Goblins were stronger than their diminutive size implied. I had fought them once; immediately upon coming to this world. They used tools and fought in little tribes. That was made them dangerous. Basic hunter tactics. The instinct to retreat and continue fighting, not just to flee for their lives. Rudimentary intelligence, different than a spiritbeast horde.There were fresher footprints in the ash of the burned down goblin village. Footprints that tracked ash across the forest floor. Small footprints, not human ones.We tracked them through the woods.The ashen footrpints were gone, but the game trail carved through the forest remained. The trees grew unusually. The leaves on the trees were wild, misshapen, and discolored. It became more pronounced the farther we moved from the entrance of the scenario.Everything here was slightly off. Five years of time spent in an impression of reality. The facade broke down. It was still real, still a forest. Just slightly off, like the leaves weren’t quite sure how to grow. The grass twisted and spiraled, like it wasn’t sure which direction was up toward the sun. It was unnerving.We tracked the footprints to a tiny fortress, built against the wall of a hill with a sheer stone cliff face. It had a wooden palisade made of tree branches, though its gates were open. There must have been a dozen goblins spread about. Poppy and I circled it quietly.The huts were empty, as far as we could tell. There should have been more goblins living here. They may have been out hunting, or they may have died. Either way, we had an opportunity to kill the ones inside.All the goblins inside were working. They tanned leather or crafted tools or cooked meat. Some of it was goblin shaped.“What’s the plan?” I asked.Poppy hesitated, still scanning the little city before she formed a reply.“I harvested several levels from the monster horde scenario.” She said. “And I have new skills. (...)