The trees above rustled with a light breeze, bringing with it the cool air that precluded autumn. Summer was not yet behind him, but Lars longed for the freezing temperatures of winter. To him, the south was always too warm, regardless of the time of year. But in the snow, at least he'd feel somewhat at home.
'Home', he grunted, the word coming to mind with a pang of pain. What good was it to dwell on that?
'Easier to forget when you're cold,' he thought, snorting through his nose in agitation.
"You alright over there, mate?"
Lars looked up, suddenly realizing he'd been glowering at the ground in his introspection. The nearby guardsman was looking at him with some mix of apprehension and bemusement. Lars realized he was still glaring.
Forcing a more relaxed expression, he nodded shortly, "Yes," he sighed in his rough and gravelly tone, feeling some tension leave him with the word.
After another moment's thought, "Feet just hurt," he said in an effort to explain the expression, nodding down to the road.
The guard, a young human by the name Eric, nodded sagely, "Aye, if you're not used to it, the roads of the rough country can be murder on your feet."
The man seemed to think for another moment, looking him over carefully, "What's got you out here, anyway? This is a guard's job, not…"
He trailed off, his cheeks reddening slightly. Lars smiled ruefully, "Not the job of some heathen from the plains, right?" As if to punctuate the point, Lars gestured to his furs and tunic, which he knew were dirtier than his father would've expected when walking the southlands. He was, after all, representing his tribe…such as it was.
The young man's cheeks turned a deeper red, "I didn't-"
Lars made a quick, dismissive gesture with his hand, "Of course you didn't. You're asking fairly. There's nothing wrong with that. It is a bit odd. Most tribesmen don't come this far south. At least not alone…"
When Lars didn't continue, Eric seemed to take the opportunity to change the subject, "Ever seen a goblin? I heard they skulk about in these woods."
Lars grunted, looking to the trees as well. While the young man scanned the forest floor, Lars's eyes drifted up to the canopy. If goblins were to be anywhere, they wouldn't be on the ground.
"Yes," Lars said again, his tone darkening slightly, "I have seen goblins."
Eric turned to him, his eyes a bit wide, "You sound as though you've had…personal encounters with them."
Lars did nothing more than nod.
Eric shook his head slightly, "I've never seen one. They don't make it up to Waterdeep. At least…not outside a stockade or pen." Looking around the forest floor, and taking a brief pause in the conversation, as though to not seem eager, he looked back at Lars a bit sheepishly, "Ever fight one?"
Lars nodded again, "Yes."
This appeared to be too much for Eric as his questions spilled forth in a flurry of words. "What are they like? Is it true they poison their arrows? Are they cannibals? I've heard they eat prisoners, and that their favorite prey is dwarves and-"
Lars began nodding and Eric fell quiet. After a few moments, Lars spoke, "First lesson, boy. Goblins won't be on the ground," he nodded to the forest floor they were passing, "Too low. Goblins are small, and they're deadly clever. They know they can't take a human in a straight fight."
Lars pointed above them, to the woven network of branches and leaves above the dusty road, "They'd be up there, bows at the ready. And you'd never see them," Lars went on, looking where he was pointing. "Goblins are masters of ambush, they'd be covered in mud and forest debris, to match their background. The arrows would fly, and before you knew who'd shot them at you, you'd be choking out your last."
Eric instinctively shot a glance above him, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head as his hands tightened on his halberd.
"You're goin' ta kill the lad with fright!"
The heavily accented dwarven voice came from the wagon just ahead of Lars and Eric. It's driver grunted in agreement as the dwarf poked his head around, waving the crossbow at Eric as though to remind him of its existence, "Lad, if the little buggers decide ta come outta the trees," he shot a quick glare at Lars, "or tha forest, they'll be full 'a bolts a'fore they reach the road, much less the cart."
The surly looking dwarf nodded to Lars, his bushy grey eyebrows knitting together just beneath the edge of his conical guardsman's helm, "You an' the big guy just stay back there, an' try not ta step in anymore horse shit."
The driver let out a barking laugh. Lars, Eric, Helm the driver, and Dane, the dwarf with the crossbow, had been traveling down the winding, dusty road for several days now. Lars didn't think much of the idea of playing guard with the three other men. However, the Waterdeep watch needed a volunteer for this expedition, and they paid well.
'Pay on delivery, of course,' Lars mused.
Still, this was better than nothing. Diane had done him a massive favor, getting him a spot in this small caravan. Most had to have some kind of reputation in order to qualify for working directly with the city guard.
However, Diane's own reputation was good enough to earn Lars the spot on the trip, and the hefty pay at the tail end of the journey.
Some rich dwarf and his brothers had a mining expedition they were setting out on, which was nothing new. They needed several hundred gold pieces worth of gear and supplies moved to a no-name town in the middle of nowhere, deep into the human held frontiers of the Sword Coast.
Actually, that wasn't fair. The place had a name. Phandalin. Apparently it was a sort of mining camp turned frontier outpost for several major mining commissions.
Lars knew better, though. In his homeland far to the north, such towns rose and fell like wheat during the seasons. As soon as whatever they were mining ran out, they'd all scramble back to civilization, sniffing for the next 'golden' opportunity.
This town, Lars believed, would be no different than the rest.
Suddenly, there was a sharp crack from his left, where Eric was standing, followed by a hoarse, gurgling noise.
Whipping his head around, Lars saw the guard feebly attempting to pull a long, black strip of wood from his throat, his halberd lying at his side. Blood poured from the wound in flowing waves, but Lars was more concerned about the fletching.
Jet black feathers. He growled, reaching over his shoulder for the worn handle of the greatsword he kept slung across his back.
As the blade rasped free, several wooden thuds told Lars more arrows were coming at them, sticking into the cart.
Eric fell to his knees, his gurgling becoming more intense. Lars began bolting for the cart, just as a horse reared, whinnying in pain and alarm as several arrows stuck into it's flanks. He could hear the dwarf shout something in his native tongue, and the sharp snap of the crossbow letting off an arrow told him the guard was at least level headed enough to fight back. The driver was swearing loudly, snapping the reins against the horses with one hand while drawing a second crossbow with the other.
Lars shook his head, bolting from the road into the underbrush of the forest to the left. The road was a deathtrap. From there, the goblins he was absolutely sure would be above the road, hidden in the trees, would have clear targets below them.
Sure enough, as he broke into the treeline, crashing through brush and shrubs, he heard high cackling above him, and the harsh, guttural tongue of goblinkind.
"Escapes," one shouted above him, "escapes, escapes, escapes!"
Lars grunted in satisfaction. The speaker sounded concerned.
"That's right you little bastards!" Lars could feel his blood beginning to boil, his heart thundering louder and louder in his ears, "As soon as I get my hands on you, you'll be spread across this forest in pieces!"
Screeching and several goblin curses came at him from above, but Lars hardly noticed. His senses were taking over. It wouldn't be long now…