Charged by a small unit of goblins riding giant bees, the party took up positions beside each wagon, using the sturdy framework as cover against the charge.
Thogsmash attempted to let loose a magic spell, but was unable to maintain mystical focus in the face of the oncoming horde. Stymied, he fled to behind another wagon, hair crackling as spent magic shed into the air. Arrowroot took the lead, setting his spear in preparation for the goblins’ imminent attack. Diesel let fly with an well-aimed sling bullet, piercing one giant bee’s carapace and sending its rider to a swift death as it hurtled headfirst into the turf.
The ground around wagons quickly became a melee. Justice’s terminal cowardice worked in his favor for once, his terrified flailing made short work of several of the riders. One after another the beasts charged and were cut down. One goblin, unhorsed, fled to the west, another fell at the feet of Arrowroot, wounded but breathing.
He begged for his life, begging and mewling in a guttural voice. The party set out to interrogate him. Without his insect mount he had little courage to resist. Claiming to be from the Singing Hill, a place he refused to describe further. He said his tribe had been raiding each caravan which passed, keeping them from reaching Smoleng. They showed the thing mercy, but took him captive to dissuade further attacks.
The rest of the trip passed uneventually, a line soon appeared on the horizon which grew and darkened into the great bulk of the Sea of Shadows. Smoleng lay on the coast, a collection of ramshackle clapboard buildings sitting on a low cliff overlooking the tide. Most of the town came out to see them, it had been months since Smoleng had been visited by a merchant caravan, and the wheat within were greatly needed. A feast was declared in celebration!