I raided my first full goblin village in Valheim today after figuring out where their scouting parties were coming from. Fulings had slain me thrice before since I arrived at the plains, as a ring of Plains was completely encircling the mountain chain that had had Moder's altar. I cleared two outposts with bow, sword, and spear, but a fog that persisted through the day kept me from continuing on to the main village.
The fog finally lifted at the next sundown, at which I struck, sniping several of the smaller Fulings, retreating, and kiting. One death, one breakneck run to recover my goods. When rushed by the smaller fulings, I found parrying and then thrusting with a maxed silver sword to be a deathblow. Against the shamans and berserkers, kiting with frost arrows let me wear them down. Around 30 lesser Fulings, four shamans, and four berserkers in total. To my luck, a simultaneous raid by greydwarves on the far side of the camp kept half the village distracted, allowing me to better pick my battles.
And with the last of their number put to the sword and arrow, now I went through their tribal huts, demolishing them one by one. With an iron axe, as even with a workbench and hammer, I couldn't remove their structures. Taking out the supports, letting physics collapse the roofs. Then stacking the lumber in neat piles and the bones and hides in their own storage chests.
I retreated once to sharpen my axe, and spent the day razing the village. The next night, the third of this expedition, a Fuling raiding party arrived back at their half-razed village, and began attacking a workbench I had set up before they noticed me. Five against one. I jump to one of the roofs and take out two with my bow, let my stamina recharge, then drop down and finish the other three with my spear and shield. I erect a quick palisade around the workbench so it won't happen again.
I look over the spoils as morning dawns again. Eight stacks of lumber, 183 deer hide, 63 black metal scraps, 58 bone fragments, twenty-six barley. None of the flax I needed to actually make use of the black metal ingots. With the Fulings gone, deer emerge from the nearby forest, honking loudly, and lox from the plains mosey near to nibble on the cloudberries.
With far too much to carry back up the mountains to the tiny stone tower of Moderberg, I take 26 black metal scraps, their idol, and the head of one of their shamans. It begins raining, so I quaff a frost mead so I won't freeze with my wolf armor negated.
And then, no longer rested and with my food wearing out, I nearly die to a deathsquito on the way up. It slain, I refresh my vittles, and hike up the steep slope, to the familiar howls of wolves and shrieks of the frost drakes. I resolve to take my longship back to the village to recover the rest of the spoils; the search for flax continues.