In short order, the man's comrades came rushing after him. Another four men, all of them with their weapons brandished. Some had the green blood of goblins on the dark leather of their armour, but others bore the distinctive red of human blood, and they clutched at their injuries.
"What's this? Who's that?" Came the question of another man, as they skidded to a halt with him. "That's a Yarmdon, isn't it?"
"Too bloody right it is. The size of him, and that axe and shield – that's a Yarmdon for a certainty," replied the initial man. "He hasn't said a word. From the look of him, I doubt he can even understand us."
"Did he steal your kill, Wallen?" Another man asked.
"He did. I was in the middle of chasing it, and just when I about had it cornered, he snuck it to get an easy hit," Wallen replied, brushing off the sweat that had fallen into the curls of his dark beard.
"You don't think he's after the same quest as us, do you?"
