As Dane crouched in the underbrush, he had to contain his fury and disgust as the goblins rifled through the pouches and pockets of his former fellow guardsmen.
Lars was laid off to one side, bound and gagged tight enough that Dane was sure, even for the human's impressive size, and his battle prowess, there was no escape when he woke.
Growling to himself softly, Dane shook his head, his crossbow seeming little more than a token gesture at this point. Even if he did manage to deal with the goblins on the ground, Lars was right from the start; the goblins in the trees would be the end of the dwarf.
For now, Dane would have to watch, and wait. When the goblins moved on with their spoils and captive, he'd follow along.
He chuckled softly to himself, his decades in the Ranger Corps were about to pay dividends it seemed.
As Snark watched his goblins gather the last of the spoils, he smirked in satisfaction, his keen eyes resting deliberately on the bound and gagged human his archers had dragged to the side of the road.
'What to do about him,' he thought to himself.
Surely, presenting the human to Klarg would net him a hefty prize. But was that the only option?
Snark smelled the distinctive aroma of opportunity, reeking on the human like horse manure.
If he was careful and clever, and if he convinced his tribesmen that he, Snark, was cleverer, and more importantly, more capable than Klarg, capable enough to fell a human of that size and strength, then maybe…
The goblins began moving out. Dane waited for some minutes after the last of their hoots and shrieks had faded before leaving his hiding place to begin to follow them. There were likely goblins in the trees, trailing the group by a good distance, ensuring that the lead goblin and his band of cutthroats weren't followed.
Dane knew better than to blunder off blindly after them. Still, despite this level of cunning on the part of the goblins, the loot they hauled, and their prisoner, made them slow and heavy. Their trail was easy to pick out through the undergrowth, and even as the forest cleared somewhat, giving way to large, rolling hills, the trail still was not hard to spot.
As he skulked after the thieving murderers, Dane sighed heavily. Fifty years ago, at the height of his career in the Corps, he'd have thrown himself into their midst with reckless abandon. Back then, his knees would never have betrayed him, and his arms would have easily carved through their share of goblin hides with the ax strapped at his side.
Such was no longer the case, however. Dane was old, even by dwarven standards. While on a good day, he'd bark he had the best years of his life ahead of him, and promptly wallop the damn fool who'd dared to bring up the white in his beard or the very audible cracking of his joints, this was no time for boasting.
Dane was old, it was as simple as that. If he was going to accomplish the goal of avenging his fallen squadmates, and saving the brute, Lars, he was going to need some help.
Absently, he pulled a small bit of wood from a pouch at his side. The whistle was small, fitting easily into the palm of his hand, and its smooth, polished wood was in perfectly manicured condition.
'As is tha proper way,' he smiled in self-satisfaction.
Any Ranger worth his quiver would have died before letting their whistle fall into disrepair. To do so was to disrespect a bond so deep, and so sacred, that they ran the risk of incurring the wrath of the one whom the whistle would call upon.
Without preamble, Dane put the whistle to his lips as he trudged up a hill, and blew.
He was not concerned about being heard, there was only one being in all of existence who could hear that whistle.
With a soft, warm thrum somewhere in the region of his chest, Dane knew the device had done its work.
He put the whistle back in its pouch and continued walking, now using his large, heavy crossbow as a support as he continued to climb the rather steep hill.
As he crested the hill, a familiar sight greeted him. Lounging in the afternoon sun atop the hill, seemingly without a care in the world, a gigantic, brown, and very furry bear snoozed lazily, titanic paws folded under a massive, boulder-like head.
Dane smiled softly to himself, shaking his head in slight bemusement. As old as he was, his friend was equally so, and it had been some time since Dane had called him for anything serious.
The hulking beast opened one eye, regarding Dane somewhat coolly. In the back of the dwarf's mind, he heard a low, deep voice rumble indignantly, "What is it? I was napping…"
As if to emphasize that point, the bear gave a long, low yawn, its maw stretching wide to reveal large, brutal looking fangs.
Despite his size and stature, Bromar was hardly a cub anymore. The blonde fur around his muzzle and paws indicated the onset of later years, despite the bear's greatly increased vitality granted by the Ranger's bond with him.
Dane nodded, "Aye, I'll bet ya were."
Looking over the bear, to the hills beyond where he could see the goblin's trail continuing onward, he sighed, "We've got a–"
Bromar groaned slightly, the sound almost a growl of annoyance, "What is it this time? Someone lost a herd of sheep…again?"
The great bear laid its head back on its paws, closing its eyes once more, "You know sheep hate the sight of me, let alone my scent. Besides, what do I look to be, a sheepdog?" He gave a loud snort of reprisal, "Wake me when there's a real problem, will you?"
Dane chuckled, hooking a thumb through his belt and shaking his head, leaning slightly on the crossbow, "That was one time, an' ye even got paid fer it, didn't ye?"
Bromar gave a rather unconvincing snore as a response. Dane sighed, his mood dropping a bit. The bear opened one ice blue eye once more, regarding his companion with renewed interest, and his shift in mood, with slight apprehension.
"What is it?" the beast asked again, less indignantly this time.
Dane shook his head. He didn't like that it was coming to this, but he needed his old friend's help, now more than usual. Looking at the bear's searching eye, he softly growled in response "Goblins, Brom."
Dane could feel the white hot knife of rage lance through his chest. He'd almost forgotten the sensation of his empathetic bond and feeling the alien emotions, and the deep sense of kinship with the animal before him.
If there was anything Bromar couldn't stand, it was Goblins and their ilk. The retired ranger could hardly blame the bear. If he'd been through what Bromar had, he'd want them all dead, too.
Without any more discussion, getting to his feet and shaking his forward haunches as if to clear them of something, Bromar let out a sharp snort, "Well," he growled, his tone now deathly serious, "where are they?"
Dane smiled in spite of himself, forcing away his slight pang of guilt at calling his old friend into what was going to be a veritable nest of peril, instead of letting him continue his well deserved rest.
"C'mon now," he said softly, "ye know ye knew tha answer ta that tha second ye stood up."
Bromar did little more than grunt, heaving himself around to face the direction the goblins had gone, and beginning to lumber his way towards the back slope of the hill.
"Come on then," Dane could hear the bear in the back of his mind, and feel his resolve, "let's not keep them waiting."
Nodding, the dwarf followed his old friend and companion, still using his crossbow for support as he began to take the back side of the hill in steady, careful strides.