Jabari regards Khurza for a moment then smiles broadly.
"Now it's my turn for a proverb: It is the fletcher's knife that sends the twig to war." As he continues, he crouches beside the fire pit and rummages through his pack.
"You see, I have an enemy. He's the sultan of a land far to the south and across an ocean from here." Jabari pauses as he pulls a bundle from his pack and unwraps a flint and steel.
"This sultan is a tyrant. His armies constantly harassed my people--a bunch of peaceful herders. We insisted that we pay tribute to him, but we refused." Jabari begins striking the flint and steel together, sending sparks toward the fire pit.
"A few months back, my people were finally destroyed--wiped out by this sultan's armies. I... was the only one to survive. I should have fought to my death. But an infernal spirit--what we call a djinni--denied me an honorable death while the rest of my people were slaughtered. I fled... here." Sweat drips from the man's nose as he struggles to get the fire to ignite.
"Now I need to unite the other tribes against this sultan. But they'll never follow me unless I regain my honor. And that is what I aim to do in your cold lands. I've come to realize that I am no longer a twig. I am an arrow--" Finally, a spark catches, and the goblin fetishes burst into flames.
"--one that will fly straight to the sultan's heart."
Jabari stands back up and grabs up his pack.
"Tell me, friends Khurza and Pomin--why is that you have come to kill goblins today?"