Dinadrian Boughtender sat on a pile of snow on a hill outside a goblin town in Winterspring. He remembered it was called something, but he couldn’t remember what. He tilted his head and twitched a half-rotted ear. Such things normally did not bother him, but this time he found himself struggling to recall the name.
He had been sitting in the same spot for days, watching the town. Watching the people come and go by hippogryph. He watched now as another arrived. The newcomer handed the reins of the hippogryph to the handler, and scurried down the path to the front gate of the town. The biting wind no doubt the cause of his haste to get to the town.
There was no back gate. Dinadrian found this strange, but it didn’t bother him. He could see over the wall. Perhaps goblins had another way out if the front gate were attacked. He watched over the wall as the man ran into what looked to be the inn.
The man wasn’t the druid.
He would find him, but he was not here. Reasonably, if the druid had used a hippogryph or flown himself, he could be anywhere.
Dinadrian stood and started following along the path to the west. He looked back at the town. Everlook. It meant nothing to him. He frowned and continued on his way.