Choice 1. Go goblin hunting?

Back stiff as a post, he strode away to join the legionaries on the road, and thought he heard Myrissa ask Khorason if he had any more of that potion left. The faint reply, too soft to hear.

Winged helms turned to look at him, Gregor said nothing, and simply took up a position beside a grizzled eyed elf with long golden hair, a thin puckered scar under his right eye, and pink lips that seemed stuck in a sneer. The look the elf shot him as he joined up, weighing him up and down, before he nodded his head, and the others gave approving nods and smiles. Their party a mix of four big minotaurs, two elves with bows and swords, a human, and a dwarf.

Longsword drawn with a steel rasp at the sight of goblins scrambling away, the warriors shook themselves out into wedge formation, with Gregor at the lead, and felt a moment of startled surprise at being at the head. The experienced soldiers that moved into lockstep behind him, veteran fighters that drew shortswords, and held up kite shields at the ready.

Wary of such dangers as being caught by surprise, he left the road with one last glance back towards the thick column, before he was gone from view behind bushes.

The familiar hunger for battle that rose up inside of Gregor, muted to a dull roar as he crossed deadened soil covered in heavy brown leaves, and heard the snap of twigs underneath their feet. Each jingle of steel, or heavy intake of breath, enough for Gregor to slow down and scowl back at the warriors, and wonder which one of them had made the noise? Only for him to receive silent stares with faces vacant of all emotion, and looked away, before he headed west to the last known location where they had seen goblins from the road.

Stupid, dimwitted, and what some would call lazy, goblins were by nature lacking in the upper regions of the brain, and yet Gregor knew they were quite dangerous in larger packs. Not to mention, what they lacked in intelligence, they more than made up for in cunning.

Brow slicked with sweat at the sweltering humidity in the woods, he could feel perspiration run down his spine, and slowed down even further. The wild deer that watched them from the nearby glade, nibbling at the frost-covered grass, when he thought he heard something in the woods ahead of them.

(Mimic the howl of wolves.)

Eager to flush them out, he felt his heart thrum with excitement at the rush of adrenaline, flashed a grin to the nearest warrior, and lifted his voice up to the sky, his full-throated howl, long and eyrie. The scarred elf who must have realized his plan, joining in as well so that the yellow-eyed goblins in nothing but stained loincloths, broke loose out of the forest, and stared behind them for the wolf pack that was sure to follow.

Spread out in the open where they could be easily seen, a patrol of bronze armored centaurs immediately spun about, and charged forward with spears, those that tried to escape back the way they had come, finished off by Gregor, and his band.

+2 Morale.

(Charge straight in for the kill.)

No time for anything fancy, he waited till the warriors around him were ready to advance, and charged forward in the direction of the noise. The dozen or so goblins that squatted on their haunches, watching the roadside, swung round to stare at them with golden eyes, before spears flew through the air towards him.

Head ducked to avoid a spear meant for his head, he parried aside a thrust from a tall, lanky goblin, and crippled his arms with a slash, when the rest of his band crashed through the undergrowth behind him. The sting of spears ignored as he finished them all off.

-1 HP.

(Order four warriors to flank.)

Sword waved to either side to indicate four legionaries who stood at the furthest wings of the wedge formation, Gregor murmured, "flank them," and watched them split apart, two swinging left, and two swinging right. The four that remained behind him, nodding their heads, before he charged forward. The dozen or so goblins that squatted on their haunches, watching the roadside, swung round to face them, when they were hit by warriors from either side, the battle finished in a matter of seconds.

+1 Morale.

A heavy breath released as the last goblin died, Gregor smiled a toothy grin. So what if he could never be a mage, he had never liked the idea of waving his fingers about anyway, and besides that, this was what he was made for.

Eyes glowing with unnatural hunger, he gazed around at the dead goblins that lay sprawled about, and an odd thought occurred to him. From what he could remember of tribals, they both feared and respected strength, so killing them might not be enough.

(Collect their heads for a message.)

Longsword slick with congealed blood, he leaned down, and began chopping off heads, an action which caused more than a few upraised eyebrows from the surrounding legionaries. But Gregor honestly couldn't be bothered explaining his plan. Nor if it would work.

Blood still boiling with heat, he kept searching the thinly wooded area for more gob heads to add to his collection, when they passed beneath the shade of great plume trees. The huge fifty-foot tall giants, loomed overhead like mountains with large blue leaves. The round-faced hobs that must have sensed their presence from the berry bushes, waddling away in stained white togas that did not quite cover grey pudgy flesh. The round-faced hobs that must have sensed their presence, waddling away in stained togas that did not quite cover their pudgy grey skin as Gregor listened to the chirp of birds in the trees. Each time they grew silent, he slowed down, and readied himself for a fight, until the suns sank beyond the horizon. By that point however they had dispatched several more bands of greenskins, and the scavenged loincloths they tore off their dead corpses began to weigh them down with gob heads.

Returning back to camp, Gregor ordered them to stick the heads on top of spears, and surround the camp, which had more than a few orcs emptying their stomachs at the grisly sight of decapitated skulls. But it seemed to have the desired effect with fewer goblin attacks. Still, Gregor had to deal with Thoradar giving him an earful on the chain of command, but the dwarf reluctantly agreed that their actions were necessary to keep the camp safe.

The next couple of days were spent much the same way with Gregor out there hunting, with legionnaires or on his own, and bringing back heads to surround the camp. (Commended for your service, you've been paid an additional ten gold pieces by the quartermaster.)

+3 Morale.

10 GP.

(Don't collect their heads.)

Quickly dismissing the notion at the thought it could have the opposite effect as well, he kept searching the thinly wooded area for more goblins to slay, when they passed beneath the shade of great plume trees. The huge fifty-foot tall giants, loomed overhead like mountains with large blue leaves. The round-faced hobs that must have sensed their presence, waddling away in stained togas that did not quite cover their pudgy grey skin as Gregor listened to the chirp of birds in the trees. Each time they grew silent, he slowed down, and readied himself for a fight, until the suns sank beyond the horizon. By that point however they had dispatched several more bands of greenskins that had been lurking about.

Returning back to camp, he ordered them to keep a lookout for more, but with the suns down few of them had the desire to continue hunting. Still, Gregor had to deal with Thoradar giving him an earful on the chain of command, but the dwarf reluctantly agreed that their actions were necessary to keep the camp safe.

The next couple of days were spent much the same way with Gregor out there hunting goblins, with legionnaires or on his own. (Commended for your service, you've been paid an additional ten gold pieces by the quartermaster.)

+1 Morale.

10 GP.

The names he learned on his patrols, filling him with a certain amount of respect for these stolid warriors, even if these idiots had sworn their lives away. Guiram, the first to open up to him, was an eagle-eyed elf that had fought in the Fae'lonic Guard for three centuries, before being dismissed for impropriety. Haddwel, a grumpy, grey-haired dwarf who had spent the better part of his life fighting feral dwarves in the mountains, had eventually gotten sick and tired of the familiar faces, and left home. Whereas Morakan, a nobly born Red Lander, born a middle child, had been forced to flee his birthplace. Then there was Selese, another elf, or more accurately a half-elf that had been refused entry into the Fae'lonic Guard for reasons she would not explain.

All of them had their own stories to share, and for once Gregor didn't mind hearing them so long as they didn't blather on too long. Although he did wish they would quit staring at him. The couple hundred goblins he had managed to hunt down and kill, had turned him into something of a legend in camp. With even the refugees looking to him for hope. It was not something he was used to, and he definitely did not like it.

Move onto the next Scenario.