To nary a one of these souls seem to be any peace within, each of them filled with a kind of dread and rage that could not sufficiently be described by words. Fragments of some morbid sounding chanting assails you in rhyme, though none of it seems coherent enough to make any sense.
“črirhe mi woohon!”
“goblénutu rrai!”
“ešme mi udun!”
The overwhelmingly chaotic and restless air of all these makes you feel sick and nauseous to your stomach, the gut wrenching sensation an unimaginable sensation of feeling physically ill.
The yammering turns to hissing and shrieking, and the urge to empty your stomach contents cranks up to eleven as a voice projects through from the barn at the back, “Wyell wyell wyell, look what the cat dragged ein.”
The voice is followed by the mug of a middle-aged man, with whom you’re familiar. This retired ranger, Daviren Hosk, is the owner of the Goblin Squash Stables, and has often provided security and manual labour around the Rusty Dragon, and in exchange, Ameiko has agreed to recommend his stable’s services and provide a complimentary drink on the house to any guest who stable their horse next door.