Mzark continued walking along the forest road, shield firmly secured in his left hand, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His battle plate clinked loudly as he walked, at leat it seemed loud against the utter silence of the forest.

Disliking the silence Mzark began to recite a mantra aloud as he walked. 'My sword is strong, my sword is true, with it I might run you through…' he smiled to himself as he sang. It certainly wasn't a traditional mantra by any means, something he'd picked up when protecting a river caravan, the sailors had sang the whole way… well when they weren't drinking at any rate.

Mzark kept walking chanting as he was went. That's when he spotted a pair of horses and a caravan in the distance, it appeared that a figure was cavorting atop the caravan. That was when he noticed several other figures seemingly in various states of delirium, he gripped the handle of sword tighter as he approached and called out to the figure atop the caravan.

'Greetings friend, might ask what has rendered you so merry this day?' he inquired, his booming baritone of a voice sounding clearly even over the music the figure was playing. As he appraised the figure Mzark noticed that the figure  wasn't a man as he once thought, instead he had the legs of a goat, something which struck Mzark as rather odd.