"The guard stables can provide horses for a scouting mission, although we can't spare the men; they have jobs to do themselves. Besides, they aren't really trained in reconnaissance. Perhaps it's best just the two of you go."

"The town employs 25 guards (That's including myself, mind you) who are all fully equipped with decent arms and armor. The last time we raised a militia it came to around 200 heads, although many of those heads had naught but a rust helm to protect them, and more than a few folks wielded only a pitchfork for fighting. If we do find the need to raise a militia, I think having a word with the local blacksmiths will be in order.

Although I still say we're overreacting... Hobgoblins this far west...nonsense."

Suddenly, as if on cue, a shrill ringing sound resonates throughout the town.

Baylor bolts up, and grabs his helm.
"That's the gate-bell... only for emergencies..."
He rushes out of the room without another word.