“And here,” Amanda continues, gesturing to a side view of the trap she'd designed, “would be an embankment for a ranged attacker for the whole trap to repeat itself. Even if they know the secret about the coloured steps, there's still some defence and a chance at an early warning then.”

You nod along with her explanation, mind slightly detached. Some of the ideas Amanda has come up with and jotted down have... horrified you.

Water rushing in, everything rotating...

You shudder, and are about to ask her if you could take a short break when you hear a voice from behind you. As you're still sat in the treasure room and the second floor seems to mute sounds from the floor below, the voice must come from the stairs.

“Eh, boss? Got more visitors for you.”

You turn, just in time to catch the kobold – Jack, this time – about to return to the floor below. Your voice catches him.

”Jack? Any details this time?”

“Uh, yes boss. Goblins. Five of 'em, and lookin' right pleased with themselves too. Feathers is chatting to them.”

That pulls you up short. Who would Feathers bother speaking with?

“Thank you Jack. I'll be down momentarily.”

You turn to Amanda, but she's already bundled her plans up in their leathers wrappings and is smiling at you. “Come on then. Lets go meet the new workforce.”

Feathers' voice is the first thing to reach you, a hacking laugh that echoes from the entrance hall to the stairwell, and you relax. Only a few options of Feathers' acquaintances had seemed likely, seeing as her old tribe either lived here or were dead – the tribes from her nearly disastrous diplomatic mission. If she's laughing, it's probably not the Greenberries who betrayed her, tried to kill her, and cost her a leg and an eye.

But they did let her discover her new favourite weapon, and she's always been rather martially focused, so you never know.

The goblins are a motley bunch, when you reach them. Three males, one rather old, and two females. All five of them are dressed in and equipped with a ragged assortment of bone equipment lending them a far more savage look than the goblins of your dungeon, and baring the elder, there's something subtly... off about the remainder.

At your approach, Feathers breaks off towards you, and the new goblins form something that could charitably be called a line up.

“Red Scale. These goblins from Breakbones Tribe. They help me before,” she gestures towards her prosthesis, “and now come to join us. Say they all that left. Two dead for each of them here.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“How?” you ask with a sense of morbid curiosity. Fifteen goblins should be a challenge for most of the wildlife around here, but should have been wiped out by any hero party that managed to kill two thirds of them. Non of the survivors look like a tribal champion or chief.

Feathers turns to the Breakbones and barks a question. One of the younger males and the two females begin to snicker, while the other young male steps forward. He's clad in leathers, reinforced with what look to be entire rib cages of various sizes on his limbs. He takes a wide stance, sticks his arms out as far as they'll go and begins to flap them.

The old goblin closes his eyes and turns away. The remaining younglings collapse in laughter as the spokes... charades goblin sticks his tongue out as far as it will go and starts to hum.

Feathers cocks her head, clearly confused. The actor turns as runs at the giggling others who shriek and try to run away. One of the females trips while standing, and he bares down on her, and licks her.

You feel a chill.

She collapses to the floor with an obviously fake shriek, and then climes to her feet again, laughing. After a moment, she composes herself, pulls a grotesque face and turns to help the first goblin chase down the remaining two, still humming.

No. Not humming. Buzzing.

The last goblin is brought down, and all four of them turn towards the elder. Before they can charge him, he turns to you and takes a few steps forward, clearly removing himself form their game. You're shocked to see tears flowing freely down his face.

With a grumble, the four younger goblins drift off, talking and giggling amongst themselves. It's then that you realise what was slightly off about them. They're not just younger than their elder. They're young. Barely more than children. Their armour is loose on them, their weapons just a bit too big.

The elders and the children. The tribe's knowledge of the past and it's hope for a future.

The elder opens his mouth, and a surprisingly strong voice came through. Small skulls woven into his hair, those of mice and sparrows, click together as his head moves.

“We come to you, offer to work. Feathers already explained everything. All good, no need to waste time with words. Only change, you no ask us to gather from forest. Can gather from mountain all day. All good yes? Yes.”

His attitude rubs you the wrong way and you go to deny him just on principle, but force yourself to stop. The children are all bare foot, making the blisters and scabs easily visible. The elder's own feet are wrapped in bandages but these too are stiff with dry blood. Cuts and scraps, some half healed and some not cover their bodies.

You let out a sigh.

“That sounds reasonable.”

You gained 5 minions! +40 (Expand?)

You got five minor Minions! +5

Diplomatic Recruitment +5

Subsumed a faction into your own x2

Your minions are feeling the Tranquillity Plague x2