Harrowing News on the Road

         Meran was amazed how much hustle and bustle could be seen on the road. Even more so was how rarely he -- a native of Frey -- traversed its cobblestone. On crisp autumn days such as this, he could sit on his favored sitting rock and watch the traveling merchants with trolleys and carriages fill with their goods; the men of various lords patrolling the road for bandits and skirmishers; beggars and the misfortunate plucking sad tunes on their arm harps and lamenting the Fall; and the motley crew of adventurers of various caliber. As a boy -- prior to the Fall -- he saw less of the travelers. In the years right after the Fall, all he could recall we the town guards yelling at him to return to the field before he was found dead and naked -- his father made sure he was never spoken to in such a way again.
         He sighed, shaking his head, and climbed off his rock. He looked to the south, seeing nothing but the dense Everwood Forest and the road. Every tree around was losing its yellow, orange, and goldenrod leaves, so they could blanket the earth for the coming winter. Not in the forest. Meran was curious, but opted to ask Tortuga why on a later day. He smiled and walked toward the road, pushed by the eastern wind that stung his ears with the coolness of an autumn breeze. Meran shivered and pulled his cloak sleeves over his calloused hands. The winter was only a month away.
         Around him, the sounds of the late harvest rang. Laborers from all over plucked the autumn berries and fruits from their bushes and trees. Not a single alabaster or nutberry was left -- even the rotten produce was picked and ground for seeds and fertilizer. Meran’s father, Meran reminisced, had once severely reprimanded him when Roan had stolen some fertilizer and vandalized the neighbor’s barn. Of course, Roan denied doing the deed, and got away with it -- leaving the blame to fall on Meran. So it goes with rogues, Meran thought. Now, the sweet smell of mashed fruit instilled a sense of nostalgia. A nice change from exhaustion and fear.
         As he reached the road, a rumbling and low voice called out. “Hey, you right there. Can you spare a tick?”
         Meran looked to the south and saw three hoggoblins headed north on the road toward him. They each towered over Meran by a head’s length, and were donned in silver hunter’s armor. The hoggoblins were not too far away, but he could smell their distinctive odor of minimal hygiene and sweat. He recalled their skill at hunting ghosts and beasts, spending as much as three months at a time if there was a bounty at stake. While their faces were ugly, pierced, and fearsome, they did not brandish their weapons.
         Meran swallowed and smiled at the travelers. “Of course,” he called, as he walked in their direction. “How may I be of service?” While he had never come across such travelers, he felt optimistic they were peaceful. He began moving his hand to his shoulder, and saw they did the same.
         They approached each other with their right hands firmly on their left shoulders -- a sign of peace. The hoggoblins were huge and hulking. As Meran got closer, he could not help but wonder what they were thinking -- asking for a man’s help on the road. He could finally distinguish their facial features from arms length -- the widest one with the largest, most ragged, and pointiest ears was the leader, and his scabbard dragged on the ground from time to time. His skin was thick and pocketed with scars, from face to his legs. The other two had less scars running down their faces, and seemed to have gentler faces and intact, shorter ears. Each had a prominent snout, and a powerful stride. Together, they were quite imposing.
         The leader met eyes with Meran and bowed low. The breeze quieted itself, and the forest grew still. His ears almost touched the ground, and Meran could see that he was hairless up top, unlike his wild beard.
         He looked up at Meran and began to speak.
          “Uzzers seez yurr. Dezzers moi hogs, Urzeran an’ Uzzens.”
         Uzzers lifted his body and signaled for them to bow. Hands firm to their shoulders, there was a deliberateness in each bow. His sons had fuzz on their heads and chins, and gave deep grunts as they bowed. Meran, too, bowed at each hoggoblin individually.
         “I am Meran,” he said, “son of Tadd and Cor of Frey. Frey welcomes all peaceful travelers --” he paused. The hoggoblins looked intent and eager as he spoke. “-- as I do myself.” Meran nodded at the swords. “Those are mighty large,” offering a chuckle. “I gander you’re not out on an evening stroll?”
         Uzzers gave a hardy laugh, which shook the air around them. When he finished, there was a sad gleam in his eye. “Yurre ri’h’,” he said through a rotten, toothy grin, “nurt dur sturndurd huners bur.” His smile vanished. “Murr prursen den tha’.”
         “What troubles you?”
         “Oir huners ‘er’ ambursh’d on oir way tur oir hun’en grurnds -- snurt, hed, oi, ‘n’ ear ‘er’ awl torn frurm ‘em.” Uzzers’ face grew long, and he widened his blue eyes. Meran noticed his left eye was blood red around the iris.
         Meran took a step forward. “Who is responsible?”
         “Men in red armor.” His lips tightened and an ear twitched. “But derr wurs surmthen strurng ;bout durr wepuns. We sturd no churnce agurnst ‘em.”
         Meran’s eyes narrowed. “Men in red armor? Strange weapons? Come with me -- Tortuga must hear of this.” Meran patted his shoulder twice, looking Uzzers in the eyes. Uzzers returned the gesture, and his sons followed suit. A smile came to their faces, and they each gave a grunt.
         Uzzers nodded and clapped Meran’s shoulder. “Lead urs, ‘n’ we wull follur.”
         “We head north, and the road will take us to my home. We will make it before dawn.” Meran clapped Uzzers’ shoulder and gave him a grin. “No peoples should have no justice. I and Tortuga will ensure it.”
         And so they set off north, the east breeze unyielding as they grunted toward town. None of them saw the scouts and archers to their east.