The woods stretched before Marcus as if it were the entire world. If the well-worn dirt path hadn't been there, the hamlet would have been an island adrift in the greenery. As it was, the road was the only real way in and out of the village if you didn't want to brave the forests, and there were enough monsters around that most didn't want to risk their health.
Marcus stuck to the road, since he wasn't exactly prepared to run into who knows how many wild beasts and creatures. His sword was made from simple iron - it provided him basic protection, but not much beyond that. Additionally, his armor was also bog standard leather. It would block casual and throw-away hits, but it didn't provide full coverage. If someone or something wanted him dead, it would be up to his own skill to stay alive.
Unfortunately for him, a militia posting in a remote hamlet didn't provide much in that regard. It was safe, sure! But he'd need to choose his battles wisely, or he could find himself in over his head far too easily.
Thankfully for him, the road was fairly quiet. Marcus could hear a few birds and some small animals rustling around, but nothing threatening.
But Marcus stayed wary regardless, because he knew that the traveling traders that visited Coibrada had guards for a reason. There was always the chance some stray goblin or wolf might be hungry and desperate enough to attack.
It had already been a few hours' time since he left the guard posts, and the sun had already begun to set. Marcus knew he'd have to set up camp before making it to Pinmanivega, and he probably had another hour or so before he'd have to look for old campfires at the edge of the road.
He suddenly became aware that the brush ahead on his right side seemed to rustle a little louder than what a couple squirrels might make. He narrowed his eyes, brought his hand to his sheathed sword on his waist, and slowed ever so slightly.
"RAAAAGH!" A small flash of olive-green came barreling out of the bush towards him. Marcus frowned and quickly drew his blade. A goblin. It wasn't much taller than his waist, but its wild aggression was definitely up to his shoulders.
Its blade was as small as it was - a rough looking dagger that may very well be rusted in places. He braced for a quick dodge, since he wouldn't be able to do a traditional block in time, and a parry would be tough with little room for collision against such a small blade.
Marcus sidestepped left and brought his blade down diagonally. His sword cleaved into the goblin's shoulder, sending it reeling but still grasping its knife tightly. It wasn't dead - they'd be a lot more of a joke if they went down that easily. But it was wounded. Would it flee?
Marcus watched it for a brief moment - would it be worth it to let it run? Save him some energy? But... he thought about how he'd have to camp tonight. It could very well come back while he was sleeping. His frown deepened. No - he couldn't afford to give mercy.
By now, the goblin had recovered its balance. It turned around to face him, its face covered in dirt and leaves, with a low scowl. Was it angry or completely feral? Marcus would probably never know.
How much did it value its life? Could it survive with the new gash in its shoulder? It probably wouldn't heal very well, if at all.
The goblin growled, it was probably thinking its life would be forfeit if it returned to its den without food or loot. Marcus readied for another attack.
It moved, rushing at him with a low slice. Marcus swung his sword equally low for a parrying block, using his greater strength to stagger his foe. He pushed forward with his shoulder, knocking the goblin off balance in surprise, and opening it up for a finishing blow across the chest.
The goblin fell to the ground, releasing a halo of dust off the road. Marcus sighed and wiped the blood off his blade on the rags it wore as clothes. He supposed it could have something of some value.
Marcus crouched down next to the body and rustled through the rags. There were a couple pebbles in one pocket. He did manage to find a couple bronze coins on the body that must have fallen out of some unfortunate soul's pocket. Marcus thought for a moment and pocketed the goblin's dagger as well - it wouldn't do much better than the sword, but it was less conspicuous and could be thrown if needed.
He straightened up the rags and hauled the body off to the side of the road - it wouldn't do to attract any hungry wolves to the road for some other travelers to run into. He didn't have a shovel on him to bury the body, but he could at least leave it in a decent bush or ditch off the road.
He didn't want to spend too much time finishing up - he still had to set up camp after all. He did manage to find a small ditch and dropped the corpse in. He thought for a moment and grabbed a few loose branches to cover the body - not a full funeral or burying, but at least some respect for life.
Marcus returned to the road and kept looking for stone rings to mark old campfires. It was another kilometer or so before he found what he was looking for. By now, the sun had fully set and darkness was starting to grow stronger. He shook his head. He really should have brought a torch or something. At least with so many trees around, it wouldn't take long to get enough firewood.
Maybe a half hour later, he had a small pile. It would be enough to keep the fire lit for at least half the night - the embers would be enough to last until the sun came out again.
He grabbed a rock and tried to strike a claw to make sparks, but it wasn't working. He growled and threw the pebble away. He'd have to resort to something a little more primal.
Marcus sighed and narrowed his eyes in focus. He stared at the center of the flames with his arm outstretched. He suddenly snapped his fingers, and a very small flame appeared at the tip of his index finger.
He didn't have much experience with magic, but his dragon blood did give him some natural affinity that the humans he grew up with didn't have. With the sticks alight, he settled down for an uncomfortable rest.
Marcus fell asleep to the sounds of bugs and the hoot of a lone owl. In the morning, he'd finish the first leg of his journey and arrive at Pinmanivega, and hopefully find some work to afford some decent grub.