Kor'Ak had watched on as the goblin slew the wyvern, there was no clashing steel, courageous roars or heroic challenges, just a lucky strike with a weapon that was luckily at hand. Luck had always been an interesting concept to the warrior. Perhaps it was an omni-present force, the will of gods, or perhaps merely chance. Nevertheless, in the past few years, it felt like good fortune no longer smiled upon him; he'd relied on his skill, strength and fortitude both in and out of combat for his entire life. No room for hoping on the benevolence of an intangible force.

Yet luck it must have been that this diminutive, pathetic creature still stood. It would be hard to describe the tiny monster as 'green-skinned' anymore, it was hard to tell the difference between the dried blood and gore that clung to it's flesh, and the small patches of skin that seemed to be fighting a losing battle against the streams of fresh wyvern-blood that streaked from the goblin's shoulders and head, dripping down in front of it's bulbous eyes and painting the last few patches of skin a thick scarlet.

Still, the goblin was even luckier that the adventurer that had shown up was Kor'Ak, and not one of the more bloodthirsty or hateful people that followed the ever-dangerous trade that was adventuring.

After all, if it were another man, the exhausted monster would be receiving a blade to the jugular, and not the jovial chortles of a man that had narrowly escaped death.

"Little green one! Come here, come here!" The dark-skinned adventurer moved his hands in a beckoning motion to the creature. It's head cocked to one side, spear raised defensively as it slowly shuffled towards the man that called it. The goblin's cautious nature and fearful demeanor forced another chuckle from the djaalic's lips. To a man that had slain both monster and men, this little creature was comical, if not cute.

Admittedly, if Kor'Ak wasn't determined that the flimsy spear, shakily held up by the goblin's spindly arms couldn't pierce his armour, he would have been far more cautious with the creature.

It was then that something unexpected happened, as the creature hobbled towards Kor'Ak, it stumbled and crashed to the ground, it's over-large skull smashing against the stone with a rather worrying crunch as the spear left its grip, rattling and bouncing slightly off the stone.

Kor'Ak hurried forwards, kneeling down besides the goblin and lifting it's head slightly, carefully, he parted the monster's lips, revealing the jagged rows of yellowed teeth within. He let one hand rummage through a satchel on his left hip until they clasped around a small glass vial. A lesser healing potion, although it likely wouldn't magically bring the goblin back to consciousness, it might aid in it's recoveru, the thick, syrupy tonic seeped and dribbled down onto the goblin's rough tongue as Kor'Ak uncorked it and began to pour.

A small retching noise escaped the goblin's mouth as the liquid touched it's tongue. It would appear even goblin's could appreciate the taste of the healing potions that the Adventurer's Guild provided its members. That is, if goblin's appreciated a drink that tasted like it was made of shit, piss and bile.

Looking at the creature now in it's sleeping state, Kor'Ak couldn't help but smile.

Goblin's were known as vile creatures, tipping primitive weapons with feces and any poisons they could find in an attempt to wound their victim, killing the cattle of innocent farmers at night, leaving nothing but bones, that carrion birds soon picked even cleaner. Yet here this creature was, caked in blood, both it's own and others, but it slept so soundly, so gently for a creature considered to be crude and vicious.

It's tiny frame seemed even frailer in it's sleep. Like a child.

I love you daddy

Kor'Ak simply stared down at the goblin, nursing an arm under it's head as it gulped down the last of the glass bottle, that he then tossed aside.

Gently, Kor'Ak set the gobin down onto the stones, removing the burnt remnants of his cloak to wrap the creature tightly in as he left it; beginning to pick through the soot-smeared corpses and burned out buildings.

A good adventurer understood that they would likely make the largest amount of their money from the dead bodies they picked clean. It wasn't an iron will, a special skill or the power of love and companionship that made an adventurer, those were traits that made a hero. Kor'Ak was an adventurer, and even now, he struggled to master the most important skill a man of his profession could possess.

The ability to fight off his gag reflex.

Looting corpses, tombs and shit-smeared troll caves was not a heroic affair, it was disgusting, vile and absolutely essential to making a good profit margin.

After almost a half-hour of searching cadavers and ruins, Kor'Ak had pocketed himself a number of gold, silver and copper Krowns. Sadly, there was little he could carry with him, so he instead opted to grab a number of the finer-looking weapons that he could find on the bodies of dead satyrs, tossing as many as he could easily carry into a rather small wooden barrel that he'd secure to his back.

By the time Kor'Ak left the ruined village, he was carrying a dozen or so shortswords and daggers, along with the fallen wyvern's remaining eye, a trophy he had scooped from it's socket somewhat crudely, and very bloodily, as well as a single, finely wrapped, unconscious goblin.