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others to clear the trail in advance.

5.
    As night fell in earnest, more goblins began gathering in the central area of the camp. Tables were set up, food brought out, and charming melodies filled the air as the musicians started to play. Though the sound wasn’t traditional or familiar to anyone but Gabrielle, each of the party members found themselves enjoying it. Warm, peppy, and with an exciting tempo, the music helped make them feel at least somewhat at ease with their situation.
    “Do they always party like this?” Eric asked.
    Gabrielle shook her head. “This is the celebration they throw the night before trying to bait adventurers. It’s partly an offering to Grebspluk, one of the goblin deities of the hunt, but mostly, it’s a last meal with the warriors and their families. Some of them probably won’t live to see another hunt.”
    “I’ve often wondered about that, actually,” Thistle piped up. “Why bother luring out adventurers at all? Surely there are safer ways to live.”
    “I asked that once,” Gabrielle said. “They know adventurers would come after them anyway — though they aren’t sure why — but this way, they control the circumstances and give themselves the best chance of survival. Evidently, almost no adventurers go goblin hunting when there’s a kidnapping to pursue. Plus, they get about thirty percent of their income from looting dead adventurers.”
    Thistle let out a low whistle that sounded dry despite the ample water available to them. “A not-unhefty sum.”
    “I’m still stuck on the fact that they have a deity named Grebspluk,” Eric admitted.
    “It’s a rough translation. Gobleck names sound like the rest of the language. Part of why I haven’t tried to introduce any of you.”
    “Still seems silly,” Eric replied.
    “Don’t be too quick to judge another’s deity,” Thistle cautioned. “I, myself, am a devout follower of a god with an unimpressive name. Yet Grumble is a kind and devoted god to his followers.”
    “I’ve never heard of a god named Grumble,” Gabrielle said.
    “Nor would I have expected you to. His shrines are modest, and off to the side in any temple, but they are abundant if you know how to find them. Grumble is the god of henchmen and minions. Once a former lackey himself, after his deification he chose to look over his own people rather than putting on airs.”
    “I can see how that guy might get some followers,” Eric said. He knew the minions were the lowest on the hierarchy of any organization, regarded as disposable and useless by most commanders. At that thought, he took a long stretch, enjoying the sensation of his muscles’ movements now that he was unrestrained by the armor. In truth, he hadn’t been much more than a minion himself. Maybe he should drop a prayer to this deity next time he was in a temple.
    Around them, the festivities had begun to escalate. As plates were cleaned of food, more goblins transitioned from eating to dancing. There was no established pattern that any of the adventurers could make out, no coordinated effort to create a temporary moment of sublime beauty. Mostly, it was just each goblin going out near the fire, finding a spot clear of others, and thrashing about in whatever way delighted them most. There was no grace or delicacy in their movements, yet it was strangely entrancing all the same. Perhaps it was the way they felt so free to dance in any style that pleased them, with no apprehension, or fear of being judged by the others of their tribe.
    The musicians picked up the tempo. This, it seemed, was an unspoken signal, as many more goblins rose from their seats and began to dance. Soon, there wasn’t room enough for everyone to move without contacting another, but this didn’t dissuade them. Small claws scraped against a neighbor’s skin, feet were stomped on repeatedly, and occasionally a pair would end up tangled together, crashing to the ground in a still-writhing heap. None of this seemed