful as—" Tordin's boast was cut short with a sudden thwip and a strangled grunt.

A rope, cleverly hidden beneath a carpet of leaves, snapped taut around his ankle. In an instant, he was yanked off his feet and hoisted into the air, his axe clattering to the ground. He dangled there, ten feet up, spinning slowly, his face rapidly turning a shade of purple that clashed with his auburn beard. Kyria had her daggers out before he even stopped swinging, her eyes scanning the trees for an ambush. "Trap!" she called out, though it was now painfully obvious. "Hold positions!" Jerry rushed forward, but stopped short of the swinging dwarf, his shield up. "Tordin! Are you alright?"

Tordin, now upside down and red-faced, managed to choke out a reply. "Am I... alright?" he sputtered, his voice strained. "I'm a flippin' ham in a smokehouse! Get me down from here!" "Don't struggle, you'll only make the knot tighter," Nysse advised, examining the snare's cord with a critical eye. "A simple slip-knot and counterbalance. Crude, but effective. Especially on the boastful." "I heard that, elf!" Tordin bellowed, causing him to spin again. Kyria sighed, sheathing her daggers after confirming there were no immediate threats. "He's making too much noise. Jerry, can you give me a boost up? I can cut the rope. Tordin, brace yourself for the fall." "What? Can't you just—oof—untie it?" the dwarf grumbled. "It's a snare, not a gift wrap," Kyria retorted, climbing onto the paladin's offered gauntlet. "It's designed to tighten, not release. Now stop squirming." With a deft movement, she launched herself up, grabbing the rope. She found the thick cord and with one quick, decisive slash from her dagger, severed it. Tordin dropped like a stone, landing in an unceremonious heap with a loud thump and a groan.

Jerry helped him to his feet as he gasped for air, rubbing the raw spot on his ankle. "That... does not count," Tordin wheezed, snatching his axe from the ground. "Sneaky, cowardly... argh!" He stomped down the path, now thoroughly humbled and furious. The group continued on, the mood now far more tense than before. Tordin's grumbling was quieter, replaced by a watchful glare. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat. Kyria now moved even slower, her eyes glued to the path ahead, testing the ground before each step. Ten minutes later, she stopped again, her body going rigid. She didn't speak, but simply held out an arm, barring Jerry's path.

"What is it?" Jerry whispered, stopping the others behind him. Kyria pointed with her chin to a section of the trail about five feet ahead. It looked identical to the rest of the leaf-strewn path. "The ground there," she said, her voice low. "The leaf litter is too uniform. Too... deliberate. There are no twigs breaking the pattern." Nysse peered at the spot. "A covering," she deduced. "For a pit."

Tordin took a step forward, eager to prove his worth after the snare incident. "I'll jump it." "No," Kyria said firmly, putting a hand on his arm. "You'll do exactly as I say. This isn't a hero's leap. It's a hole in the ground. Probably with pointy sticks at the bottom." She carefully crept to the edge of the trail, poking at the leaves with the tip of her dagger. It pushed through with no resistance. She pulled it back and scraped away some of the covering, revealing the dark, empty space of a hidden pit, at least ten feet deep.

"Well spotted, Kyria," Jerry said with sincere appreciation. "Your eyes have saved us from another delay, or worse."

"It's my job," she replied, not taking her eyes off the trap. "Now, the path is wide enough to go around if we're careful. Single file. Watch your footing. And Tordin," she added, giving the dwarf a pointed look, "try not to trip over your own pride this time."

After another hour of tense, careful progress, the trail finally began to widen. The oppressive canopy of trees thinned, and ahead, the heroes saw the trail ended at the foot of a large, rocky hill. Kyria motioned them into the cover of a dense copse of ferns. From their hiding spot, they saw it: the source of the trail, the lair of their enemies.

It was a large cave mouth set into the base of the hill. A shallow, gurgling stream flowed out from its dark interior, flanked on both sides by impenetrable briar thickets that screened the entrance from casual view. A narrow, dry path followed the right-hand side of the stream into the maw of the cave. The place was quiet, but unlike the unsettling silence of the woods, this was a quiet that felt occupied, like a predator holding its breath.

They watched the entrance for a long time, but saw no movement. "A classic goblin-hole," Tordin said, his voice a low, gravelly whisper filled with ancient animosity. He spat on the ground. "My father, and his father before him, cleared more of these than I can count. Never changes."

Jerry looked at the dwarf. "You know their ways, then?"

"I know their nature," Tordin corrected, his knuckles white where he gripped his axe. "Listen, and listen well. A goblin is a coward. On its own, it'll run from a farm cat. But in a pack, in the dark of their own stinking hole... they get brave. They're like rats. For every one you see, there's a dozen more you don't, hiding in the cracks."

He pointed the spike of his axe head towards the cave. "They like caves because they can see in the dark and we can't. They're lazy builders, so they find a place that's already dug and foul it with their presence. They'll set crude, nasty little traps not just on the path, but inside too. They worship a great, black-hearted god named Maglubiyet, who tells them to multiply and conquer, to claim every tunnel and cavern from the true folk of the stone."

His eyes took on a distant, hard look. "The Cragmaw tribe is worse than most. I've heard tales. They sharpen their teeth on rock to look more fearsome. They live for petty cruelty. They captured Gundren for a reason—that map. And they'll kill him for the fun of it when they're done with him. Don't go thinking you can reason with them. You can't bargain with them. There is only one way to deal with a goblin infestation." He hefted his axe, the meaning clear. "A grim lesson, but a valuable one," Jerry said solemnly. "We will not underestimate them." "Their tactics rely on fear and surprise," Nysse added, her gaze fixed on the entrance. "If we take that from them, we take their strength."

Kyria nodded, her focus entirely on the practical problem ahead. "The thickets screen the entrance. The stream is shallow. Tordin is right, they'll be watching the main path. But they might not be watching the stream itself." She looked at the others, her plan forming. "The noise of the water could cover my approach. I can slip across to the east side of the stream and see what I can see. Find their lookouts before they find us." "Alone? If they catch you..." Jerry started, a note of concern in his voice. "They won't," Kyria said with a confidence that left no room for argument. "I'm not the one who's going to be making a lot of noise." Tordin grunted, a grudging admission of her point.

Kyria, crouched at the edge of the stream, gave a crisp series of hand signals to the others: Wait. I will cross. Provide cover. Back in the ferns, Tordin shifted his weight, his axe feeling heavy in his hands. "What is she waiting for?" he whispered, his voice a low growl of impatience. "Let's just rush them!" Jerry’s gauntleted hand tightened on the dwarf's shoulder, a silent command for stillness. "No," the paladin whispered back, his voice firm. "Her way is smarter. We don't know how many are in there. A straight charge is what they'll expect."

"The sounds of the stream will mask her movements," Nysse added, her eyes tracking Kyria’s form. "It is an excellent tactical choice. Let the rogue do her work."

As if on cue, Kyria slipped into the cold stream. She moved with an unnatural silence, the rushing water swirling around her boots without a single splash. Crouching low, she used the muddy embankment as cover, her daggers already in her hands, held in a tight, reverse grip. When she reached the far side, she pressed herself flat against the bank and peered through a tiny gap in the thorny briars.

Her patience was rewarded. Through the gap, she saw a small area that had been hollowed out of the thicket, the ground flattened with rough wooden planks. It was a hidden guard post. And it was occupied.

Two goblins were stationed within, the very picture of bored and inattentive sentries. One, its ear crudely notched, was using the tip of an arrow to idly poke a beetle that was crawling across the planks. The other was slumped against the thorny wall, its slack-jawed face turned to the side, its eyes closed in a doze. Their bows lay beside them, forgotten. A small, dangerous smile touched Kyria’s lips. She had everything she needed. She slipped back to the stream's edge and signaled to her companions: Two hostiles. Unaware. Prime for ambush.

The response was immediate. Jerry gave a firm nod. Tordin’s face split into a ferocious grin. The air around Nysse’s fingertips began to shimmer with a faint, frosty blue light. "Alright," Jerry whispered, laying out the plan. "On my mark. Tordin, you and I will cross the stream and take them head-on. Nysse, be ready." "It'll be a race to see who gets there first!" Tordin whispered back, his knuckles white on his axe handle.

Jerry raised three fingers, then two, then one. His hand dropped.