Gustaf Kovolsk

## **Biography**

**Name:** Gustaf Kovolsk

**Race/Class/Alignment:** Human (Branstraad) Ranger/Rogue (Forest Warden Archetype), Neutral Good

**Appearance:**
*A lean-figured human in his late twenties garbed from head to toe in old faded leather armor. Animal furs of various earthy hues ring the shoulders and collar of a sleeveless coat. His tanned arms exposed, with a bracer of leather and fur on his left forearm. On his left hand he wears a thin, dark leather glove leaves his thumb and first two fingers exposed. His strong featured face is framed by a mane of dark brown hair and a thick growth of blackish brown beard that is worn forked at the chin, decorated with small intricate wooden beads. His piercing chestnut brown eyes glitter and take in his surroundings with careful, measured glances. His skin is tanned from many years outdoors under the sun, but is smooth and generally clean. He carries himself with dignity and confidence, his head held high and a subtle smile on his lips beneath his bristling mustache. Soft doeskin boots on his feet appear to have seen countless miles and better days. Over his shoulder is slung a leather quiver and hand-carved longbow crafted from an eerily white wood sculpted with beautifully detailed relief.*

**Background:**Gustaf was always the adventurous sort. Sixth son of two Branstraad dairy farmers, Gustaf toiled at a young age to keep up with the work given to him around the farmstead. When the other children would retire for the evening after supper, Gustaf would often slip out into the night to explore the surrounding countryside, attempting to travel further and further every time - just to glimpse the wide world that remained an inviting secret to him. His elder siblings had the farm well-in-hand by the time of Gustaf's coming of age, so he set off into the wilderness to see what the world had to offer. Traveling on foot from hamlet to village, Gustaf's experience with the untamed lands between came to him quickly and naturally. He delighted in leaving the towns behind to set off into deeper and thicker forests, the crunching of leaves under his feet a welcoming sound.

After nearly a decade of globe-trotting, Gustaf's home is the wilds, and his appearance reflects that; Shaggy dark brown hair with a thick growth of beard on his tanned skin and patched and worn leathers crafted from animal hides and furs. He still stops off in towns from time-to-time, but only to gain some information on some distant land or breathtaking vista that he has yet to see. Once that destination (real or not) is in mind, he sets off again into the horizon, ignoring roads and other man-made landmarks that might spoil the adventure for him. With bare earth, grass, or leaves beneath his boots and the sun ever on his face, Gustaf is rarely without a smile.

**Major Lifetime Events:**

* A life of solitude has created a reclusive nature in the otherwise man, but the nuances of human society are often lost upon him, and he generally tends to avoid civilization when at all possible.
* A series of life-changing events revolving around the evil of goblins has caused Gustaf to loathe the creatures, and he often acts recklessly when confronted by them.
* In his late twenties, joined a group of fellow adventurers (Gamgee, Karidas, Ragna, Robin, and Vrael) to delve into the depths of the Sunless Citadel.
* Attempted to ride a white dragon wyrmling; failed.
* Cast down the demon Emasha by plunging a demonic orb into a deep rift of the Pillars of Night, also destroying hundreds of cultists that were currently under the demon's command.
* Befriended a rare Boogaloo companion by the name of Mr. Blinky.
* Crafted the magical longbow "Solstice" from a remaining limb of the Gulthias tree.
* Journeyed into the Feywild in search of a nearby town's missing children, while also seeking clues regarding Lethelleron.
* Adopted a hunting style early into his career that was more suited toward the art of stalking and bringing down his quarry with silence, subterfuge, and deadly accuracy, drawing from previous experience fighting alongside assassins and thieves.

## **Prologue**

### **The Silver Flute**

Gustaf awoke to sunlight in his eyes. Shafts of glittering orange early-morning sun filtered through the leaves of the trees around him, playing off of the motes of particles and other debris swirled by the brisk Autumn breeze. He lay on his back, in a litter of fallen leaves and pine needles that he had pushed together into makeshift bedding. Stretching his limbs and scratching the growth of beard on his neck, Gustaf looked about, hungry for breakfast.

Nearly four years had passed since he left his home in Branstraad, and by his estimation, he had made it far from the biting cold of the wintery north. The leaves were turning, and the winter season would soon be upon him. Four years of experience taught him some valuable lessons, and this year, he would be ready. With his thick fur clothing and threadbare pack, Gustaf trudged off toward a river he had seen the night before. Bowfishing had proven to be a fun hobby to pass the time, and also a means of providing for himself in the spawning season. The large river fish made for a great meal. Standing atop a log crossing the river, Gustaf sighted in down the length of an alder-wood arrow into the crystal clear water of the lazy river. A sparkling swirl beneath the surface betrayed the location of a fish, swimming against the current. Gustaf drew the bowstring to his lip, focusing at the plump fish. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, as everything around him grew quiet and still. Time began to slow to match his heartbeat as he found the perfect instant to loose his arrow. His grip began to loosen as he was yanked from his serene concentration. A scream split the air and ripped through Gustaf as his arrow flew wide, splashing into the water below him.

Cursing under his breath at how startled he had become, Gustaf frowned at the arrow, buried point first into the sand in the river. Gustaf dashed across the log, drawing another arrow from the quiver at his back. He sprinted toward the sound, which had silenced all wildlife in the forest. His legs pumped beneath him at a brutal pace, causing his muscles to ache and burn. He ascended a tall rise in the terrain, scrambling up the leaf-littered ground with relative ease despite his hurried pace. A small break in the forest ahead alerted him to a winding road, and Gustaf hit the ground in a head-first dive for cover of small brush and shrubbery at the top of the rise.

Several
 hundred feet before him, Gustaf spotted two horses, dead or dying on
the road. Their blood mixing with the sand and gravel of the path.
Among them, smaller forms lie crumpled among discarded saddlebags and satchels. Gustaf focused intently on the scene, unsure of what to make
of the grisly display. The sound of throaty laughter and gibbering caught his attention, as he noticed three smaller creatures with
greenish skin scrambling up the hill toward him. They had yet to
discover his hiding place, but were approaching quickly, and would only
be a matter of time before he was found. In their hands they carried
sharp, wicked looking knives and swords. They also appeared to be
arguing over an object that the smaller of the three was carrying.
Gustaf moved in millimeters, bringing the arrow to nock on his bow, and
silently drawing on the creatures. Goblins, as Gustaf would learn,
bleed just like humans. The arrow struck the small goblin just below
the chin and punched out through the back of the creature's neck,
sending a spray of brackish blood into the air. The confused creature
clawed at its neck and fell to its knees in a gurgle. Its companions
shrieked in fright and took off back down the hill toward the horses.
Gustaf stood, drawing another arrow in an effortless motion, and brought
 the next goblin into focus. The bowstring resounded with a solid twang
 as the arrow whistled down the hill into the goblin's back. The
creature fell face forward, it's momentum causing it to roll head over
heels down the hill toward the road where it came to a rest in a pile of
 leaves. The last goblin was now scrambling up the hillock on the
opposite side of the road, looking back in dread at the figure on the
hill. It never had the opportunity to process the arrow colliding with
its forehead as it fell backward into a heap.

Gustaf exhaled a
deep breath, his vision clearing and the dark fog on the peripheries of
his sight dissipating. He slung his bow over his shoulder, approaching
 the scrawny green monster at his feet. Its eyes stared up into the
canopy of the trees above, a look of horror frozen on it's ugly face.
In its hands, it clutched at a delicate silver flute. Pulling the
instrument from the grimy fingers, Gustaf marveled a the fine
craftsmanship of the small object. Gustaf kicked the creature's side to
 ensure it was dead and carefully hopped down the hillside in large
strides. In the road before him lie the bodies of three men and a young
 woman. Two of the men appeared to be soldiers and the third an older
man, not particularly suited for extended travel. The woman, similarly
aged to Gustaf, had crystal blue eyes and delicate red curls of hair.
Blood streaked her cheek from gash across her throat, contrasting
harshly with her pale skin. He knelt beside the woman, a feeling of
guilt stabbing through him. Had he been faster, could he have saved
these people? He frowned at the scene around him, tiny goblinoid
footprints tracked through the blood and darkened soil beneath the
horses. Tucked beneath the woman's arm, Gustaf saw a piece of folded
parchment which he carefully withdrew. Upon it, etched in a fine and
careful script, two sheets of music flowed across the page in a
beautiful dance that resembled the rolling hills and plains of his home.
 Carefully folding the pages together, Gustaf tucked the pages into his
 coat along with the flute.

As he stood, Gustaf surveyed the
scene one final time before bounding the hillock. The image of that
woman's fragile face forever burned into the back of his mind. He would
 find answers for this gruesome act of senseless violence. He searched
the bodies of the other two creatures, finding few clues about their
origins or culture. But he had enough to help him along. Gustaf vowed
to hunt these vile creatures from the forest. He would find peace for
the five travelers who met their end on the road this morning. With
grim determination, Gustaf set off deeper into the wilds in search of
anything that would ease his troubled conscience.

### **Grizzly**

Weeks
 passed without any trace of the green-skinned creatures. Gustaf ran
himself to exhaustion on multiple occasions, only stopping when his body
 could no longer continue his pursuit. Driven to the edge of
frustration, Gustaf's typical carefree nature darkened as the distance
covered grew. As he felt his quarry was near, suddenly the trail would
go cold again, as though these dastardly little monsters were
intentionally evading him. Nearly blinded by his newly-acquired
hatred, Gustaf thought over every possible outcome of what would happen
if he were to encounter these devils again. He was certain that there
would be bloodshed.

As the days wore Gustaf ragged and thin, he
became more and more desperate. He started to grow careless and abandon
 the important lessons taught to him by the wilderness. On one evening,
 as the sky darkened beyond the trees into crimsons and violets, Gustaf
stumbled upon a game trail that felt odd to him. Had he seen these
signs before? Could he actually be closing in on his prey? He followed
 the trail to the mouth of a large cave opening which yawned out from
the hillside like a black maw with scraggly stone teeth. His senses,
dulled as they were by exhaustion, were still keen enough to pick out
sounds that he swore resembled the gibbering language of the foul
creatures that he tracked. He exalted in his discovery, energy
coursing through him and reinvigorating his determination. Scrabbling
into the hillside, Gustaf found a perch to watch. And he waited.

Long
 after the sun had set beyond the horizon, Gustaf persisted in his
vigil. Ever focused on the cave entrance, Gustaf's breath curled from
his mouth in puffs of white vapor on the chilling night air. A small
pebble came clacking down the side of the hills, bouncing of of the
rocks above Gustaf, and clattering down to the path below. Gustaf
whirled around to see the silhouette of a huge bear only a stone's throw
 from his position. His eyes opened wide in shock at how careless he
had been, and just how dire the situation had become. The bear reared
up on its back legs, a tremendous roar echoing in Gustaf's ears.
Caught completely off-guard, Gustaf lost his footing and began to slide
in a half-crouch down the gravely hillside. The bear dropped to all
fours and began to lope down the hill toward the stumbling human.
Gustaf fumbled for a knife at his belt, his bow would be too unwieldy
and he wouldn't be able to defend himself against an adult grizzly.
Clumsily, and losing the edge that his earlier adrenaline rush had
granted him, Gustaf took a mis-step to slow his descent and tumbled
backward onto his back, sliding down the loose pebbles. The bear
charged down the hill, swiping its great claws at the vulnerable human,
but catching onto the leather of Gustaf's coat. With a mighty heave,
Gustaf kicked up at the beast's stomach pushed away from the massive
bear, rolling onto his side and springing to his feet. The bear roared
in protest, swatting at the agile man. Gustaf cringed at the aching in
his body. He was not prepared to fight a creature this large, and he
was in no shape to attempt to outrun it. The bear looked hungrily at
Gustaf as it approached, taking large and aggressive steps.

Gustaf
 glanced around, looking for an avenue of escape. The bear charged.
Gustaf stepped out of the way, only just avoiding the shredding claws.
As he dodged past, he thrust his knife into the ribs of the beast
causing it to roar out in anger. The beast spun on him clouting him
soundly in the side of the head, knocking him to the ground. Stars
filled Gustaf's vision and ringing filled his ears. He had a difficult
time discerning which way was up as he hit the hard rocky ground, and as
 he regained his wits, Gustaf's senses were filled with the bear. He
could smell the creature's fur, he hear the beast taking great inhales
smelling the dazed human. He also detected what sounded to be a shrill
shrieking voices which he could only barely recall on the edge of his
consciousness. The world grew hazy as he sensed the bear charging away
from him, followed by the sounds of agony, screaming, and a bellowing
roar - then blackness.

Gustaf awoke in terrible pain. His head
 throbbed, and every heartbeat was torture to his senses. His vision
remained cloudy and his body cried out in protest as he tried to stand.
 He blinked away some of the pain, sucking in deep and ragged breaths.
It was daylight, perhaps early evening by his observations. How long
had he been unconscious for, he wondered. A large blackish brown heap
lay like a monument between himself and the cave. Riddled with
black-feathered arrows, the bear lie crusted over with it's own blood,
and perhaps more. Around the bear lie scattered nearly half a dozen
goblins, torn apart and littering the ground like weeds before the
farmer's scythe. A large ragged grunt escaped the bear's lungs as
Gustaf approached. The beast still clung to life despite it's inability
 to move. This mighty creature had all but obliterated the goblins,
taking grievous wounds in the process.

Gustaf knelt beside the
bear's massive head, taking in the awe-inspiring sight of the creature's
 massive jaws. Its eyes gazed sadly at Gustaf, a keen intelligence
behind the clouding mirrors. Gustaf felt another pang of sorrow. He
reached for the bear's neck apprehensively. The beast seemed to want to
 protest, but could not find the energy to struggle. Gustaf again
attempted to touch the bear, gently stroking the blood-matted fur. The
creature's lungs slowly emptied in a long and resonating growl. The
human grew sad at the sight of this magnificent creature, understanding
now that it had opted to take on far greater numbers of the goblins than
 to continue to attack him or even to flee and save itself. Had this
bear sensed something within him? Had it protected him despite its
initial attack? Over several hours, Gustaf remained with the proud
creature, comforting it in its final moments. After the bear had passed,
 Gustaf found one of its claws broken and buried in one of the goblin's
shields. Still disgusted that he had let his anger and sense of
misplaced vengeance get hold of him, Gustaf wrenched the massive claw
free and held it in his hand. He had let his emotions direct his
actions, and as a result, nearly gotten himself killed.

This
bear was a kindred spirit, a defender of the wilds, just like him. He
had strayed from that path and was nearly punished as an outsider would.
 Gustaf tied a leather thong around the claw, and slipped it around his
 neck, a reminder of his place in the forest. He felt a huge burden
lift from his soul and his shoulders as he decided to abandon pursuit of
 the goblins. Looking down at the bear and goblins as he left, he
realized that nature handles itself just fine, and didn't need his
intervention to thrive.

**The Bogeyman**

Over
 the course of several years after his encounter with the bear and
goblins, Gustaf traveled far to the south along rivers through the
forests of his homeland into new and inviting lands. Small rocks
crunched beneath his boots as he made his way from his forest shelter
toward the small hamlet of Piketon that was his only source of trade.
On his back he carried a variety of tanned pelts and skins which he had
 painstakingly cured and prepared for trade. He glanced up at the grey
overcast clouds covering the sky and pulled his warm coat close around
his neck as the the late autumn chill bit at his skin. This year would
be another cold one, and by his estimation, he only had a few more weeks
 of preparation before winter set in and hunting would be sparse. He
had been trading with the town for nearly a year and a half now,
bringing in pelts for trade in salt and steel. Though not by any means a
 large settlement, Piketon housed several families and provided Gustaf
with more human interaction than he had seen in years.

The
inhabitants of the cozy hamlet regarded Gustaf with blank expressions
and nods, but rarely spoke to the wild looking man when he ventured into
 the town to trade. Gustaf ignored some of the strange looks that he
got as he wandered toward the General Store to finish his business with
these folk and be on his way back to his own home. A group of teenage
boys snickered as he walked past, drawing a feral scowl from Gustaf.
The boys immediately silenced and looked down at the ground in fear. "I
 hear he eats kids who get to close to his hut!" one of the boys
whispered to the others. "Shut up! He'll sneak into our houses and take
 us in the night if he hears you!" Another added, jabbing his friend
with an elbow. The boys watched Gustaf stride down the street in awe,
not realizing that their words deeply wounded the solitary man.

Gustaf
 approached the front of the log building, the smell of a cook fire
burning within. He swung the door open and slung the bound stack of
furs off of his shoulder as he approached the counter. The owner of the
 store, Talmond, always greeted Gustaf warmly when he came in to town,
for his trapping and hunting had kept the folks of Piketon warm over the
 last winter with an abundance of fur. Talmond usually gave Gustaf fair
 trade in return, so the business partnership was important to them
both. The stocky man in his late forties shot a toothy grin at Gustaf
as he approached, "Aye, here's the man I've been lookin' fer! I see
you've been busy the last few weeks?"

Gustaf smiled weakly and
nodded to the man. He set the bundle of furs down on the counter top
and extended his hand to the man on the other side of the table. "Yes.
 I fear it will be another cold winter, Talmond, and I've got to get
some more meat smoked and salted before the first snows cover the
ground." The older man nodded to Gustaf and glanced down at the stack
of fur. "You'll be wanting more salt then? I reckon I can give you
another few pounds in trade, but our stores are running thin as well."
Gustaf nodded, and smiled again, "I believe that should be more than
plenty, if you've got it to spare. Don't worry about any difference in
trade, I'm sure we can work out another trade later." Talmond nodded
and scooped the fur off of the table in both arms as he went shuffling
back to a room behind the counter.

Gustaf leaned against the
counter as he looked back around the store. Barrels full of salted
meats, dry goods, grain, and even candied fruits lined the walls, along
with other small tools and coils of rope. He also noticed a small face,
 peeking over a stack of flour sacks, eyes wide in wonder. Gustaf
furrowed his brow, confused at the presence small boy, perhaps three of
four years old, staring at him with light blue eyes. Gustaf glanced
about, wondering where the child's parents were, since they weren't in
the store. "Are you the bogeyman?" a tiny voice piped from behind the
flour. The boy cringed back and tried to hide himself a little better
as Gustaf fixed him with a gaze.

"Am I... what? No... I'm...
where are your parents?" Gustaf asked, genuinely concerned. In the
wilds, a creature this young separated from its guardians would surely
be preyed upon by the dangers of the forest. "Jackson!" another voice
called out, this one shrill and female. "Jackson, where are you!?" A
woman came barreling into the store, her eyes darting around in search
of something. Her expression softened when she caught sight of the
child, but immediately grew cold when she shot a glare at Gustaf. "Come
 on now, I've told you not to talk to strangers." She grabbed the boys
hand and pulled him away from Gustaf. The man's face shifted from
concern to utter shock. What had just happened? Why was everyone so
hostile toward him. The woman yanked the child back through the door,
but the little boy's head remained transfixed on Gustaf with a wide and
innocent smile. As the door closed behind the two, Gustaf was able to
hear the small high pitched voice telling his mother about how he had
just met the bogeyman.

With a sigh, Gustaf turned back toward the
 room where Talmond had left to. A few moments later, Talmond returned
with two small brown sacks in his hands, and dropped them onto the table
 in front of Gustaf. "Will this do, friend?" the shopkeeper asked.
Gustaf nodded and took the two bags of salt in his hand. "This will
probably be my last stop in before winter comes, Talmond." Gustaf added
 as he hefted one of the bags. "I don't think I'll need anything else
until spring comes." Talmond nodded to Gustaf with a smile on his face.
 "Please do be careful," the shopkeeper said, leaning closer across the
 counter top. "There's been a few sightings of goblins and the like a
few miles outside of town. They've not antagonized anyone, and some
have even tried bartering with folks traveling the roads. I don't like
'em being that close, and I don't want for you to be unprepared out
there by yourself this winter,"

Gustaf nodded, his smile fading
 from his face as he thought back to the image of the red-haired woman,
her lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. "Gustaf." Talmond said
snapping the ranger from his thoughts, "Do you need anything else?"
Gustaf shook his head, a weak smile again breaking his solemn face. He
thanked Talmond again, and set back off toward his home among the
falling leaves.

His mind raced as he walked back toward the
trees, and considered the information about the nearby goblins. He had
sworn to himself to not interfere with the lives of the people of
Piketon, and had to re-affirm his faith in nature, that the wilds would
deal with the goblins if they remained here for long. The snows were
coming, and perhaps the cold weather would drive them off when poor
hunting sent larger predators after the small green-skinned creatures.
He had his own preparations for winter that needed tending to, and he
was confident that the people of Piketon could defend themselves well
enough against a few goblins. His feet left the crunching gravel path
onto to the familiar
 red and orange leaf-littered trail that snaked back into the woods.

### ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**Friend**

Snow
 fell heavily on Gustaf's 26th winter. His preparations kept him
well-fed and warm throughout the chill months, but the leaves of these
southern trees had long since browned and fallen to the ground. He
longed for the pines of his homeland and felt more and more at odds with
 the world around him as the trees betrayed him to the elements above.
He had not visited Piketon since his last trip to Talmond's supply
store, and gave the town a wide berth while hunting in the forests
around the town. He had, however, discovered the encampment of the the
green-skinned goblins that were settled a few miles to the north of
Piketon, nestled against a rocky hillside and tucked away out of view
from the hamlet.

He occasionally watched the band of goblins, as
they went about their day to day lives, observing their behavior and
limited social interaction with one another. He found himself feeling
guilty for the creatures, as they eked out a meager existence in this
land that they had obviously not prepared for. After several days of
observation, Gustaf approached the creatures with his hands out before
him to appear less threatening to the skittish goblins. "Friend."
Gustaf said, touching his hand to his chest. The goblins scrambled for
clubs and sharpened sticks, screeching at him in a language that sounded
 like choking, spitting, and shrieks.

Gustaf reached to his
shoulder, where he had slung a haunch of boar meat, and dropped it
slowly into the snow. The goblins hesitated and lowered their weapons
cautiously, edging toward the towering human. "Friend," Gustaf
repeated, pointing at his chest. The tallest of the goblins stood up a
bit straighter and sniffed, pointing at his own chest grumbling with a
nasal voice "Gurgaz."

Grinning, Gustaf approached the goblin,
again proffering the haunch of meat to the skinny green creatures that
were wrapped in assorted ill-fitting garments and clothes that looked
obviously scavenged from discarded human clothing. He squatted down to
the ground and slipped a small knife from his boot, and began to carve
off bits of meat for the creatures, handing chunks to the greedy
grabbing hands. The goblins did not even chew the food as they eagerly
shoved their greasy fingers into their mouths, choking the food down as
though they had not eaten in quite some time.

Frowning, Gustaf
stuck the knife into the meat and stepped back from the haunch,
gesturing the larger goblin, Gurgaz, back toward the offering. The
goblins rushed the meat, tearing and ripping at it in a frenzy, more
than one scratching and clawing at a companion to try to get to the
better bits. The ranger nodded to the goblins with a smile forming
under his drooping mustache. Gurgaz slashed at the meat with the small
knife, cutting a hunk free and scrambling away from the others, warding
them off with the dagger. The human raised an eyebrow at the goblin and
 wondered when the last time they had actually had a decent meal.
Gurgaz again looked to the human, a grateful look spreading across it's
wickedly toothed mouth, and then closed its bulbous yellow eyes and
once again set to devouring the meat. The goblin dropped the knife at
it's feet and sat on its heels as it picked the last bit of gristle from
 its teeth with its claw.

"Thank, friend." The goblin said,
nodding to Gustaf and screeching in broken common, "We are hunger,
needed eat. Too many cold." Gustaf nodded in understanding, having
been in a similar situation many times before in his youth. Gustaf
removed his coat and began ripping the worn and threadbare coat into
wide strips, folding them up and handing them to the astonished goblins.

"The fur will keep you warm, and the leather will keep you dry
for the most part." Gustaf said in a firm tone. "I do not wish you to
suffer through the winter, but you need to start hunting for yourselves
 or you will surely freeze." The human glanced around at the creatures,
 shivering in the cold, staring at him with blank expressions. After a
brief moment of reverence for the fur and cloth, the goblins then began
to look amongst themselves, and immediately began fighting over the
largest pieces.

Gustaf now stood in a simple linen shirt, long
since patched over and with many stitches holding it together in parts.
 Gurgaz choked and sputtered a few words in his native tongue, hissing
the final few words with narrowed eyes at his companions. The others
ceased their bickering and turned to face him. Gurgaz nodded to Gustaf,
 offering his knife back to the human with a wide crooked smile.
"Thank. Again. Friend," the creature said in its rough attempt at the
common tongue. Gustaf pushed the knife back into the goblin's hand with
 a smile, and shook his head. "Please, keep it." The goblin looked down
 at the simple blade in his hand and croaked his thanks. Gustaf felt
pleased with providing these strange creatures with a means to survive,
even if only for a few more days, and turned to walk back into the
forest to check on his traps for the evening and start working on a new
coat. Behind him, the sound of bickering and fighting broke out again
as Gustaf shook his head, a slight grin on his face.

### **Red**

Two
 short winter days passed and the winter storms did not relent. The
dark grey overcast skies had blanketed the rolling hills surrounding
Piketon in a thick layer of powdery white snow. Gustaf sat at a small
fire beside his camp, the tiny crackling flames licking up at a ring of
rocks placed around the ashes of previous fires burned in that spot.
Around the fire, the snow had retreated from the heat, leaving a circle
of exposed and dried brown dirt of the forest floor beneath. Small
motes of burning embers drifted up from the fire, dancing up into the
deep purple evening sky. On the horizon, the sun had dipped far below
the mountains to the west, leaving only a patch of dark crimson red
light behind the clouds.

Gustaf pulled at a thread made from
gut, tightening the stitching on a new coat sewn together from
winter-thick pelts and skins of wolves and deer. Biting the needle
loose from the thread, and inspecting his day's work, Gustaf pulled at
the fur that would ring the sleeve of his new coat, nodding
appreciatively. Only a few more hours of work and he would probably
finish with his task, but light was fading quickly and he would probably
 need to resume on the following morning. As he worked at tying off the
 loose ends of a few threads, Gustaf's attention was broken by a sudden
snapping in the forest to his right. His breath caught in his throat as
 his eyes darted around the campsite, looking for a weapon. Just
audible above the gentle crackling of the fire, Gustaf could hear the
sounds of voices. Men, if he had to guess. Nobody had visited Gustaf
out here in the woods, ever.

He dashed for his bow snatching it
up while kicking snow on to the fire causing it hiss and sputter into
darkness. Crouching low and moving quickly away from his camp and
further away from the voices, Gustaf cursed silently under his breath at
 the deep snow for betraying his course. Trying his best to cover his
tracks and tread lightly, Gustaf hopped atop a long since fallen tree,
dashing across the length of the log in an attempt to further disguise
his path. leaping off the end of the tree near the exposed roots,
Gustaf ducked behind the rotting wood with his eyes straining in the
direction of his camp; his home.

The voices grew louder as orbs
of orange and yellow torchlight illuminated the forest opposite his
camp, causing dark sinister shadows to stretch across the ground toward
Gustaf. "That bastard took him, I know it." one of the voices muttered,
 barely audible in the still winter night. "Aye, I've always had a bad
feeling about having that wretch out here up to no good. Milly saw'r em
 lookin at lil' Jackson with a strange look in his eyes... a hungry
look, she said." another voice answered to its companion.

Gustaf's
 expression darkened, a scowl forming at his lips, and his eyes
narrowing. "That little boy at Talmond's," he thought to himself, "the
one who ran off from his mother. I had no ill will toward the child."
Gustaf was about to stand and call out in his defense to the intruders,
when he heard the sound of metal striking wood, followed by ripping and
clattering. From his vantage point, Gustaf could see the men up-ending
his camp and tearing apart his modest home.

"He ain't here." one
 of the voices called out angrily. "Aye, probably out running with the
wolves or something unnatural. Any sign of Jacks?" another voice added
with contempt. There was some muttering and grumbles coming from the
camp, but nobody spoke loudly enough for Gustaf to hear from this
distance. He turned from the men, cursing at himself for allowing the
clumsy oafs to track him to his home. He began to walk away deeper into
 the woods, cautiously placing every foot in front of the other to avoid
 detection from the townspeople.

Gustaf walked silently through
the snow, gripping his longbow tightly in one hand, the other pulling
his nearly complete coat closer to his body, trying to seal up some of
the open gaps at the armpits and neck that had yet to be fully
stitched. The wind bit harshly at his nose and ears, sending a chill
through his body. He walked for nearly an hour before he reached the
small clearing where he had previously encountered the goblins, a large
bonfire burning brightly in the distance.

The sounds of high
pitched laughter and what Gustaf thought to be the pattering of hollow
sounding drums came from the campsite. He stalked closer to the
revelry, the smell of smoke and cooking meat filling the air around
him. Putting a large tree between himself and the light of the fire,
Gustaf crept closer to the sounds, very clearly a beat being pound out
on small drums. Holding his breath as to not draw attention to the
vapor lit by the firelight, Gustaf peeked around the base of the
tree-trunk. Seven squat little bodies danced about the bonfire, their
green skin reflecting a sickly light from the fire. Their bodies were
painted with what looked to be designs of zig-zagging red lines. Two of
 the small creatures banging on some drums tied in front of their
waists. The largest of the creatures, Gurgaz, as he recalled, was
standing before them on top of the small rocky hillside. He was dressed
 in what looked to be human clothing, small twill pants and a dusty
brown linen shirt. The clothes seemed to be painted as well, and when
Gustaf squinted to see more clearly, realized that it was splotches of
brownish red paint.

No. Blood. The creatures were *covered*
 in it. The snow around the campsite was splattered with the stuff like
 a grisly work of insane art. Gurgaz cried out in glee, holding
something above his head. A small knife, reflecting the firelight along
 the length of its blood-stained blade. Gustaf's eyes darted around the
 camp, the horror dawning on him as he caught glimpses of the goblins
tearing into hunks of cooked flesh with their wickedly sharp teeth.

His
 knees went weak for a moment as he knelt to the ground, a feeling of
sickness coursing through his body as the thoughts of that woman on the
road came flooding back to him. Those cold blue eyes. Those curls of
beautiful red hair. The laughter of those goblins. It was the same.

Gustaf
 stood as he took another breath and calmed himself. He drew an arrow
quietly from his quiver and set it on the bowstring. He stepped out
from around the trees, calling out to the goblins, "Friends!"

The
 goblins halted in their dancing and merriment, turning to face the
noise of the intrusion, mouths agape. A whistling sound preceded an
arrow punching straight through Gurgaz's smug face sending the goblin
tumbling down the rocks with sickening thuds. The knife clattered down
the rocks next to him, sinking into the snow at the bottom. With a low
growl in his throat, Gustaf nocked another, stepping closer to the ring
of goblins. As soon as the string touched Gustaf's lip, another arrow
shot off toward the stunned goblins. And another. Then another.

The
 sounds of cheering and drums soon became the sounds of terror and
high-pitched screaming as Gustaf painted the remaining snow in shades of
 red.