A pale haze clung to the trees as dawn filtered through the canopy, casting golden shafts of light over the goblin village. Smoke curled from cooking fires, but the usual morning bustle was subdued, gazes followed the armored figures near the gate.
Lumberling stood at the edge of the training yard, dressed head to toe in black. His armor was stark and silent, absorbing light more than reflecting it. At his back hung a shield and a bow. A longsword rested at his hip, while his favored spear was cradled casually in the crook of his arm, like an extension of his body.
Beside him, Skitz adjusted the straps of his own sleek black armor. The goblin's twin daggers gleamed faintly in the morning sun, curved and cruel like fangs.
"You look like a walking armory, my Lord," Skitz quipped, eyeing the sheer number of weapons Lumberling carried.
Lumberling gave him a sidelong glance and shrugged. "You never know what the day might throw at you."
