Just west of the foothills of Lumpeak, near the Sassawa River there was a small halfling town called Goodwheat. Most of the halflings of Goodwheat were farmers, and they grew a variety of fruits, vegetables and grains, especially wheat. That namesake wheat was what had helped the town evolve from little more than a village, and there was even some talk among the younger halflings of setting up their own trading business rather than relying on the human-run boats that came down the river every month or so for trade. They felt that they could sell the fine trinkets and clothing that their craftsmen made, in addition to the more obvious produce. They were proud of their little town and they wanted it to be known throughout the entire region of Pallus.

But alas, one day shortly after the harvest, a gang of brigands came riding into town. Mounted on fierce worgs, the half-orc raiders, for such hideous creatures they were, looted the town mercilessly. They smashed the houses and storefronts, trampled the children and the infirm and made away with all that they could carry. The rode away laughing and singing and taunting the good halflings about how they would return the next week to finish the job.

The damage had been great, and they took some small consolation that only few were dead, though many more were wounded. The whole town worked together to help bind the wounds of the living, then to properly bury their dead.

The poor people of Goodwheat were terribly frightened. They gathered together at a town meeting and after much wailing and moaning over their losses, looked fitfully to one another to seek an answer.

"How can we stop them?" Cried one. "We are not warriors!" And it was true. The people of Goodwheat had known no battle nor monster attack in as long as even the elders could remember, which was a very long time indeed.

"We must send for warriors!" Cried another. "There must be someone who will protect us!"

"How?" Came the response. "We have no riding ponies nor boats and even if we did the next town is many days' travel!" And so it was. They needed little from the outside world, and so they kept to themselves mostly, apart from an annual journey to the capitol that some would undertake to see the fair. They would always return with wonderful stories of entertainers and wizards and jousting and the wondrous exotic foods to be found. Being halflings, the last were usually of the most interest and following the tale the teller often made promises to bring some back the next year to share with the village. These promises were always in good faith, and each year the pilgrims would begin the return trip with packs laden with exotic meats, fruits, spices, pastries and sweetmeats. But the distance to the capitol was long, and the contents of those packs never seemed to survive the trip.

"We must flee!" Cried another.

"Where can we go? Our lives are here!" Came the response.

"What will become of us?" Cried several, which was followed by much weeping and comforting as the fearful halflings wracked what remained of their wits in an effort to save their beloved town.

Finally, one young halfling stood up. He had rumpled, wavy brown hair and a clever look to his eye. The hair on his feet was quite bushy, which all know is considered quite attractive in a halfling. When he was called upon by name, which was not always necessary in such a small town, he was called Foli. As he stood, the other halflings muttered to themselves that Foli had an idea. Surely he would have a brilliant idea that would save them all.

Foli said simply, "If they want to destroy us, why don't we beat them to it?"

This was not the brilliant suggestion that the assemblage had hoped for. "How can you say that?" They demanded. "How can you ask us to destroy our wonderful Goodwheat, built so lovingly by our own people not five generations gone and developed by the sweat of our own brows? Has fear driven you mad?"

Foli smiled and said, "Not at all. I mean only that we should pretend to destroy our home. Half-orcs are not very smart, and we might make it appear as though hobgoblins have raided us in their absence and moved into our town. We will even give it a hobgoblin name, Blacch. The raiders will then flee for fear of a greater foe."

The farmers and smiths and tailors and weavers and woodworkers and all the others who were assembled, which was in fact all the halflings in Goodwheat, looked to each other in amazement. Could this really work?

Seeing no other option, they agreed and set to work that very night. They took their damaged village and re-arranged the damage quite cunningly. They had to smash even more of their lovely town to be convincing, but they consoled themselves that they would at least be able to repair the damage. They drew upon every tale they had heard of the dreaded hobgoblins to make their ruse more effective, working the details into their town's appearance. Suffice to say that hobgoblins are filthy, unsanitary creatures. A brave few volunteered to disguise themselves as casualties of the hobgoblins and risk being trampled by the pitiless half-orcs. These few they made up to look slaughtered, using berry-dies for blood and other tricks to make them look slain and discarded.

When all was arranged and the town looked ruined, they replaced their beautiful Goodwheat sign, carved by Hewa, the best of their woodworkers, with a rough, ugly sign that read "Blacch," in that approximation of a written language that hobgoblins are known to use. One of the elders had learned the simple, yet recognizable system from a passing dwarf many, many years ago, in exchange for supplies for his travels.

The halflings hid in the town hall and waited, shaking, for the brigands to return.

And shortly after dawn that very next day they did return, whooping and laughing, riding hard into town right past the sign. Once more they looted and ransacked and pillaged the poor town of Goodwheat. They chased the peaceful halflings out of their town hall and hunted down almost all of them. Then the evil half-orcs rode off with their booty, singing old orcish war songs.

The halflings had been clever in their work. They had made the town look ruined. They had even made the town look occupied by hobgoblins. But perhaps the half-orcs were not so stupid as the halflings thought, for though the town looked ruined, their farms were still in excellent shape.

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