After a journey you eventually arrive at the designated location at the edge the forest in monster territory. You needed to be careful, as signs of fighting start from the Rockgrinder pass and only get more intense. Fights over gold, fights over territory, fights over resouces, fights over basic food. Monsters fighting monsters, monsters fighting huumans, wild beasts hunting them both. Signs of adventurers parties charring a goblin camp. Remains from the same adventurers and incomplete massive paw marks 1 foot across. Broken cheap iron daggers and fragments of priceless magical gems. Tree branches chipped from arrows and entire cliff faces melted by magic. The border between the "civilised realms" and the northlands is hostile to all life.

There could hardly be a greater contrast with the area you have reached. It is a small clearing, around 100 feet across, in the middle of the forest. The area seems calm and serene. A soft morning mist covers the area, the undergrowth feels soft an comfortable under your feet, numerous flowers and herbs appear in bloom and even the animals in the area seem unafraid, calmly moving aside, rather than running away at full speed.

This area is familiar to some of you. A tough scarred bugbear and a tortle, accompanied by a metallic shrub-like creature reach the clearing first. They are followed soon after by a hobgoblin heading from the same direction. Others, new to the this place, arrive soon after.

The wirey hobgoblin scuttles into the clearing, glancing around as he is glad he was able to find this place back again. He nods to the others, glad to see they yet live, having not seen them in some time. A heavy crossbow hangs from his pack, with no obvious sign of any bolts to use with it to be seen. Walking into the clearing directly, he moves to join the others. A long scar runs down his right arm, though the wound looks healed, just well-scarred.

"It does not appear everyone made it out of the time caring for those goblins." Nasaar says as he moves over. "I'd ask how it went, but I really don't care. Teaching goblins to farm was never my cup of tea, and I don't need the details." He looks around. "What do you think the druid wants of us now?"

A black dragonborn walks through the mist, the dusty robes and cloth wrappings he wears doing nothing to hide his rather intimidating appearance: His many sharp fangs are visible even with his muzzle closed, his socketed eyes and broad nasal openings makes face resemble a skull, and there's what looks like purple warpaint on both his face and arms. He has curved horns and yellow green eyes. He's carrying a Greataxe.

He visibly relaxes when he arrives at the clearing, happy to find a peaceful place after the violence he witnessed when coming here. He looks around, admiring the wildflowers and taking great care to not accidentally step on any small critter running around. If an animal comes close to him, he crouches to try to pet it. It is then that he notices he's not alone.

"...Hello." He greets with a shyness that seems completely out of place coming from such a fearsome-looking individual.

A towering figure hesitantly emerges, flanked by a brown bear padding along by their side. Those familiar with the large folk of the forest would recognize a firbolg, but one heavily scarred down their left side, the fur that covers the right unable to grow, and the flesh ridged and waxy looking, their left ear a molten nub. They wear leathers over red clothes, a long quarterstaff (half staff?) in their left hand, and a shield slung across the pack on their back.

"Hello. I am late?", they ask in a hoarse grumble.

Gruntor

Gruntor scratches an old scar on his neck as he walks into the clearing.  He glances at the others but doesn't say anything at this time. 

Serit turns to the arrivals, first Nasaar and in a surly voice, "Nasaar! It has been a while. You missed some glorious battles. Do not worry however, Gara and I made short work if them."

As the others enter the clearing the bugbear's hand drops and tenses, a swirl of shadows just on the edges of his oversized fist. His eyes narrow as he appraises each, "And who are you three? What is it exactly that you want with this glade? Be warned, speak quickly and truthfully, otherwise you will meet your fears."

"Never understood why you thought battles were glorious." Nasaar says with an anoyed look on his face. He glances to the other newcomers as well. "I assume they are here for the same reason we all are, the druid wants us for something."

The big scarred firbolg gives an amused grunt as they make a show of looking around the glade, at each of those assembled, the bear giving a low rumble as its ears get scratched.

"Our fears. They are not here.", the firbolg rasps in a little used voice, fixing Serit with the eye surrounded by a scarred ruin of a face.

"We are firbolg and Bear. Only speak truthfully. Don't speak quickly like little chirping bird." 

They bring forefingers and thumb together rapidly on their right hand to mimic a beak of a noisy bird... or a yapping bugbear.

At the bugbear's obvious distrust, the dragonborn shows his clawed hands in a peaceful gesture. "I'm not here to fight" He rushes in to say.

"My name is Vrakskan of the Onyxadyn clan..." He explains, his voice cracking a little. To him, it was a formality to introduce himself with his clan name, even to non-dragonborn people... And even if that clan was no else but him now. "Are you the protector of this glade, by any chance? The forests are disappearing more and more each day... A place such as this is a blessing that should be protected."

He glances at the hobgoblin and at the scarred firbolg with a bear companion, and nods.

"Greetings, Vrakskan of the Onyxadyn Clan. We are firbolg and Bear."

"Are we the protectors of this glade? Ha," Serit laughs with a throaty sound, "this glade should have such guardians as Gara and I." He gestures to himself and the tortle beside him, his hands no longer tense.

"No dragon man, we are under heel of the Old Bear from this place. Should he have called upon you all to come here and aid us is merely a sign that he knows we," he gestures again though includes Nasaar this time, "should have those to support us."

"Just Vrakskan is fine" He says to the firbolg gently, respectfully ignoring their scars. "It's nice to meet you. Both of you." He adds, looking at the bear. He crouches and extends a hand for the bear to sniff should it want to come close.

To the bugbear, he answers. "I was called here, yes. I want to do my best to protect the innocent from those who sees them as beasts to hunt down. Am I in the right place, or do we have different goals?"

"Bear, say 'Hello' to Just Vrakskan." 

The bear plods forward and snuffles the offered hand, giving it a big lick and looking you in the eyes.

As he waits for/hears the bugbear to answer and for the others to introduce themselves, Vrakskan allows the friendly beast to lick his hand and pats its head before turning to the others.

„Is the old man already here?“ the Tortle asks. He looks rather small for what you expect from a Tortle.

The bear nuzzles at Vrakskan's side, trying to get his snoot in a pocket.

"Bear. Be polite, yes?"

The  bear sits back and paws at the ground.

"Last time there was a table..." Nasaar says as he glances around. He moves to where the table was located the previous time, trying to see if it is there again.

"Do not see table.", the firbolg remarks.

As you speak, you see the figure of the one that Serit, Gara and Nasaar recognise as Old Bear, enter the clearing. In a similar manner to before, branches and vines arrange themselves into a table and chairs, complete with bowls of berries and nuts.

Old Bear looks as he did before. A tough strong man, with a broad and strong frame, but with an air of wisdom and, leaning on a staff seeming to show he is not in his prime. The firbolg can feel a great power radiate from the man, similar in some ways to his own, but also different.

Old Bear speaks:

"Welcome. I am happy to see both those who return from a task I set earlier, and those who come here for the first time. Come, sit down and eat.".

He turns to Serit and Gara:

"I feel that the goblin territory is now safe and developping. You have my thanks."

"Now there is table."

The firbolg find a chair that looks their size and samples the berries and nuts, tossing some to the bear.