“Oh!” cried out Bogrin from behind one of the sarcophagi that rested on the dais. He came out from behind it holding a suit of chainmail aloft. “Dwarven mail!” He seemed on the verge of tears.
“What is a suit of Dwarven mail doing in a Goblin crypt?” asked Arcaeus as he poked about in the pile of treasure they had recovered.
“You really don’t know much about history, do you?” snorted Ilfari, taking a set of enchanted daggers from the pile.
“I didn’t grow in what you might consider ‘normal circumstances,’ so excuse me if I’m a bit rusty on Goblin/Dwarf relations.” He paused thoughtfully. “I assume that is partially why everyone got so stony when I asked about his friend, right?
“Aye,” muttered Bogrin, barely paying attention to the conversation as he examined every inch of his Dwarf-crafted prize. “Can’t blame him for being a tad cautious since the Fury.”
“Goblins are also considered Gruumsh’s chosen creations,” said Ilfari, “and, as such, were widely involved in the Fury of Gruumsh. Not all of them, of course, but that doesn’t stop people from being generally terrified of them.”
“They don’t seem particularly terrifying, given their size,” Arcaeus observed, peering at the body they had moved to the side of the chamber.
“Don’t be fooled,” she said. “They usually work in very large groups to compensate for their size, making sure to overwhelm those they fight by sheer numbers – like, for example, the large number of relatively weak undead he threw at us. Some Goblins, however, preferred to live under the more civilized rule of Humans than that of their savage cousins, the Orcs.”
“Right,” chimed in Bogrin from within the chainmail he was attempting to put on. “Neck’s a bit tight… but yes, I don’t know the exact history Fetin has with this friend of his, but he likely accrued this debt before or during the Fury.”
“Fetin doesn’t make him sound like a friend,” said Arcaeus.
Ilfari shrugged. “If Fetin wants to tell us, he’ll tell us. Until then, it’s none of our business.”
“I’m only taking interest because of the Dwarven armor.”
“Oh, well that’s much simpler: Goblins war frequently with Dwarves, mainly because they really like Dwarven mountains and try to steal resources from Dwarven homes. A Goblin might have taken this from a Dwarf he killed or, just as likely, if not moreso, he stole it while the Dwarf wasn’t wearing it. Goblins are about the same height as Dwarves and, with some padding to compensate for his lack of stoutness, he could have worn this armor.”
“Stoutness?” said Ilfari with a wicked grin. “I believe you mean ‘Goblins aren’t as fat as Dwarves.”
“Give your devil tongue a rest, Tiefling. Have you claimed any treasure?”
“Bows and arrows tend not to last very long in damp crypts,” said Arcaeus.
“I got a few of these,” said Ilfari, throwing a dagger into the collapsing stone lid of the sarcophagi Bogrin stood next to.
“Very cute, Tiefling.” He yanked the blade out and examined it. “Human make. Looks very aerodynamic. Give me a throwing axe over a blade any day.” He walked over to hand the dagger back to Ilfari.
“Come on, you can throw it back, I’ll catch it.”
“Not if you don’t want it embedded in your leg; what sort of Dwarf is able to throw a blade like this? Give me something with some heft.”
Ilfari chuckled derisively as she took back her dagger. “So can we get out of here already? I’ve spent enough time in damp, underground passages to last a lifetime; I can do without any more.”
“I agree. Let’s pack up the gold we found and get moving.”