The caravan made its way through the winding wood at a slow pace, the single wagon and two packs horses moving at a speed that was easy for the various guards to match.

A few of the guards were old hands, four of them all knew each other well and had worked with the merchants covering this route before. However this time the merchants had seen fit to bring on some extra hands.

As the group had travelled the road they'd come across a number of strangers, each wandering the same long road. Out of practicality they'd decided to travel together, there being greater safety in numbers especially under the dark eaves of the forest that hung low over the road. They hadn't talked much but after several hours of long travel it was time to stop for lunch.

The caravan master brought the wagon to the side of the road alongside a small clearing and the merchants set about tying up the horses, as the guards settled down here and there to eat whatever rations they had.

Icarus is jostled out of his focus on the book he was reading by the stopping of the cart he was riding on. Removing the hood of his cloak and staring up at the sky he could estimate that it was around mid-day and assuming from the relaxed attitude of the caravan guards settling down he assumed it was time for a break. With a soft thud Icarus hopped down from the cart, and patted his side for his satchel. There was always a calming feeling to feel the pouch that he knew held his leather bound treasures. Swaying his head around Icarus scanned the area that the caravan had chosen to stop. He had no immediate quarrel with the location as it seemed peaceful enough, especially because he noticed no immediate spirits flitting about. His brow darkened at the thought; it wasn't often these days, now that his powers and sensitivity regarding the other realm had grown, that he wasn't troubled by the wailing and moaning of those unfortunate enough to be tied to this earth even after death. Sometimes they were even coherent enough through their own rage and anguish that they were able to perceive that Icarus actually noticed them, not just the goosebumps that they sometimes gave to those more attune to the dead, nor just the pots and pans the more troublesome spirits tended to rattle; but their actual forms. Pleading is all the ever did to him, beg him to be an absolutist, a messenger, a tool for vengeance all for deeds years, decades, sometimes even centuries past. There was nothing he could do for them.. for now at least.. Shaking off these dark thoughts to try and enjoy this reprieve he marked his place in the book he was reading, closed it and decided to figure out where this caravan was headed, there was bound to be someone that could point him in the right direction for a library, academy, or some other source of knowledge that he could delve into it for his research. Identifying the group of veteran guards based upon their air of authority and familiarity with the routine, Icarus exhaled a deep breath and made is way over to where they ate. "Hello, ugh.. companions! *Clears throat* "Thank you for your company on this trip, but I was wondering what our next destination would be down this path? I don't have much traveling experience and do not know much about the path we are currently traveling."

A soft giggle trickled through the forest, like a jingling bell. Another joined in soon after. The cheerful sounds belonged to two beautiful young females, or so they appeared. The sunlight trickled through the trees, radiating off their fair skin as they stood in a clearing, huddled and giggling as they watched a playful satyr dance and play his pipes. They whispered to each other, and giggled some more.

Nymphs and satyrs had a famous history. Both were known for their promiscuous nature and their love of the forest. Nymphs where known to lead traveling men astray, use them for their desires, and then leave them lost in the forest. Satyrs were known for their tricks. Either way, neither of the two spirits meant well for a band traveling through the wood.

As the satyr's lively song came to an end, he flitted in front of the two female, bowing low and earning himself more giggles. "I'm glad you find me entertaining my dears," He said with a grin. "Perhaps, if you aren't bored of me, we could go back to my hutch." The two looked at each other, and more whispers were exchanged. The satyr's long ears perked up, trying to listen in.

Finally, one of the nymphs turned to him. "We were on our way to see the caravan. Our sisters told us of a few handsome men traveling through."
"A caravan?" The satyr straightened up. "No one told me we had visitors." A mischievous grin crossed his face, a twinkle in his eye. "Well, let's go greet them, shall we?" Eager to show off his tricks, the satyr turned and bounded off into the woods towards the dirt road that ran through it. The nymphs flitted behind him, wanting to watch the show.

Nimble hooves came to a quick stop on a rocky outlook, peering down at the road and the party that was stopped for lunch. The satyr hunched down as he spied on them, his tail flicking as he thought of all the fun things he could do with newcomers. None were too malicious, but the trickster couldn't help himself. It was in his blood.

"I'll make them sleep," He said quietly, to himself and to the nymphs that lingered in the trees behind him. "And we can put squirrels in their trousers and watch them dance as they wake up." He grinned.

"Such a silly goat," One of the female commented, laughing at his idea.

"Silly?" The satyr questioned. "Me? Why, never." He grinned and turned back to the road, vanishing beyond the rocks in the blink of an eye. In seconds, he was near the road, slinking just within the trees. He whipped out his pipes and began to play a slow song, enchanted with the pipes' magic. As the travelers seem to settle, he took a chance and revealed himself, wandering out into the caravan to get close enough to make the members slip into a slumber.

"... and me brother, Thrandon, 'e's the Crown Prince, ain't 'e? Got all a Dwarf could want, I warrant yer. Power, wealth, Dwarfettes - 'e's father's favourite son, and the first born, obviously," Thranok rattled coarsley, pausing briefly to take another clumsy bite from the meat pie he held with both hands. "So where that be leavin' me, eh? Why, it be leavin' me free to do what I want. I got me four brothers that gotta die first before I need ta worry 'bout any bloomin' crown, aye?"

The guard, a human of middle years, nodded silently for the hundredth time in the last two hours of travel. He'd hopped to escape Thranok's constant prattling when the caravan stopped, but found that the Dwarf had taken an apparent liking to him.

"I er, I best go and check on the horses," came the first excuse to reach the guard's mind. "It's been a pleasure, Thranok."

Thranok's brow furrowed, and he seemed genuinely upset that his talking companion was bidding him farewell - albeit temporarily - but managed a nod and a sigh. "Righty'o then, lad, be seein' yer."

Perched upon the stump of a fallen tree, the Dwarven Prince looked out across the resting caravan, taking in the sight of so many people, all of whom had their own stories, and most of whom came from varying backgrounds. This was proper adventuring, he reasoned, out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strangers, all bound by mutual interest.

Something stirred from the tree line nearby, and Thranok ignored it, choosing instead to sink his teeth into the meat pie. But then, there was music, an eerie music that at first calmed the Prince, but soon brought terror to him as his eyes started to close. This wasn't the first time he'd come up against such trickery. Jumping from the stump in a rattle of mail, he threw his pie to the wind, and grabbed his bronze axe; the head shining brilliantly in the midday sun.

"Don't be listenin' to that nonsense, lads!" He called out across the caravan. "It's a bloomin' song from the accursed; it'll send yer to sleep so that the bastard playin' it can slit our throats 'n take our stuff!"

The Prince looked left, then right, scanning the trees. A rush of exhaustion pulsed through him, making the axe weigh six times more than it usually did. A few of the guards, and half a dozen of the merchant staff fell to the floor despite their best efforts. If Thranok didn't act fast, he was going to join them, and it would be all over.

His eyes narrowed on something, a shape emerging from the tree line. Hefting his axe, he ran forwards, his stubby legs pounding the grass; his lungs ballooning with exertion as they fought to supply his sleep-addled brain with enough oxygen to carry him forwards. Forty yards, thirty yards, twenty yards, ten yards - and then he was almost face to face with it.

"A Satyr? Shoulda bloomin' known," Thranok muttered at the creature through barred teeth, "I think it be yer who'll be doin' the sleepin', aye?"

The wearied Prince raised his axe, and lunged at the Satyr with an overhead swing.

The dirt road made no sound under Taluin's soft yet sure-footed steps as he slowly crossed it, from one side of foliage to the other. His eyes peered ahead for a few moments, taking in the sight of the empty road, before they scanned the tree line and beyond. He was no stranger to being assigned the role of scout, especially when he was one of few with elven blood traveling through a wooded area. He never disclosed that he had not been raised in the green, as none really asked, but he had the same abilities and sensibilities his woodland brothers had. He merely lacked the familiarity with the area and plant-life. He was still agile and perceptive enough to fill the role adequately. He raised his honey-colored gaze to the sky, knowing that the caravan was stopping sometime around high-sun for a midday break, and sighed. He was not tired, would not tire before the day was out, and would rather push on, but the decision was not his to make. His head swiveled around first, to look backwards, even though he knew he was too far to see the caravan. Staying in the tree line, he double-backed, his steps as silent in the trees as they were on the road.

Taluin had not strayed so far ahead that the caravan could come to any danger on the road in the gap between them, and he and some of the other guards had worked out a flare system to alert him if something happened while he was ahead (the same, of course, was communicated to any rear guard of the caravan as well, had any been appointed). Because it took him some time to return he realized they had stopped before he had turned back. The caravan came into his view eventually, and he could see it from far off, but he also noticed the lack of movement that usually came along with it. He paused, viewing the clearing from his spot in the forest through trees and leaves aplenty. It made him uneasy to not see at least one of their guards milling about the perimeter. No flare had alerted him. He wondered briefly if they were just all huddled over something particularly interesting, but he knew these men, not in a personal but a professional sense, and that even if that were true there would still be at least one guard in sight. They hired him because he was efficient (and cheap, but he knew he had more to offer than that), and they were not the kind to open themselves to attack just because their guards saw something shiny. They were too experienced.

Slim fingers caressed the hilt of Tal's longsword. He did not want to approach too hastily. He knew not how far any hostile force had gotten on his side of the road, but he also didn't know if there was any hostile force at all. His first idea was just to approach the caravan through the forest, but he didn't know if said hostile force had come from the forest. With a grimace, he decided on staying on the edge of the road. This way, he wasn't out in the open, but not deep in the forest where he could be easily ambushed. There was no perfectly safe option. His hand dropped from his sword and he moved forward without a sound. Once set on his approach he moved quickly.

The sight of the caravan was not what he expected. He could soon make out the details of the camp, and the figures inside of it from his spot in the trees. He realized was what going on relatively quickly once he saw the horned figure shrouded in flora on the other side. Taluin had spent most of his days on hire as something, a scout, a guard, a thief, and almost all of that time was spent on the road in some way. He had traveled wooded areas countless times and was no stranger to those who called it home.

Satyrs were an annoying sort. Their only purpose was to cause problems and delays for those traveling through their domain. When Tal got his way in dealing with the things in the past, he chose to do so by driving them away with a threat of force before they became a true nuisance. The creatures weren't evil, but they lacked respect for anything other than their own amusement. He’d rather scare them off than have to deal with their childish pranks. Most satyrs, as he figured this one would, would move on relatively quickly once they realized their antics were not humored by the victims. The elf was actually impressed the satyr managed to catch such a large group in his song, but he was a fool to reveal himself before the targets were completely asleep. There were too many people in the caravan for one satyr to be powerful enough to fight against all of their wills at once, especially when there was both a spellcaster and several dwarves in their midst (or, at least, it would be both unlikely and unlucky to find one who was). Maybe if he wasn't alone he could have kept control over them, but no ally appeared to help him sing his song. Offhand, Taluin know of at least ten bodies in the camp. And that was only the guards he knew, the two merchants he knew of, and the few other travelers who had also joined the caravan. Having realized where their newfound drowsiness had stemmed from, the members of the caravan would surely become much harder to enchant, and then the sheer larger number of them would swing things in their favor.

He was going to approach things more calmly, until he got close enough to catch the sight of own of their dwarf flinging himself at the goat once he emerged from the tree line. Tal stifled a laugh, his mouth cocking to the side for a moment. The dwarf’s aim, at least from the elf’s distance, looked true, and Tal would be surely impressed if the animal could keep up his song after that. Still, he walked toward the clearing, grabbing a rock the size of his fist and tossing it up and down a few times as he went. He didn’t get too close to the satyr, and started singing a song under his own breath, not wanting to hear the creature’s song as more than a muffled melody under his own. He looked again to see the outcome of the dwarf’s strike.

As Icarus finished his question to the men he looked down at them and with a quick startle realized they were all asleep. "But.. I could have sworn they were awa-" he stopped as his words became slurred and after a moment noticed a soothing song being played throughout their camp "A bard? I didn't know we had one of those.. How lovely.." he thought as he turned around to find the source of the enchanting tune.

Head swimming Icarus tried to focus and scan the camp for the player of such sweet melodies, but to no avail, the drowsiness seemed apt to overtake him soon as he muttered "Well a nap couldn't hurt.." and he had just noticed that he had already fallen to his knees on the beaten dirt path beneath him. Eyelids fluttering his head began to roll forward until a shout and seeing stout man, what he realized must be a dwarf but was too hard to tell through the heavy half closing of his eyes, running axe raised toward a lone goat like figure that had emerged from the tree line. "Oh my, I believe that is.. is.. a satyr.. quite the tricksters I've read.." he mumbled lazily to no one in particular as he know rested on his haunches staring at the peculiar scene.

With his body feeling many times his normal weight, and head fixed toward the only thing holding his attention long enough to slip into the sweet lulling embrace of sleep, Icarus is only able to halfheartedly watch the events between the mad shouting dwarf and the satyr and wonder whether they are the silly hallucinations of those long overdue for rest.

The beast was quick, his hooves nimble and true. He saw the oncoming dwarf and flitted away from his blow before the stumpy man was even close. The satyr seemed to find amusement in this, ever eager to show off in front of the wood nymphs.

The bold creature grabbed a blanket and waved it around in front of himself, imitating a bull fighter. He laughed and gave a few more notes on his pipes before dodging the next inevitable attack. His speed was impressive if nothing else.

The satyr leaped onto the top of a cart and danced mockingly, his hooves clacking on the wood. The beast seemed to be enjoying himself. But as he danced, he slipped up by playing a faster tune on his pipes. Those around him began to wake without his notice.

Mzark continued walking along the forest road, shield firmly secured in his left hand, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His battle plate clinked loudly as he walked, at leat it seemed loud against the utter silence of the forest.

Disliking the silence Mzark began to recite a mantra aloud as he walked. 'My sword is strong, my sword is true, with it I might run you through…' he smiled to himself as he sang. It certainly wasn't a traditional mantra by any means, something he'd picked up when protecting a river caravan, the sailors had sang the whole way… well when they weren't drinking at any rate.

Mzark kept walking chanting as he was went. That's when he spotted a pair of horses and a caravan in the distance, it appeared that a figure was cavorting atop the caravan. That was when he noticed several other figures seemingly in various states of delirium, he gripped the handle of sword tighter as he approached and called out to the figure atop the caravan.

'Greetings friend, might ask what has rendered you so merry this day?' he inquired, his booming baritone of a voice sounding clearly even over the music the figure was playing. As he appraised the figure Mzark noticed that the figure wasn't a man as he once thought, instead he had the legs of a goat, something which struck Mzark as rather odd.

"A merry time with friends," the goat laughed, "and maybe a little brew." He stopped dancing to eye the scaley creature who spoke to him. The satyr had never seen such a beast before.

"May I ask where you hail from, friend?" He said, hopping down from the cart. His ears perked up in a comical manner as he tilted his head.

Thranok's axe sunk itself into the soft earth, the head almost entirely submerged in the soil and grass. The Satyr pranced away merrily, as the Dwarf realised the trickster had completely evaded his attack.

"Get back 'ere, ya wee bastard," the Prince wheezed, perspiration running down his brow. "Will skin yer hide, I will!"

With a grunt, he heaved his axe from the earth, and stalked towards his foe - who had perched itself upon a wagon, and whose tune had picked up in pace. Those who had collapsed to slumber, were quickly waking in response to the song's change of tempo. Thranok smiled gleefully; they'd have that beast's head on a platter.

"Face me, yer cowward," Thranok started to say, before another stranger chimed in. The Prince looked at the approaching figure, and quickly deemed it to be a Dragonborn male. He raised an eyebrow when he realised the warrior was coated in glistening mithril. "Well, this be gettin' interestin'," he muttered under his breath.

The Satyr changed its focus to the new comer, and jumped into hearty conversation. The Prince held back, deeming it wise to see if the Dragonborn could subdue the creature peacefully... not that he had much of a preference to the Satyr's end state, of course.

Icarus's mental facilities slowly returned to him as he watched the satyr dance from the dwarfs blows and soon after his body felt freed from its previous burden of drowsiness. Icarus realized that the satyr had been the one lulling them to sleep and must have been up to the typical tricks that were related with his kind. Being able to now fully focus on the scene, Icarus took in the full scope of the characters he viewed before him, especially that of the dwarf; of whom he noted some form of respect for his ability to withstand the tune that had put so many of their fellow companions under its enchanting spell. Something in the back of his brain nipped at him as if he was forgetting something as he glanced at the dwarf who was now wrenching his axe free from the ground and spitting threats at the satyr, and then his eyes fell onto the crest upon his armor and he quickly reached for one of his books in his pouch.
Pulling out a tomb of dwarven history and lore, having temporarily forgotten the almost comical scene enveloping before him in the fervor of his search, and found therein the exact crest in a chapter for dwarven royalty. He stood still. Icarus was raised in a simple mining town on the outskirts of the dwarven kingdoms that had little care for politics and the likes, and he himself had never given any of it much thought, but still there was something exciting about being in the presence of royalty, especially one who Icarus could gather much of his peoples history from. And who knows.. maybe upon gaining the favor of a prince as a companion he could help shake off some of the negative perceptions of his art.. He quickly realized the foolishness of his thinking, the man was a prince after all, probably not the type to take much in the way of company from the simpler folks and furthermore companionship was not something to be used as a from of personal gain for oneself.
With a thump and a short grunt, Icarus nodded his head as if to agree with his inner monologue advocating against the path of using his relationships for material rewards. Then with a start Icarus realized he had become oblivious to the entire event surrounding him between the prince and the satyr! He was always slightly amazed at how quickly he could forget and drop everything over a hunt for some strange piece of arcane knowledge somewhere in his books and quickly spun around looking for where the pair had gone off to. The satyr obviously had still been eluding the dwarf and was no jumping down from the cart to greet a new traveler, in shining mail, who had wandered into the camp. He also noticed the dwarven prince had calmed down enough to cease swinging his axe at the satyr. Icarus at first was not sure what he should do about the two outsiders in the camp.. and after about a moments reflection shrugged his shoulders and wandered over to go join in the conversation silently wondering what other surprises the rest of this day had in store for him.

Meliya straightened herself as the effects of the sleep spell began to ease off and her senses returned to her. Swiftly stringing her bow and fitting an arrow into it, she took aim at the satyr, ready to let a spell loose towards him should the creature make any attempt to play another enchantment on that set of pipes he carried.
"How did you know it was a sleep enchantment?" the mage enquired curiously as her bright eyes flitted to focus on the Dwarven prince. It seemed strange to her that the dwarf would have such knowledge of magic when he did not study it himself.

Out of the corner of her eye she kept a slight watch on the satyr's movements, though it seemed pre-occupied with the arrival of this dragonborn. Perhaps he could convince the Satyr to leave the party be, and if not she knew Ialon would be circling nearby to give her any warning should the half-goat, half-man try to attack again.

"If yer hear a tune lass," Thranok hissed in annoyance at the Elf maid, "and nah one 'o yer friends be playin' 'n instrument, 'n suddenly yer be fallin' asleep, it be a safe bet that someone's tryin' ta sleep ya. Me nurses used to soothe me 'n me brothers to sleep with such nonsense when we were little'ns, ta give mar some peace, aye?"

The Dwarf gripped his axe impatiently, willing the beast to drop dead, but for some reason uncertain that bloody murder was the right way to go with this situation. Few others seemed to show much hostility to the idea of being forced asleep and made helpless - but then the tall folk were often daft in their perception of matters.

"What'd yer make of all this, kinsman?" the Prince asked, switching his attention to the Dwarf approaching him and the Elf. "Think we should be slayin' it? Or lettin' that lizard talk it down?"

"In all fairness we are trespassing on his land." Meliya pointed out, although the question had not been chiefly directed at her. "I think it would be unfair to kill him, even if he is a pest. Send him off with a warning, maybe." the Elf suggested. "The lizard man seems to have the situation under control."

Glancing upwards, she tried to make a judgement on the time of day using the sun's position, but it was hard to pinpoint it when peering through the canopy of trees. Muttering a quiet curse of her own under her breath, she relaxed the string of her bow and returned the arrow that had been loaded there to her quiver. "The longer we tarry here with this beast, the later it gets. If any of us were planning to get lodgings in the next town, we'll never make it there before the inns all shut, at this rate."

As the conversation between the dwarf and the elf began, one of the satyr's long ears wandered back to listing in. He had no intentions of letting them kill him, and was pretty confident in his ability to escape should he desire. He did this sort of thing on a day to day basis, after all. The dwarf, a curiously aggressive creature, was beginning to grow on him.

A few words in the neighboring conversation tore the satyr away from his own with the dragon beast. The party was heading to town? On this road? That simply would not do. The satyr broke off from the dragonborn and scampered to the elf and dwarf, butting in to their talk.

"You don't want to go down this road, my friends," He said. "Not if a town is what you're looking for. About half a mile down, you'll find a fork, and the one that leads to the village runs straight through the worg and goblin camps. They set up just last week. Nasty tempers; don't take well to jokes. They won't be as hospitable as I." The satyr crossed his arms knowingly and smiled.

"But I can take you a safer route through a small path in the forest. It'll take just half a day longer, with a guaranteed reduction in goblins and worgs."

The satyr was completely sincere in his offer, but he seemed to fail to see that his guests may not trust him. To him, this whole incident had been a fun joke. But even if they lacked trust in him, he couldn't just let them wander into the goblins' midst. After all, he wasn't evil.

Meliya took a few hasty steps backwards as the Satyr approached, her hand flying to the hilt of the dagger strapped at her belt. Eyeing him distrustfully, the Elf mage cocked her head to the side as she tried to determine whether this was another trick of his or whether he truly meant to spare them the trouble of a fight.
"How do we know we can trust you?" she demanded, the words slow to leave her mouth since she chose them carefully to avoid provoking the Satyr into potential aggression.

"You could just be leading us further astray. Isn't that what Satyrs do to travellers?" she ventured, remembering the stories she had heard from the veterans back when she was still training, and the warnings that had been given to her by her father before she had left on her journey.

The satyr's ears flipped back. Clearly she had said something wrong. "Isn't that what satyrs do?" He repeated, "Yes, all satyrs, each and every last one, wants to lead innocent travelers astray and then leave them to die. Just like all satyrs love to kidnap and rape human women, steal, loot, and otherwise be evil, nasty creatures. In fact, we're no better than goblins! Hell, you might fair better with them." With his floppy ears pinned back, the creature looked a bit more intimidating. He was quite tall, and very well toned. His horns were sharp, and currently, his face held irritation. But he didn't show any sign of attacking, despite being offended.

The satyr glared the elfin woman down for a few seconds before he sighed and relented. "I was just playing around before. It was only a joke. But I mean what I say about the danger down this road. If you go down that way, someone is likely to be hurt, or worse."

Having an attunment to a soul, to the very thing that gives someone their humanity and personality, Icarus has always had a special knack for feeling the emotions and intentions of others, and even on occasions of very powerful emotions he can see it radiating off of them in streaks of light; the colors of which showed him the type of emotion. He hasn't been able to work out the emotions with every feeling or color he has seen yet, but he was reasonably sure that the satyr meant no ill will to his party, in fact he was quite sure of one thing; that the satyr was having a lovely time "playing" around with them as his glee during the height of the incident was practically making him shine like a beacon to Icarus. Hearing the satyrs words and being reasonably sure of the lack of deceit coming from this creature, Icarus took one step toward his eleven companion and raised his hands in almost a defensive manner saying "I believe we should take the satyr's advice, now I know that.. wel.. he hasn't shown himself to be the most trustworthy of associates yet, but I have a sort of.. knack for, lets call it reading I guess, reading others and I'm quite sure he hasn't meant us any harm. Now the joke may not be appreciated, but that's exactly what he meant by it.. a joke. Maybe jis timing could be a bit better *Icarus half smiled at his own attempt at comic relief* but he seems sincere now." Icarus half turns to the satyr. "and we appreciate the advice on the troubles ahead, that is for sure, but" turning back toward the elf, "I know I don't speak for everyone here and as a group we must decide what to do.. preferably without violence" said Icarus as he noticed the elf's hand resting on her knife, slightly paling at the thought of violence. Despite all his years of healing, the sight of blood always put some fear into him, as if it reminded him of the torment of those recently departed that only he see after all others believed them gone from this world. Icarus hoped his words would ease the tensions so a reasonable discussion could be held, and also a small part of him hoped his boldness in putting forward this proposition did not offend the prince next to him; as in his readings royalty were commonly portrayed as volatile and easily offended, and Icarus was not sure what to expect from this one.

Thranok grew increasingly impatient with the Satyr's presence, and this magnified itself tenfold when the beast thought it wise to put itself within close proximity of his axe. The Dwarf made to behead the creature in one fluent and powerful swing, gleeful to be ending the nonsense once and for all - but then he stopped, as the Satyr mentioned goblins and worgs, on down the road.

Before he could put questions to the trickster, Thranok's makeshift companions beat him to it. The Elf questioned the Satyr's credibility (maybe Elves weren't so stupid after all!), and the Prince's kinsman, a blacksmith who seemed to have a mysterious intelligence befitting someone of a higher role in life, decided that the group should trust the creature.

"Bah," Thranok snorted, spitting at the ground in front of his kinsman. "Yer sense 'o things be as weak as yer beard, brother. Aint no good that can come from the likes 'o this pointy eared prick."

Not for the first time that day, Thranok hefted his axe at the Satyr. "Got's me one question fer ya," he said, "yer say tha' road be blocked by goblins 'n worgs. How many goblins, and how many worgs? Maybe I can be gleamin' me some truth from yer tricks 'n nonsense."

The Prince thought it likely that the Satyr was trying to lead the caravan down another route, that did indeed have a host of goblins and worgs. On the other hand, it was possible that he was telling the truth - that he was a freak Satyr that possessed no want to cause mischief. Either way, the Prince wanted to know just how much resistance the caravan was likely to face, one way or the other. If the Trickster came out with a bloated number, Thranok would assume there were just a few goblins and their dogs, but if the Trickster came out with a low number, he'd bet his father's kingdom on there being an entire army of the critters.

Meliya eyed Icarus warily for several moments, before the Elf begrudgingly slackened her grip on the hilt of her dagger.
"I never thought I would say this, but I agree with the other dwarf. Give me one good reason why I should believe that what comes out of his mouth should be truth and not lies meant to send us to our deaths. Your 'inklings' on the matter are not enough to sway my judgement as of yet, young dwarf. You should not be so quick to trust those you have only just met."

In the back of her mind of course, she did wonder whether it was a genuine warning, but her common sense told her not to believe it. Satyrs were born tricksters, as anyone worth their salt would know. She rather fancied taking her chances, much like Thranok seemed to be inclined to, with the goblins and worgs ahead. No doubt they could probably fight them off, there couldn't be that many surely...