"Master Belloc," Triel rejoined with a nod in a voice that was quiet and penetrating.
"Has there been any unusual activity since my departure?" Belloc asked him.
"Only the usual vermin. The rock-gnomes have become rather bothersome of late," replied Triel in his tired voice. "They are less afraid than before, and their numbers increase steadily. I've frankly lost count of how many we've spitted here. But they're not the real problem." He paused to light his pipe, and Belloc did the same. Brogan and Dorain remained standing, as though loath to join them. The two captains, ever alert, remained in the background like sentries, silent and attentive.
"The real problem," Triel continued, "is the Marshlands area, that great fen fed by Stony Brook. The place has become unwholesome. I've lost several men there, but no one has seen anything. That is to say, no one who survived." He blew a smoke-ring at the rafters.
"Shortly after your departure, we were besieged by rock-gnomes and goblins. There was something big and black hiding out there in the forest, but it never came here. We found the remains of a warlock on a knoll, deep within the forest. There were also a great many dead rock-gnomes and goblins laying scattered about. We were led to that place by an elf named Jerra, who had ridden for aid at your request, I believe."