“We have to go back.” Snorri complained as he almost ran to keep up with the dwarf’s bounding footsteps. “Why?” Grunted Buulk between deep, well-timed breaths "The whole place will be filled with goblins by now; maybe orcs too if they can squeeze through the smaller tunnels," he finished somewhat bluntly. Snorri huffed in annoyance as he paced down the sloping hillside after the dwarf. “But they ran away when I killed the war chief," he argued. Buulk snapped to a halt, finally turning to him and dropping to one knee to easily meet his gaze. “Do you know how goblins reproduce?” asked the dwarf. Snorri shook his head; it honestly wasn't something he had thought about. “When goblish blood is spilled, eventually it dries into a sort of magical jelly; after a week or so, for every pint or so of blood, you have a baby goblin running around. So how many of them did you kill? and be honest with me. A warrior doesn’t lie about the slain.” but said he was finishing his explanation with a question.
Snorri thought back over his battles in the darkness of his mountain home. “One thousand,” he said slowly. "At least," he added after the dwarves eyes widened. There was no hint of a lie in Snorri’s voice, and after scrunching his face in concentration, he said, "Well, if you killed a thousand goblins, and goblins each have four pints of blood, each one would now have produced another four goblins, which means you have." Buulk finally opened his mouth and began to ramble.
“Four thousand goblins,” Snorri finished, having worked out the math much faster than the buulk. The dwarf nodded. “So you can't go back, you see; you’d be fucked if you did; you're better off coming with me.” Buulk grumbled before finally setting off again down the slope of the unseen path, leading Snorri down. “And where are we actually going?” the gnome yelled as he broke into a jog to keep up with the dwarf. “We are heading to the trading post where my unit is based; from there, we can hopefully catch the caravan to Blud Hold.” The dwarf huffed as the hill began to level out, sloping down to a babbling stream.
Buulk slowed his pace and came to a stop at the water's edge, pausing to refill the now empty water skin Snorri had drained upon waking. “How far is the trading post?” Snorri asked after lowering his head to the stream and taking a deep drink. “Two days march, if we make good time and if we don't run into any greenbloods.” Buulk replied, spitting on the floor with the final word. The dwarf easily stepped over the stream. Snorri took a run up and threw himself into the air, only managing to avoid plummeting his feet up to the ankle in the shallow stream. “You said your unit, are you a warrior?” he asked Buulk as he climbed up to where the dwarf was, hiking steadily uphill away from the stream. “Used to be” The dwarf grunted in response. “Just a ranger now.”
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The landscape of the valley began to become less green and more rocky as the pair continued to hike up the hill. It was awhile before Snorri managed to gather his breath enough to ask another question. “So what is this weapon then?” he finally weezed in between panting breaths. It took the dwarf awhile to respond. They had ascended most of the way up the hillside before he finally began to speak. “It looks like a Deathweaver. "I mean i cant be sure; I've never seen one that small before, but that's what the runes on the blade say.” Buulk grumbled, clearly becoming annoyed at the topic of the conversation. "What's a Deathweaver?” Snorri dared to ask.
Another few minutes of silent hiking past as Buulk mulled over his anser in his head. As they came to the crest of the hill, he slowed to a stop and turned to face the valley behind them. “Old weapons, from the first age, are rare; we only know where a few of them are; the ones we do know about are usually heirlooms of noble families; even a few of our king’s are rumoured to have been wielding them,” the dwarf grumbled as he gestured for Snorri to follow his gaze. The gnome looked back to where they had ascended out of the valley; opposite them, the other side sloped up high into a lonley-looking grey mountain.
Snorri gazed up at the place he had called home his entire life. A great sadness overwhelmed him as the gloomy faces of his now-dead friends and neighbours flashed across his ind. He did his best to push the sadness deep inside himself, but as he struggled against the grief of the loss of his home, a single tear rolled down his cheek. A sudden thought crossed his mind: this may very well be the first and last time a Gnome of Greyhold would ever look upon the mountain from this far away. He swore to himself that he would return before he slowly turned away. After a quick nod to Buulk, the pair began the descent into the valley beyond. “Buulk, do you know where any other gnomes are? apart from here, I mean?”
By the time Buulk responded, the terrain of the valley had turned from rocky mountainous gravel to lush grassland. "Sure, there are a few in the capital, and the Rangers in the south have reported multiple sightings of mankids, sorry gnomes, Over the last few centuries, pretty much since the end of the Man o’ Wars ended, not that we knew what you were aye?” the dwarf eventually responded. “So if I come with you to the capital, you can take me to other gnomes?” Snorri asked inquizitively as the hill once again began to level out, this time opening out into a vast area of grassy plains. “That would be the current plan of operation," huffed the dwarf. “Now shut up; we still have thirty miles to cover before night falls," the buulk grunted before breaking into a jog.