The small convoy made its way through the forest at a leisure pace. Heavy, goods-laden wagons rumbled down the road, their large wheels leaving deep tracks in the dusty soil. Apart from the driver, each was guarded by three guards, one sitting behind the horses and the others standing by the sides. A trio of mounted guards held the front of the convoy, while another held the back. All in all, security was strong.

Still, despite the numbers, the level of attention of the guards wasn’t as good as it could have been. Many of the men were still a bit buzzed after the previous evening in town, especially since they had coin to spend and a reason to celebrate. The merchandise they had brought - spices, cheeses and weapons from the Seven Cities, tanned hides, wool and alum from the Wasteland - had sold exceptionally well and their employer hadn’t shirked on the bonuses. The men knew about their less than ready state but nobody was overly concerned. They were still close to the town, and they trusted their guide’s reassurances about the way being free. Sure, soon they would be back in need of surveillance but by then the buzz would be gone. For now, they were content and relaxed, happy for the success of their long journey and for the further earning their new cargo promised. There was always need for grain and lumber in the Seven Cities, the war-like territory ever needing to make up for the food lost in the fires of conflict, and the orcs paid well for pieces of cloth and other amenities they couldn’t fabricate by themselves. If the return went as well as the going, they were going home a lot richer than when they had left.

None was more aware, and happy, for it than the sponsor and leader of the journey. Despite being well into his middle age, Karl Jaeger was still as hale as a bull and more than ready to lead his convoys in person, no matter what his nagging wife said about his health.

Wide-shouldered and robust, with a thick beard and only a bit of rotundity to show his age, the man carried the large, feathered hat typical of the Cities, and dressed in the flamboyant colors of their traditions; azure and red, a combination than whoever wasn’t born in that tormented land called an eyesore but that a true son of the Seven couldn’t but call his own. And Karl was a true son of his land; no matter if his job often carried him away from it, his heart always longed to return to the most beautiful land in the world. Sure, his people were quarrelsome, but that was only because they knew the true weight of honor. He himself had fought and won three duels before setting on the way of the merchant, like the three feathers he carried on his hat could attest to.

He cared not for those that called his people war-mongering savages. What did they know anyway? They hadn’t breathed the life-giving air high above the Asperlgen Mountains, the one that tickled your lungs and reminded you that you were alive; hadn’t walked the lowlands during the summer, when the sun kissed your face and the grass caressed your feet.

The Seven Cities were a land rich in history and traditions, untamed and proud, where a true man could build his fortune with only his steel and sweat. The Demon-talkers had never held any sway over it, their taint never weakening the fiber of the Seven like it had done with the Westerners. The people of the Seven had written their own path, and emerged from the Cataclysm as stronger as never before. Karl was proud of being one of them.

Age and the merchant’s guiles had mellowed him, making him scoff wherein youth he would have talked with his fists, but that didn’t mean that he enjoyed hearing his homeland being derided or diminished. His guards knew that well, the scoundrels!, and teased him for it.

“Ah, hearth and blood!” The big man bellowed. He held the reins of the carriage with the ease of someone long accustomed to travel. The horses whinnied, seeming to reply to the traditional Seven’s exclamation with their own.

“I long for the Moeger Hills!” He exclaimed with a merry nostalgia. “Bacharach and Wolksburg! The valley of Ehren, sprawling before you like a lover; with the Katz flowing through the forest, and the eternal mountains of Alte watching down on you! Ah! Where are they, i ask? Where?”

The guards replied with laughter and cheers.

“At the end of the road as always, Herr Jaeger!” Said old Karol, the head of his guards, turning from his horse’s saddle with a large smile under the long mustaches. “Just waiting for us, together with the smiling wife and the stew on the fire.”

“Ah, too far away, my friend!” Karl bellowed. “Ack! Half of my coins for seeing my Mildred here and now!”

“It’s your fault, Herr!” Karol replied. “She said you would be better at home, isn’t she?”

“And let my sons get cheated by the western snakes? As if! Karl Jaeger will need to stop traveling when he stops breathing! Ack, the woes of the merchant!”

“Console yourself, Herr!” Called Jon, another guard. “With the money you made, you will buy your family a new house!” The suggestion elicited a wave of laughter.

“Bah! Houses and money!” Karl scoffed. “The Gray take them all, i say! Hearth and family and blood! These are the real treasure of a man!”

“Strange talk for a merchant, Herr!” Karol said with a smile. He was used to his employer’s goings about home.

“Merchant by necessity, i tell you!” Karl argued, making ample gestures with his shovel-sized hand “But not by heart! That belongs to my Mildred and to the Seven, and the homesickness always returns!”

Murmurs of agreement passed through the guards. As much as they loved good coin, they too always longed to return to their land of high mountains, cool forests and verdant valleys.

Pleased by his guards’ assent, Karl turned to the man riding beside him.

“What do you say, Herr Longtow? Do you westerners prefer cold coin or the warmth of your hearth?” He asked.

Edgard Longtow didn’t look what one could expect from a guide. He was well-dressed, with nice, soft boots, a cloak bordered with fur and a shirt embroidered with delicate patterns. A well-trimmed goatee and mustaches oiled to fine points only added to the impression of the noble dandy, rather than a man used to the dust of the road. Watching him, nobody would ever say that he was one of the most demanded guide in town, the most knowledgeable in the ways of the Orc tribes and the methods with which one could obtain safe passage through their territories.

“Me, Herr?” The man said, holding to his cloak so that the dust raised from the wheels didn’t reach it. The man had a charming smile, and the tone of the cultured man. “Personally, i think that coin is a burdensome delight and family a delightful burden. The man who slog under their heavy caress and manages to feel happy is fortunate indeed.”

Karl thought about those words for a moment, before exploding in bellowing laughter.

“Spoken like a true westerner!” He exclaimed. “You said nothing and still managed to play both parts! Well said, Herr!”

“The poor man is just trying to avoid having you sing him some more about the Seven, Herr,” called another guard.

Karl stopped his laughter at that. “What? Nonsense! Herr Longtow loves my stories!”

“One, maybe,” Jon said. “A thousand, i don’t think so!”

“Bah! Ridiculous! What do you say, my friend?”

As expectant and amused gazes moved upon him, the man in question smiled, with just a tiny bit of strain.

“I cherish to listen to a modicum of stories,” he said.

The guards laughed. “Well said, Herr!” Jon exclaimed. “Better play the diplomat with the one who holds the gold pouch‘s strings!”

“The poor man probably had enough stories of the Seven for ten lives!”

“Brigands and idiots!” Karl sneered. “The Gray take you all! Herr Longtow agrees with me!” then, turning to the man in question, his dark eyes shining with hilarity despite his frown, “see how they treat their employer, my friend; and all while they squeeze me dry for money. And they have even the nerve to ask for more! But we’ll ally, we poor persecuted, and we will teach them not to challenge us!”

Edgard nodded nervously, and the big man’s features lit up in a large smile.

“You heard the man, you scoundrels!” Karl bellowed merrily. “We’re allied now, the army of hearth and family. So keep your jeers and taunts for yourself, or you’ll get trampled!” And to punctuate the point, he threw some whip to the horses, making them whinny and snort.

The guards laughed. For all their banter, they were all very affectionated to their employer. They had followed him as he had made his passage from the soldier life to the merchant's and were a tight-knit group. After three journeys, the well-dressed guide had started to become part of the group as well, passing from intruder kept at a distance to the object of their well-natured jeers. In the book of the rude people of the Seven, that was only a step under trusted comrade.

“Ah, this brings back memories,” Karl said after the hilarity had subsided. His gaze turned far away as the big man recalled the past. “I remember that time on the battlefield of Fergof…”

“Ehm!” Edgar interjected. For all his denying, he was sure that he was going to drop dead if forced to listen to another war story. “Forgive me for interrupting what is surely a riveting piece of a tale, Herr, but i was wondering; you spoke a couple of times of the Gray. What is it, if i can ask?”

Karl was so unused to be interrupted that he actually needed a moment to register the question, and another to remember to have actually talked about the Gray. When he did, his heavy brow furrowed.

“You westerners don’t know about the Gray?” He asked, genuinely surprised, and fell in thoughtful silence at Edgar’s quick assent.

The large man hesitated, then glanced behind his shoulder, like he was checking for listeners. Edgard didn’t really care for the answer, he had only brought up the topic to escape from another tale, but the sudden change of demeanor managed to arouse his curiosity.

“It’s quite the old legend,” the merchant began with some hesitation. “Can’t say who first told it, but here’s what: there was a goblin tribe. They said that they lived in the Ringing Hills, the ones dividing us from the Wasteland. You know how them little greenskins are, nasty little critters, pillaging and burning and killing children, laughing while they do it. They were normal, or as normal as those critters can be, but then here’s what happens: one day they retire to their holes. Not a peep, not a sound. Just gone.”

“Were they gone?” Edgard asked. Despite himself, he had got into listening.

“They wish!” Karl replied, and then, seeing his listener turning quizzical: “the people living close to the hills, i mean. Well, one night, the goblins come out from their holes. And they do it in numbers. Like, there is a ton of the little buggers. And nobody knows where they came from!” The merchant waved with his hand, like if he wanted to paint a massive sea of bulbous heads and malicious red eyes. “There was an enclave of them fey creatures close by, sprites you westerners call them. They rested nice and cozy behind their enchantments. The goblins ripped through like a knife through butter. They threw down their silver trees, piled them together and burned all the lot, sprites and all.”

Edgard felt a shiver run along his spine. “But the barriers of the sprites…”

“I know!” Karl agreed. “They’re so strong, right? Well, the goblins cut through them like they weren’t there! And then…” He lifted a finger. “Elves came running, lot bunch of them. Trying to protect their friends, right?” The merchant passed the fingers across his throat. “All of them. Like that. They said they gnawed on their bones and bled them like pigs.”

“But…” Edgard struggled for words. “That’s impossible. A tribe of goblins couldn’t never…”

“Yeah, a normal tribe,” Karl corrected him. “Problem is, they had the Gray to lead them.” The tone of the man lowered. “They say that he’s the King of Goblins, that he has terrible powers, and that he has an entire Kingdom underground. That’s where them greenskins come from.”

“And… it’s true?”

Karl shrugged. “Who knows? Let’s hope not, i say.” He shivered a bit. “They say he had the leader of the elves strung skewered on the branch of a tree, and that he lapped at his blood as it came trickling down the bark.”

“And then?” Edgard squirmed on his seat. The images conjured in his mind by that tale wasn’t something he was keen to retain.

“Then the Gray led the goblins on a village close by.” Karl threw him a wary glance. “You can imagine what happened.”

“Y-yeah.” Images of burned houses, screaming people and laughing goblins passed before the guide’s eyes. He swallowed. “And then?”

“Then poof.” Karl made a vague gesture. “Gone like the wind.”

“What?”

“I know, right?” The merchant shared his friend’s disbelief. “They say that he and his goblins just disappeared. The moment people started fighting back, he and his goblins went inside a barn and nobody saw them come out. Gone, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s when goblins started cropping up everywhere, they say. Coming down the valleys, pillaging, burning, killing. We of the Seven had to rally around Old Krogan to put down the infestation.”

Edgard nodded shakily. Vaguely, he remembered his father speaking of a great goblin infestation back the years. He did his best to put it out of his mind.

“They say that the Gray was out and about during that time,” Karl continued. “Leading his subjects, using his demon-tongue to burn and destroy. They say they killed him a lot of times, but the next day someone else saw it at the end of another invasion. Even when the lot of them greenskins were pushed back in the mountains, it was never sure that he was truly gone. They never actually got him, they say. Even now he’s still out there, they say, skulking amidst the woods, waiting just for that window to be left open in the night, for that kid to go alone that little too much under the trees, all the while he gathers back his goblins down in his Kingdom, waiting for the right moment to return.” The merchant paused, looking thoughtful, then barked a harsh laughter. “But this is only a legend. The Goblin Incursions are far in the past, and if a Gray King led them, well, he got his reward once, he can get it twice. Ack, don’t tell me that i scared you, Herr Longtow!”

The guide, that had turned a nasty shade of white, tried to deny, but he managed only to choke out something less than dignified. Right now, the shades of the forest all around seemed full of unseen dangers.

“Come on now!” Karl encouraged him good-naturedly. “A story isn’t something that a grown man should fear, is it now? You asked and i gave you what you wanted, didn’t i? Cheer up, my friend!”

Edgard nodded shakily, not feeling better at all. Story or no story, he had already tension of his own. Hearing about goblins and killings had only been the last blow to his pretense to calm.

But Karl couldn’t know that. The merchant genuinely thought that his story had upset his guide more than he wanted. Ah, these pansy westerners!

“And think that…”

His attempt at encouragement was interrupted by a sudden clamor.

Turning, the merchant saw the source of the disturbance. The convoy had come to a sharp turn of the path, finding the way blocked by a tangle of wood and branches.

“What the hell…” Karl had the horses stop. “Karol!” He called.

The guard was already shouting warning orders. They exchanged a knowing look. That meant bandits.

“Herr Longtow, i think…” Karl was in the middle of throwing a bad joke at the danger. He stopped when he saw the crossbow pointed against his face.

“Sorry, Herr.” Edgard smile was nervous. “Nothing personal.”

Just as realization dawned on Karl, the woods around seemed to come alive. Men in cloak painted to allow camouflage sprang from the bushes. Many pointed crossbows and arrows already nocked into bows; others held spears and swords. In the blink of an eye, the convoy was surrounded and threats and shouts to surrender filled the air.

Even as buzzed and surprised ad they were, the guards reacted with admirable efficiency and bravery. The men on the carriages raised their shields; those on the horses turned to protect each other’s backs. Bows were raised, arrows were nocked. If a battle was to be given, the men of the Seven were ready, surprise, or not.

“Karl!” Karol cried, and then froze at seeing his employer held at arrow point. The other guards had the same reactions, but then their expressions darkened.

On his part, Karl’s face had become a mask of anger. The big man ignored the arrow pointed at his face, glaring furiously at the man behind it.

“Just tell to your men to get away from the carriages.” Despite being the one holding the weapon, Edgard’s hands were shaking. His previous calm gone, the dandy looked half the man that he had been.

Karl’s glare stepped up in intensity. “Three journeys!” He snarled. “I paid you good coin! I trusted you! And you do this to me now?”

Edgard flinched like if hit. He made to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand but then remembered where he was and stopped.

“Listen, Karl,” he tried, smiling tentatively. “Nobody is going to get hurt. Just, just get away from here for a bit; give them what you have in your pouches. Don’t… don’t be stupid.”

“Stupid? Stupid?!?” Karl tightened his hand so much around the reins that his knuckles turned white. “My hard-earned coin! The bread for my family! I should give it away to thieves and liars? And you call me stupid if i don’t?!?”

The guide shrank minutely back before the furious merchant.

“E-ehy!” He called, keeping a scared eye on the large man. “Gus! Get your men out! Come on! I have them here like i promised! D-do your thing now!”

“Don’t say my name, you idiot!” A rough voice from the bandits’ side replied angrily.

Edgard winced at his mistake, his crossbow lowering of a tiny bit.

Karl didn’t miss the chance.

Moving with a speed that belied his bulk, the merchant hit the crossbow with his open palm. Edgard gasped and pressed the trigger but it was too late. The arrow shot wide, losing itself into the trees.

It was like a signal. Cries and shouts rose from both sides. Arrows were loosed, thunking against shields and woods or shearing through bushes and leaves. A driver trying to hide was hit. He fell with a cry, his hand grabbing at the arrow sticking from his shoulder. Three of the mounted guards’ horses were hit, throwing two of their riders while the third managed to remain on the saddle.

Karl swung his big fist against the traitor’s head. Shrieking, Edgar parried wildly with the crossbow. He still lost his balance, tumbling down from the carriage in a flurry of shrieks and flailing limbs.

“Come on, boys!” The furious merchant bellowed, grabbing for the axe he held at his belt and the shield perched on the side of the driver‘s post. “Let’s show them what’s what!” A loud cheer answered him. What guards had managed to remain mounted spurred their horses to attack. Neighing savagely, the large animals trampled through the underbrush, forcing cursing bandits to duck and get out of the way to avoid the savage slashes of their riders. Still, the riders couldn’t be anywhere and where they weren’t present to keep the assailants at bay the bandits swarmed out of the woods and against the blocked convoy.

Karl snarled as an arrow thunked in his shoulder. It still managed to graze him despite his gambeson, but to the merchant turned soldier could have been a fly bite. His anger only increased as he witnessed one of his downed guards being savagely set upon by three bandits armed with spears. The screams of the poor man - Jol, he knew him well - made him lose what little control he still had.

“Thieves! Murderers!” He cried out, jumping down from the carriage.

He had a quick image of Edgard scampering away but before he could do anything about it a brigand was upon him. He heard him shout something about arrows, but right now he couldn’t care less, and his attention was taken by the spear aimed at his chest.

With a movement of the wrist, Karl set the thrust aside. Exploiting the opening, he tried to rush the spearman, but the brigand stepped back, keeping the weapon point between them. It slammed against Karl’s shield, forcing him to stop.

With a snarl, the merchant swung at the spear, smashing it aside. This time, the thief had nothing to oppose his assault with, and Karl was rewarded by the crunch of bone as his axe sank into his opponent’s shoulder.

The brigand fell with a cry that was soon cut off by another axe swing.

“Kill them all, boys!” Karl shouted.

Despite the battle lust upon him, even as he cried he saw that the fight wasn’t going well.

The bandits had come out of the forest in numbers, at least two of them for each guard. Armed with swords and spears, they swarmed against the carriages, that had effectively become small, sieged fortresses. The guards were putting up a brave resistance, hacking at everyone that tried to come close and fighting to keep the rest from mounting on the carriages, but the numbers and the fact that they were taken into a pincer were against them. Even as he looked, Karl saw one of his guards being dragged down from his perch, just to disappear under the slashes of the brigands.

The merchant refused to go down like that, though. By the Seven’s name and honor, they would cut their way through.

“Fight, damn you!” He shouted. “Fight and kill!” The cheers of the guards were drowned by the bandits’ voice, but he didn’t care.

With a bellow, he charged a bandit, swinging his axe. The man deviated the assault with a spear and counterattacked with a thrust that the merchant was forced to block with his shield.

Another bandit came at him from the side, stabbing wildly. Karl parried with his shield and kicked his feet of under him, sending him tumbling down.

He grunted as pain exploded in his side. The spear wielder had taken the moment to pierce his guard. Snarling, the merchant turned aside and pushed forward. He had a vision of the man’s widened eyes a moment before bashing his face in with a thunderous fist. The man went down like a sack of potatoes.

Karl snuck a glance to himself and cursed loudly.

“Just a scratch!” He bellowed. “Come on, you dogs!”

As he charged a knot of bandits sieging a carriage, one of his mounted guards smashed his way through the bushes. The bandits scattered before him amidst yells and curses. One of them wasn’t quick enough and was hacked down and trampled.

Karl smirked savagely at the sight. As much as outnumbered they were, they still had some advantages. Valor and stubbornness would do the rest. Bandits were coward by nature. They only had to hold out for some time, kill some and the others would scatter.

Those thoughts distracted him, and the distraction cost him.

A violent blow caught him in the side, sending him slamming against the carriage’s side.

“Asshole!” A rough voice insulted.

For a moment of absolute terror Karl didn’t see who had attacked him. His old instincts kicking in, he raised his shield, just in time to catch another blow that would have crushed his head. Screaming, he flailed with his axe, forcing his opponent to draw back with a curse.

Head ringing, he finally managed to glance upon him. Despite being dressed in the same forest color of his comrades, the man was easily set aside. Karl had rarely seen such big, fat brutes like him. A big bad bruiser if he had ever seen one.

“Your stuff isn’t worth all this trouble,” the man wheezed, holding a mace and a shield. What skin his bandana didn’t cover was an angry red. “just give it up and you can still walk away with your skin.”

Karl angrily shook his head clear. “Isn’t worth my ass!” He barked. “Shut up and fight!”

The fat man didn’t need to be told twice. Karl was taken by surprise by the speed with which he moved. The mace slammed against his shield, almost sending him reeling back. Snarling, he swung, only to have his axe bounce against the bandit’s shield.

Stooping behind his shield, the bandit bulled forward, slamming him against the carriage’s side. Karl gasped as hardwood slammed against his wound. Pain, hot and wild, gnawed at his conscience but he powered through with sheer anger and survival instinct. He slammed the butt of his axe’s handle against the bandit’s shoulder, forcing a cry from him.

The fat man staggered back, giving him space. He tried to pursue, but the blow had drained the wind out of him. He had to grasp at the carriage not to slump.

“Fuck!” He wheezed. He felt the taste of blood fill his mouth. He spat. “Fuck! I ain’t going down like this!”

His shield seemed to have redoubled in weight, his side felt like it was on fire. Like that, he wasn’t sure if he could sustain another assault. For the first time, the chance that he could die there, surrounded by bandits in a dusty road in the middle of nowhere, hit his mind.

“Fuck!” He staggered at his feet, raising his weapons. Karl Jaeger was a proud son of the Seven, that he was. If he was going to meet the Faceless, he was going to do it spitting and cursing and whirling his axe. Memories of his dear home flooded his vision. He saw his house, his dear Mildred waiting for him by the door with a smile, her long tresses seeming made of gold under the light. From inside, it came the arguing of his stupid sons, surely arguing about some stupid bullshit like usual. The memory brought him only bitterness. Fuck the merchant life and fuck the Westerners. He knew he should have just remained a soldier.

Suddenly, a form scampered before him, making him jump. With surprise, he recognized that traitor Edgard, the weasel trying to slink away like a scared rat. Anger surged. If he was going to die, this rat was going to follow. They would greet the Faceless together, and he would curse him all the way to the Golden Hall.

What made him hesitate wasn’t a sudden sense of mercy; rather, it was that the guide wasn’t looking at him in fright. Instead, his gaze was directed toward under the wagon, from where he had scampered out.

“It can’t be!” He wailed. “We controlled the cargo! We controlled it!”

Amidst the confusing haze surrounding him, Karl struggled to piece the meanings of those words together. He was still trying when a man in armor seemed to appear from the thin air.

In a daze, Karl watched him charge the fat man with barely a sound. His weapon was a strange, curved sword, beautifully crafted. It seemed to capture the light as the man aggressively whirled it around, forcing his opponent back.

A roar split the air.

Karl whirled around and widened his eyes. There was a giant in gleaming armor on top of one of the carriage. Covered in metal from head to toe, with the sun reflecting over polished plates, he seemed a knight come straight out from a fable.

The fighting had paused, guards and bandits alike observing that apparition in complete surprise.

The image broke the moment the metal giant threw his head back and let out a rumbling roar. He didn’t scream, he didn’t shout. He roared; like an animal, like a monster.

Karl felt a shudder of fear. “What in the hell…!”

Other roars echoed the first. Other knights emerged from beneath the tarpaulins covering the cargo. Men armed more lightly sprouted out from beneath the wagons.

His guards scampered wildly, taken by surprise by that sudden development. They raised their weapons against the newcomers but were completely ignored. Instead, the unknown soldiers threw themselves against the bandits, that cried out in alarm and hurried to defend themselves.

For all the good that could do them. Karl saw one of the knights end a thundering run with a jump down the wagon and on a screaming bandit. He almost felt a stab of pity for the poor man.

Still, as the fight surged back all around, the merchant was left confused. What the hell was happening?