Zalrodal sat on his stone throne in the depths of the dungeon. The place had been brought back to a degree of its former splendour after he had spent so long at Lord’s Rest. The cracked floor tiles had been replaced by stenjin workers, the banners had been resown with the help of some of the human villagers and the hall was lit by torchlight and flames nested inside iron braziers along with the hall’s columns. Migaal in his ferret form was as always close to his master, perched upon the top of the throne and looking into the hall. He was quite fond of the redecoration efforts, it was important that a Dark Lord present themselves in an appropriate manner. Zalrodal played around with a silvery cup his minions had found in one of their raids, the red liquid within it swirling with every movement. He could allow himself such simple pleasures now, it seemed the mountains and the woods were essentially devoid of any goblin activity as they had steadily joined his little empire. Of course, other types of creatures would be required for true conquest as goblins were an unreliable army at best. However, with the added numbers his green horde could expand and go further with each raid, even crossing the river and attacking some villages in the heartland of Arberon while the kingdom was still distracted in their own little war.
“This room needs a little bit more of a personal touch, wouldn’t you say?” The ferret sitting on the top of his throne said.
“What did you have in mind this time, aren’t the banners and clean floor enough to be a Dark Lord?” Zalrodal responded, looking over his shoulders at Migaal’s black fur.
“If you want to be a second rate lord living in some dungeon under a mountain then yes. We require a little bit more style, perhaps some statues and paintings in your image, or the kept remains of some famous person that we’ve defeated. You know make sure people know whose dungeon it is.”
“And I suppose you wanted the goblins to create a painting of myself, I don’t think it will have quite the effect you are hoping for.”
“The goblins? No, no, and once again, no. We require a true artist, not myself, of course, I haven’t done any painting in a while, but perhaps we can arrange for some sculptures and painters although I suppose we would have to at least defeat Arberon for that. Perhaps there are other things we could now,” Migaal placed one of his paws under his chin and thought.
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At that moment the doors to the throne room blew open revealing a tiny goblin frame. The green creature wore a set of furs wrapped around its body and carried a red hat on its head, it seemed the humans had started bringing some fashion into his realm. The goblin walked towards the throne at the end of the hall, its shadow shifting with each step as it entered and left a new source of light. The goblin was out of breath and when it stood just feet away from its master it supported its small body on its knees before raising its head and speaking.
“Humanz, lotz of em,” the words came out between heavy breaths, “wear iron clothz, comez to forestz, quick quick, we muzt attack!”
The humans in question, were Arberonian knights, presumably in search of their fallen companions or alternatively out for revenge, in either case, nothing good would come of them running around Zalrodal’s forest. Zalrodal gathered two of the goblin clans under him with a third waiting in the forest, the bloody spearz, yellow handz, and wood Krackerz, would be his main force. Blackrock and the other two war-forms would come as well in case things did not go as well as planned. The report from his scouts stated that around twenty knights had entered the forest just a couple of hours ago trotting in on their horses and wearing their shiny armour as if they owned the place but no news had been heard since the first sighting.
The goblins marched through the forest, spreading out between the brush disappearing even from Zalrodal’s sight at times. They were n their element chasing down the knights. Zalrodal rode on one of the captured horses, he swayed from side to side and struggled to get the horse to always move in the right direction but Migaal claimed riding a horse would give him an air of authority over his subjects. At least now he could look the stenjin in the eyes without cranking his head towards the heavens. They heard a noise coming from up ahead and Zalrodal commanded his goblins to stop advancing. He dismounted, his leather boots hitting the ground raising a small wave of dirt. Two of the goblins took the horse and moved it away from the coming action as Zalrodal approached the brush in which the Rigrig was hiding. The stabbing enthusiast had been more than eager to partake in this excursion. Zalrodal knelled down next to the eager goblin and listened for any more noises.
He could hear a squeaky voice up ahead, not too different from most of his goblins. The voice was followed by a thunk, and a scruffy voice demanding silence. Zalrodal peaked through the underbrush to get a better look, Migaal’s head emerged from under his suit as well, the ferret pushed aside some branches to create a small hole to look through. On the other end, they could see a number of knights, most of them had dismounted and were sitting around in a circle, their helmets on the ground next to them as they chatted and shared some bread. Next to the tallest knight, and the one with the shiniest armour was a small creature. Greenish-brown skin could be seen from under its many layers of fur and on its head, it wore the head of a stag, antlers aimed at the sky and hollowed eye sockets revealing a large pair of brown eyes.