(For the first installment, see Lothar – Beginnings.)
Something happens when you put a sword into a man’s hands. A man who’s looking to break the tedium of his life isn’t just going to say, “That could come in handy some day,” and lean it by the front door. A man is going to hold the sword, swing the sword, and eventually swing at something with the sword. Trees and practicing posts become boring, and the man seeks a live opponent. That is when his adventure begins.
“There have got to be goblins out there somewhere. We didn’t build this wall just for the fun of it.” Lothar paced the dining area of the Golden Griffin Tavern.
“Aye, there are lad. An’ beatin’ yer sword against a post for hours is nothing compared to facin’ down the vile wretches. Are ye ready, then? We’re close enough to the mountains, if’n yer finally ready to get out.” F’lore drained his tankard and wiped off his moustache with his forearm. He picked up his axe from beside the table. The weapon practically gleamed in the candlelight. The gleam was over shined, however, by the look in the dwarf’s eye.