VIDEO BEGINS TRANSCRIBING — — —
This is a later part of the previous video, it is likely the goblins have yet to discover how to turn the magical camera off. A few artifacts and glitches are scattered through the recording due to the long time the camera has been active.
The camera sits in a pile of gear and equipment in the middle of a dark hall deep into the keep. Makeshift torches cover the walls, created from anything the goblins could get their hands on, mostly cloth dipped in a waxy substance, or splinters of rotten wood taken from somewhere else in the keep. The improvised lighting obscures the ceiling overhead with thick clouds of smoke, the flickering light barely illuminates the room. There is enough light to record by, however. A large pyre brightens the center of the room casting the weak torch lit edges of the hall into relative darkness.
There are goblins gathered here en masse, hooting and hollering, leaky homemade cups splashing some of their contents around the room. Whenever their cups spill into the fire, it sparks and sputters, shooting out large tongues of flame. They are celebrating something, though it does not seem to be an entirely happy event. Every few minutes, a group of goblins come in carrying a dead goblin and toss him on the pyre, the flames leaping up to lick against the smoke covered ceiling.
Each time a goblin is tossed on, the goblins raise a toast and pour out a cup into the fire. Giving the dead one last drink. The smell of burning goblin must be overwhelming, But still the wake goes on, goblin after goblin fed into the flames.
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Once a while has passed with no more goblins to feed the flames, and the fire died down to embers. A new group of goblins walks into the room.
This group of goblins is much shorter and paler than the others, and follow after a hunched old goblin. As the group makes their way into the room, the previously raucous group of goblins go silent and make way for the wizened goblin as he strides toward the pile of stuff just behind the darkened pyre, his walking stick taping along the stone.
He turns to make a speech, speaking to the young goblins who followed him in, as well as the adult goblins lost in the deepening shadows about the hall. He ends the speech as the fire fully subsides, only hot glowing coals left for light, the darkness leaching all color from the recording, the flickering torches covered by the crowd - leaving the goblins gathered as a dark shifting mass. The occasional red, yellow, or orange set of eyes flashing out of the darkness as the camera catches them from just the right angle.
The old goblin is silhouetted by the red coals of the dying pyre as he raises his walking stick to shout out a few last words.
As he does so, the space just above his head lights up into silvery purple strands of color weaving into a fractal patterned square. A gust of wind shoots through the hall, relighting the fire and sweeping away the smoke and, presumably, the smell from the room.
The goblins cheer, their somber mood lifted, and the goblin elder beckons the young ones forward to take an item from the pile. They fall on the pile, greedy hands grasping and pulling at the items, the frame of the camera shaking about. The adults can be heard egging the young goblins on as fights erupt over the nicest and shiniest bits of the hoard.
The camera is the last piece to be grabbed, by a small pale orange eyed goblin, who is surprisingly unscathed when compared to his fellows.
As he fiddles with the camera, his pale green fingers covering the lens, a faint click can be heard and the recording cuts out.
END TRANSCRIPTION — — —
