Melindra had just finished wiping down the tables towards the end of a slow day when the door to the inn opened. In stepped a grizzled man, speaking as he entered. “Is this the Humble Stump? I am in need of a bed” “Why yes it is, sir.” replied Melindra. “Why don't you take a seat and I'll get you sorted.” He did as she suggested, but spoke no words as he did. After a moment of him sitting and Melindra vanishing up the stairs and coming back down twice, she stopped to talk with the stranger. “Is there anything I can get you, sir? My name is Melindra, I'm the owner of this inn. It's been a slow day thus far so I hope you don--” “Yes, I would like some food. Preferably something warm” he said, interrupting her. “Ah. Alright. Give me your name and I can get started.” “You need my name in order to make a stew?” “Well, I need something to put the food and room under, keep expenses together and all that.” “Very well” he said, before a long exhale. “My name is Gondilar, known to many as Gondilar the Swift, hero of the western realm of Kjeld and savior of the princes of Drob. In my day, I've slain beasts across the world for the sake of adventure and honor, I've--” Melindra muttered as she wrote in his name “Galbagar Swift.” He tried in vain to correct her “It's actually--” “Don't worry Mr. Swift. Everything's in the works and we'll have you a stew in just a bit.

She walked to the back and got him a bowl of stew. Melindra took this as a moment to reminisce on her once famous presence on the professional stewers's circuit. She was once the culinary pride of the Kingdom of Gelfred, before she left the life behind, buying this inn, at the edge of the kingdom with her earnings. She thought of telling Galbagar of her days as a stewer, since he was so bent on professing his own accolades.
She returned with the stew and set it down in front of him. “Now, be careful, it's a little hot. It's my own recipe of rabbit haunch, speckle roots, red wine, and a bit of dran--”
He did not wait for her to finish and put the spoon to his mouth, dealing with the pain of how hot it was. “This is nothing,” he thought to himself. “This pain is nothing compared to the harrowing journeys I have yet endured as Gondilar the Swift.” 
He started to mutter. “All for a king, all for glory, but at what price?” 
“What was that? Melindra asked?
“N...nothing,” he replied, letting the spoon weigh its way back down into the bowl. “Say, maiden. I am on an important journey and am also in need of supplies. Where might I procure...” he stopped talking and started fumbling through his sack, pulling out a list. He squinted at it for a moment before pausing again, looking at her, and then pulling a pair of spectacles from a chain around his neck that rested under his cloak. He put them on and started staring at the sheet before reading.
“Mandrake root, a speckled rabbit, and the hoof of a rat.” 
“Forgive me, but I think rats tend to lack hooves” 
“I assume you say this in jest. Where else am I to go for rat hooves then?”
She stared at him for a moment, then looked over at the pile of goods he had removed from his bag. “A Guide to Goblins, huh? You know, I've a friend who actually works with writing that whole series. I keep saying I'll get around to it, but I never do.”
“Yes, Goblins. For I am on a perilous journey to save this kingdom from the incoming horde. They lie just beyond the border and are planning an invasion as we speak!” he replied.
“Oh my! That sounds terrifying.” 
He started eating the stew in earnest, in the spaces between statements. “Yes, yes, indeed. Their king has issued a declaration of war against our fair kingdom, but the local Duke's men are all away, in search of some manner of sacred eggs for the late Duchess' funeral. The task thus falls to me, and me alone, it seems.” He began slurping down the broth. “But it is no task too great for Galba-- Gondilar the Swift! Hero of --” He coughed. “Hero o--” and coughed again, this time in a small fit. “I'm sorry, I fear being on the road has taken its toll on my respiratory system. Is there a--” he coughed again, this time harder, with nearly enough force it threw him from his seat.
Melindra reeled back from him, hoping not to get sick, but trying to not be obvious in her discomfort with the man. 
“No, no, It's quite alright of you to move away” he said, between coughs. “Please, some water.”
She left to the back for a moment to get him some water, hoping this would fix his fit. As she was returning, she heard a thud from the main room. When she got there, he was on the floor, writhing.   “Sir! What's wrong? Are you afflicted? Ought I fetch a healer, or carry you to the bed?” She reached down to offer him her arm. He grabbed on.
His fit settled for a moment “I... I...”    
“Yes? What can I do?”
“I taste...” his coughs were now small, scaling with his broken stature. “I taste drangleberries.”  
She stared at him, confused as to why this had come up. “Yes? I put them in all my stews. That's how I made my way t--”
He stared at her for a moment. “Then there isn't much time,” he said before a dramatic pause. “I'm dying. The berries make me deathly ill.” His grip tightened. 
“Oh no!” she replied.
“Oh yes,” he said, smirking. “Inkeeper, you must do something about my quest. Find a hero who may take my place. For the good of--” he coughed. “For the good of--” and once again. 
She drew in closer to listen, as his voice was only a whisper now. “For the good of my reputation.”
With that, he expired, loosening his grip on his chest and her arm.
“Aww, peas!” she exclaimed. 

After fretting and running between the counter and the freshly dead Galbagar several times, Melindra remembered what the man had said about Goblins. It froze her in her tracks. They were right over the border, ready to pour into the kingdom and wreak havoc. That thought did not bother her much, however. It was the understanding that her inn was the last stop before entering their domain, and thus, conversely, their first stop on entering the kingdom. Goblins were horrible guests. She knew what she must do. Before setting of to fight the oncoming menace, Melindra attempted to best arm herself with the supplies and knowledge of the vanquished hero. She sat on the floor, next to his supplies, and consequently, his body and started reading. “Thank the gods for those literacy classes my agent made me take when I was on the professional stewing circuit” she said, tapping the dead body to her left before stopping to think about what she'd just done. She started with the primer on Goblins, being fixated on two particular passages, the latter of the two having been marked with a note. The first read: “In dealing with Goblins, it is worth noting that negotiation is always an option, at least when compared to dealing with other beasts and orcish sorts.” The latter passage read “The average goblin does not actually know the aim of their reason or cause for being dispatched against a foe. The leader of a clan, horde or tribe tends to keep his subjects in the dark for fear that their selfish nature would get in the way and deter them from aiding his nefarious cause.” She smirked at this and then read the note. “Gondilar the Swift will not negotiate with such creatures!” Her smile faded after reading it. She started to wonder what the ingredients he had needed before now were for. Were they ingredients? What would a rat hoof, a rabbit- a whole rabbit, mind you- and mandrake root even do? Honestly, it sounded like a good, if not eccentric stew recipe to Melindra. She also found a map among his belongings. It outlined his journey from the capital towards the Goblin horde. Her inn was crudely marked in proximity to the border and the Goblins. She now knew where to go and was starting to get the idea of what to bring. She gathered up some of the remaining stew into a bottle and put it into her pack, along with a book on common goblin customs, colorful bottles of smelly liquid the adventurer had brought with him, and a change of shoes, in case things got rocky. On her way out the door, she grabbed Galbagar's spear that he had left against a post at the entrance, in case she needed to fend off attackers. Her knowledge of spear-work was limited to her childhood adventures with sticks and using a pitchfork during barn duty back in her home town. And so she started walking. Her inn was in a clearing by the road through the woods, and before she made it past the first tree, she turned around. Melindra had forgotten something. She had forgotten Karnath the Destroyer.

Karnath the Destroyer was her pet goat. He was one of her winnings in the stew contests, from Grandiosa, the town of ironically named objects. Melindra was, at first, dismayed to learn that Karnath the Destroyer was not actually a fearsome warhound or some sort of dragon monster pet, but actually a goat. She later came to learn that he, Karnath the Destroyer, may actually be the only thing from Grandiosa to have been named unironically. He is obscenely talented at ruining all forms of furniture, cookware, and other miscellaneous household items, such as minerals, door hinges, and discarded human skulls. Melindra kept him far from her home, in a (somehow still standing) paddock, near the edge of the clearing. She believed his skills could be useful in the journey to come, and she had never seen a goat eat a goblin, so at the least, it could be entertaining. With that settled and all her supplies rounded up, she set off towards the Goblins. Ideally there would be no struggle, but if it came to that, she felt at least nominally prepared.

After about an hour's walk, Melindra arrived with Karnath the Destroyer at the gates of the Goblin camp. She waved to the gatekeeper sitting above her in small scouting tower near the door.