The circus tents loomed above us as we entered the central space between them. A hobgoblin greeted us, and then vomited everywhere onto the grass. Two others met the first, collapsing from obvious exhaustion.
"Are you alright?" Venrick offered.
When pressed, they told us that they had been smitted -- smitten? -- by their superiors, for failing some ritual.
"And who is your superior?" I asked.
At that moment, the hobgoblin convulsed, then collapsed. Dead. In his last movements, he had scribbled out along curving line. A snake, perhaps?
One by one, each sank into the earth. In the most horrific of ways, the solid earth crushed the hobgoblins before us. Their screams could not dispel the terrifying pain as their bones and flesh were ground to ash. In the same moment, their suits of armor rose once more, though this time as people of sand. Dirt-faces without eyes, mummified in sand like golems. They raised weapons of stone against us.
We survived, and regrouped. The tents did not hold further secrets, so we packed up and headed back.