*Date: 33,480 Second Quarter - Iron Confederacy and Goblin Chiefdoms Border*
The air at the goblin camp was thin, cold, and sharp with pine. Demir crouched low, belly pressed to dirt, watching torchlight flicker over the goblin outpost below. Shadows twisted like specters across the clearing, tents set in crooked lines, smoke from cookfires bleeding into the artificial night sky.
The banquet had begun.
At the heart of the camp, beneath a patchwork canopy of stitched hides and banners, the goblin chief sat upon a low wooden throne. Unlike Grothmar, this one wasn't giant rather fat, his frame wrapped in mismatched armor. A circlet of tarnished bronze rested awkwardly atop his head. When he spoke, his voice carried in broken Common, words crooked and jagged like his teeth.
"Kl-tor. Your shipment... too small. One mine down, eh? Should not matter. We give... much. You give... less." His tone was sharp, his tongue twisted around human syllables as though every word was a wound.
Opposite him sat the dwarven committee, five men with braided beards and plates polished to gleam. At their head was a dwarf far from typical: silks draped over his shoulders, embroidery gilded across the hems of his tabard. Demir almost snorted. The garish cloth made the warrior look like a fattened noble draped in curtains. Yet the authority in his eyes was clear.
Kl-tor leaned forward, voice thick with a rolling brogue. "The Iron Prince has more on his plate than yer little squabbles, lad. Eleven Kings' moot's comin'. He's got tongues to sway, thrones to mind. Goblins in the Covenant? That's a bigger dream than one bloody outpost."
The chief's lips peeled back, tusks flashing. "Supreme Chief Tifu... he want Covenant. But reward? None. Conquer surface, build city. THAT should be first."
Kl-tor smirked, sipping ale from a silvered flask. "Cities need stone, lad. Need builders. Need the craft o' hands steadier than yer lot. Ye'll nae build walls with goblin paws alone."
The chief growled. "We working. Slaves do build. Slaves do teach. Slaves make young strong." His gaze slid across the tent, full of hunger. "We find more. Humans. Elves. Orc. All same."
Demir's stomach clenched. His hand twitched toward the hilt at his side, but Marven pressed a steady palm to his wrist. Wait. Listen.
Kl-tor's reply was patient, almost patronizing. "Careful, lad. Snatching every whelp an' widow ye find will raise questions. Iron Prince doesnae want whispers reachin' the moot. Peaceful partners, aye? If ye keep actin' the savage, ye'll ruin the Prince's work."
The goblin chief waved a clawed hand dismissively. "Covenant is for weak. For talkers. My chief use Covenant for friends, nothing more. Me? I make city. High wall. Tall tower. Goblin city! Then... I speak equal with Iron Prince. I learn from my father Tarvan."
Kl-tor's smile was thin. "Ambition's a fine cloak, lad. But don't wear it where all can see. Speak less, build quiet. Or ye'll find yerself buried under yer own stone."
The chief laughed, a hacking sound, slapping the table with spindly fingers. "Kl-tor is friend. Me command one hundred now. Small, small, no matter. Scouts out. Find puny villages. We take. We grow. Soon... too late for anyone."
Their laughter rolled together, dwarf and goblin sharing mugs of foaming ale while musicians outside butchered rhythm on skin drums.
The chief continued, "Me take your gifts. Such shiny metals. My brother experiments with strange metals. Needed them."
"Those are very expensive. Make sure not to waste," Kl-tor warned.
Demir's teeth ground together. Every word confirmed the dread he carried: this wasn't chaos anymore. This was design.
As the talk dissolved into slurred boasts and drunken nonsense, Marven gave him a sharp gesture. "Enough," she mouthed. "Time to go."
Demir nodded reluctantly. But as they pulled back from the tent, something caught his eye near the beast pens.
At first, he thought it was another warped creature from the burrows. Twisted wolves, mangy boars, all forced into servitude. But this one stopped him cold.
It was a wolf, yes, but unlike any goblin-bred thing. Its coat shimmered silver beneath torchlight, muscles corded with power, frame massive, nearly Demir's height at the shoulder. Its eyes burned gold, fierce and intelligent. More shocking still was the armor it wore: fresh-forged plates, polished and seamless, utterly out of place among crude goblin iron. A glowing collar, clearly magical, kept it contained.
The beast thrashed, snapping chains taut. One goblin was sent tumbling, ribs cracking as he hit the ground. Another scrambled back, squealing.
"Frekkin' monster!" one spat, clutching at his arm. "Tell chief. Wolf no tame! Tear him apart it will!"
Four more rushed in, tightening chains, forcing the proud animal into submission. The wolf snarled, the sound shaking Demir's bones.
Then its gaze lifted and locked with his.
For a moment, the world shrank. Those golden eyes, full of fury and challenge, stared through him. It was not the look of a beast. It was the look of a rival. A call.
Demir's breath caught. His instinct screamed to step forward. To answer. But he forced himself still. Slowly, deliberately, he bowed his head, breaking the gaze. The chains rattled, the wolf snorted, and Demir turned away, following Marven back up the slope.
They returned to camp in silence, the night air heavy with tension. Most of their companions were already asleep, but two figures kept watch by the dying fire: Sin, leaning on his cleaver with restless eyes, and Roderic, beard in his hand, gaze steady on the stars.
The commander looked up as they approached. "So? What did you hear?"
Sin brought them water and bread, his movements curt but attentive. Demir chewed slowly, savoring the taste after hours of tension, while Marven relayed the tale.
"The chief's ambitious," she said flatly. "He wants more than raids. Talks about enslaving everyone he can. Building cities. Says he commands a hundred already, and more to come."
Demir wiped his mouth, adding, "He's sending scouts everywhere. Hunting for small settlements. Anyone unguarded will be taken."
Roderic frowned, thumb running along his jaw. "As I feared. These valleys are growing dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Sin spat. His voice was hot iron. "We can cut them down. Every last one."
Roderic's eyes softened, but his words were steady. "Aye, we can win battles. But wars? Wars swallow people whole. Our numbers don't grow. Theirs do. History is nothing but strong folk crushed beneath the weight of endless hordes."
Demir leaned forward. "Then what do you suggest?"
The commander sighed, eyes dark with thought. "Nothing, yet. But I'll tell you plain. The future isn't bright. Not unless we find a way off this cursed world."
Silence settled over them. The fire popped. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, not goblin-bred, but wild and free. Demir thought again of the chained silver beast, of its eyes burning into his.
Roderic broke the quiet. "Tomorrow, we scout. Make sure the goblins don't have reserves nearby. If not, we strike when the dwarves leave. They've a hundred left in camp. Manageable."
He turned to Marven. "Huntress, see if there are hidden bands lurking."
She nodded.
"And this talk of the Covenant," Roderic muttered. "It doesn't touch us. But I wonder... what coin are they giving the Iron Prince to speak in their name?"
No one answered.
The next morning, scouts were dispatched. Sin and Timmy headed east and northeast, restless energy driving them forward. Two others swept west and northwest. All day, tension wound tight through the camp as reports trickled back: no hidden bands, no reinforcements. Dwarves left.
At last, Roderic stood, his voice grim but resolute. "Then we attack tomorrow night. Twelve against a hundred. Better odds than waiting for them to grow stronger."
That night, Demir polished his dull sword by firelight, the weight of it heavy in his hands. Around him, the others readied armor, strung bows, whispered prayers.
When darkness fell the next evening, they marched. Quiet as ghosts, they crept down toward the goblin camp. Marco and Ardrem whispered incantations, sparks flaring in their palms. At Roderic's signal, Ardrem and Marco sent their blasting spells, and lightning ripped across the clearing, striking the drunken crowd by the central fire. Goblins screamed, chaos erupted.
And the skirmish began.