The first rays of spring sunlight filtered through the dense jungle canopy, casting shimmering green light over the bustling settlement of New Scar. The warmth was a welcome reprieve from the winter’s chill, and with it came a renewed sense of energy and purpose. The air hummed with activity as lizards, goblins worked side by side to fortify their home and push their growing civilization to new heights.
Jannet lounged in the newly-expanded hot springs, his obsidian-black scales glinting with moisture. The springs had become something of a luxury in New Scar, offering a space for relaxation and socialization amid the rigor of daily life. Around him, a few of the original recruits rested, their massive forms almost motionless as the soothing heat penetrated their muscles.
Life in New Scar was thriving. The winter, though challenging, had brought growth in population and prosperity. Jannet’s efforts to expand their community had borne fruit, with new arrivals integrating into their society under the guidance of the original group members. The once-scattered lizards had united into a cohesive force, their loyalty to Jannet and his sovereign influence undeniable.
The return of the trade caravan from the Gemstone Gnomes brought excitement that rippled through the settlement. Goblins scurried to unload the goods, their high-pitched chatter mixing with the deep, resonant hisses of the lizards. The gnomes had outdone themselves, sending a haul of tools specially crafted for goblin and lizard hands, alongside magical gemstones that glowed faintly with untapped power.
Randel and the goblin craftsmen gathered around the goods like moths to flame. Randel’s frills flared with excitement as he turned a gemstone in his claws, the glow reflecting in his golden eyes. "Incredible," he seemed to hiss, his noise barely audible over the din. The goblins, led by Baby Goblin, clambered over one another to inspect the treasures, their reverence for the items apparent.
Baby Goblin—recently revealed to be a girl—had cemented her place as a leader among the goblins. Her shamanistic powers and bond with the lizards made her a figure of respect, even awe, among her people. The goblins, inspired by her magic and charisma, had become a driving force behind the rapid advancement of New Scar.
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Meanwhile, Rose tended to her clutch of hatchlings in the newly-expanded nursery. The soft scratching of tiny claws against stone filled the air as the young Komodo dragons explored their surroundings. Rose’s nurturing aura enveloped the space, calming the hatchlings as they jostled for their first meal—carefully prepared chunks of food sized just for them.
Jannet watched from a distance, a surge of pride swelling in his chest. The nursery had become a hub of life, but its expansion was already necessary. More eggs would soon join the clutch, brought by new members who had accepted New Scar as their home. The sheer growth of the population was astonishing, and it was clear that Jannet’s sovereign influence played a significant role. His memetic suggestions seemed to resonate more strongly now, guiding not only the behavior of individuals but the evolution of the entire society.
The expanding perimeter of New Scar reflected this growth. Patrols had increased, bolstering the settlement’s defenses after the tragic loss of Spotted Eye. The lizards and goblins had extended their territory, ensuring that any potential threats could be identified and neutralized long before they reached the walls. The effort had not been in vain, as more goblins had fled south from the north, seeking refuge and finding purpose under Baby Goblin’s leadership.
However, not all was peaceful. Reports from northern scouts had grown increasingly ominous. The jungle trembled with distant rumblings, the ground shaking as though something massive stirred beneath it. Birds fled in panicked flocks, their calls cutting through the silence that followed each tremor. The jungle, normally alive with the sounds of insects and animals, fell eerily quiet during these moments, as though holding its breath.
The scouts could not identify the source of the disturbance. Whatever it was, it remained far away—but its presence was undeniable, and it loomed over New Scar like a shadow.
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the scouts of Duke Fayeron’s advancing army crouched low in the undergrowth, their eyes scanning the towering walls of New Scar. What they saw chilled them to their core. The fortifications were massive, far more advanced than anything they had expected. The walls, reinforced with salvaged human scrap and jungle resources, bristled with sharpened stakes and defensive emplacements. The settlement looked less like a goblin hideout and more like a fortress built for war.
The scouts watched as patrolling lizards moved with a predatory grace, their sleek forms gliding silently along the perimeter. Occasionally, a goblin rider would pass by, their small stature and makeshift armor belying the coordination and discipline they displayed. The sight was unnerving.
“Do you see that flag?” one of the scouts whispered, his voice barely audible.
The others nodded. The crude banner, depicting a lizard’s face in a red circle, fluttered proudly atop the walls.
“Looks like they’ve declared themselves some kind of… lizard tribe,” another scout murmured.
“What’s worse is the organization,” the first scout added. “Goblins don’t do this. They don’t farm, they don’t patrol, and they sure as hell don’t build walls like that.”
The scouts exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of their discovery pressing down on them. One of them began to speak, but a rustling in the bushes nearby cut him off. The men froze, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons as their eyes darted to the shadows.
“What was that?” one whispered.
The rustling grew louder, the sound of snapping branches and crunching leaves sending a chill down their spines. Panic set in, and the group began to retreat, their movements cautious but hurried.
As the noise drew closer, the scouts broke into a sprint, their hearts pounding in their chests. Whether it was a lizard, a goblin, or something else entirely, they had no intention of finding out. They had seen enough. They needed to report back to the duke—and fast.
The jungle swallowed them whole, leaving New Scar and its secrets behind. Whether they made it back or not, the world beyond the jungle would soon know of the growing power within.
The hunting party rushed through the jungle’s underbrush, their sleek forms cutting through the dense foliage with ease. Their dark, mottled scales blended into the shadows, but their tongues flicked furiously, tasting the air for danger. The group had been gone longer than usual, their absence causing unease in New Scar. Now, as they approached the settlement, their urgency was palpable.
Jannet stood near the central fire, watching as the hunting party entered the den’s clearing. Their leader, a scarred older Komodo who had been among the first to join during the winter, flicked his tongue and scratched at the ground with his claw. The dirt markings became crude shapes—a forest, stick figures of humans, and what appeared to be lines moving through it.
Columns of men. An army.
The implications struck Jannet like a lightning bolt. The lizards hissed and shifted uneasily as the hunting party elaborated with further flicks of their tongues and markings. Jannet’s instincts roared to life. This was no mere hunting party or scouting patrol; it was a deliberate movement of humans into the jungle. Jannet nodded gravely and summoned #1 and Rose with a pulse of memetic urgency.
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The three largest Komodos gathered quickly. Rose, her scales glinting with maternal strength, stood tall and resolute. Beside her, #1 exuded calm confidence, his regrown leg an emblem of his resilience. Jannet, though slightly smaller than #1, carried a sovereign presence that neither of the others could rival. The trio moved out without hesitation, their powerful limbs carrying them swiftly through the jungle.
They covered the distance quickly, the jungle alive with the rustle of leaves and the distant cries of startled birds. As they neared the edge of the human territory, the first signs of the advancing army became evident. Broken branches, trampled undergrowth, and the acrid scent of sweat and steel hung in the air.
Then, they saw it.
The human army snaked through the jungle in an unending column, the sunlight glinting off their armor and weapons. Hundreds of men, their numbers so vast that Jannet’s lizard brain struggled to grasp them fully. Horses carried officers, their riders scanning the jungle with wary eyes, while supply carts creaked and groaned under the weight of provisions and equipment.
The army’s vanguard reached the human nest—Oldscar. The sight of the walled town bristling with human activity sent a surge of fury through Jannet. The humans had reinforced their nest, expanding their influence even as New Scar sought to secure its own survival. And now, they brought this overwhelming force into the jungle, an invasive tide threatening to wash away everything Jannet and her family had built.
Jannet’s mind swirled with anger and frustration, memories of her past life surfacing like venom. Humans. Always humans. They had taken everything from her before, and now they sought to do it again. They came not to coexist but to conquer, to take what they deemed untamed and bend it to their will.
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The thought of this army trampling through the jungle, taking their lands, their resources, and even their lives, filled Jannet with a righteous fury. The jungle was home—her home, her people’s home. It was not something for the humans to tame, to claim, or to destroy.
Rose let out a low hiss, her golden eyes narrowing as she watched the men pour into the human nest. Beside her, #1’s tongue flared in silent agreement. The three exchanged glances, their resolve unspoken but understood. They couldn’t let this stand.
Jannet flicked her tongue, tasting the air and gauging the humans’ movement. She projected a pulse of urgency through memetics, signaling her companions to return. They needed to act swiftly. The humans’ sheer numbers would slow their progress through the jungle, but it wouldn’t be enough. At best, New Scar had a week to prepare.
The journey back to New Scar was swift, their powerful limbs churning through the jungle with relentless speed. As they neared the settlement, Jannet’s mind raced with plans. The humans had come for war, but they would find something else entirely.
The days passed in a flurry of activity, the tension in New Scar thick enough to cut with a blade. Every lizard, goblin, and ally worked tirelessly, driven by a shared determination to defend their home. The once-bustling settlement had transformed into a veritable fortress, bristling with crude but effective defenses.
Jannet moved among the workers, her golden eyes sharp as she assessed their progress. Boulder slingshots, modeled after the catapults she vaguely remembered from TV, dotted the outer walls. Randel and the goblins had been instrumental in crafting them, their nimble fingers lashing together sturdy frames from jungle wood. The lizards tested the devices tirelessly, loading the slings with smooth river stones and testing their range. Each successful shot brought a wave of triumphant hisses and cheers.
Meanwhile, Jannet oversaw the construction of a deep, muddy moat around the walls. Baby Goblin, her magic now more refined, worked tirelessly to aid in its creation. With her chanting and rhythmic gestures, she softened the earth, allowing the lizards to dig faster and deeper. The moat filled with water and muck, its surface rippling ominously as swamp gas bubbled up. Sharp stakes were embedded beneath the murky depths, hidden and ready to impale any who tried to cross.
The drawbridge, a surprisingly elegant contraption for such a primal society, was the finishing touch. Made from thick logs bound with jungle vines, it was sturdy enough to bear the weight of even the largest lizards. Jannet impressed upon the group the importance of keeping it raised at all times, lowering it only for hunting parties and returning scouts.
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The hunters worked tirelessly to ensure the fort was well-stocked for the battle ahead. Carrion stores were topped off, with every edible scrap brought back and preserved. Raptors, blade chickens, water buffalo—anything that could be caught or scavenged was hauled back to the den. The smell of roasting meat mingled with the acrid scent of the moat, creating an oddly comforting aroma of preparation and survival.
At the same time, the lizards dug deep pits along the most likely paths of human approach, lining them with sharp wooden stakes. Baby Goblin’s goblin followers, now numbering in the dozens, worked alongside the lizards with surprising efficiency. Their hands, though small, were quick and clever, turning every trap into a work of lethal ingenuity.
Randel, ever the innovator, expanded the tail-spear stations, deploying them strategically across the walls. He and the goblins taught even the youngest lizards how to load and aim the weapons. The Y-shaped launchers, so simple yet so effective, were a cornerstone of New Scar’s defense.
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Jannet stood atop the walls as the sun set on the fourth day of preparation. The view from the high ground offered little comfort; the jungle beyond remained ominously quiet, the humans’ presence a looming threat just out of sight. No matter how much they fortified, no matter how determined her people were, the numbers were stacked against them.
A hundred lizards and goblins. That was all New Scar had. Every new recruit, every goblin refugee, had been integrated into the community, but it was still a fraction of the force advancing toward them. Hundreds of men, well-armed and trained, were coming to tear down everything Jannet had built.
Her lizard brain struggled to process the scale of the threat, but her human memories filled in the gaps. This wasn’t just a fight for survival—it was a battle against annihilation. The humans didn’t come to coexist; they came to dominate, to take what they wanted and destroy what resisted.
Jannet’s claws dug into the wooden parapet as she surveyed the bustling fort below. Rose tended to her clutch in the newly expanded nursery, her protective aura radiating strength and calm. #1 led a group of younger lizards in combat drills, his commanding presence inspiring confidence in even the most timid recruits. Baby Goblin stood at the center of her growing goblin tribe, her voice rising in rhythmic chants as she demonstrated new magical techniques.
Despite their efforts, Jannet couldn’t shake the weight of the odds against them. She turned her gaze to the flag fluttering above the walls—a crude symbol, yet one that embodied everything they had built together.
“We’ve done all we can,” Jannet thought, her tail flicking with a mix of determination and anxiety. “Now, it’s up to us to hold the line.”
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As night fell, the atmosphere in New Scar shifted. The hustle of the day gave way to a tense quiet, the air thick with anticipation. Fires burned low, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The lizards and goblins gathered in small groups, their conversations hushed but resolute.
Jannet stood at the center of the fort, her sovereign aura radiating reassurance. She projected a wave of memetic energy, letting it ripple through her people like a warm tide.
“Lizards together strong,” she conveyed, her golden eyes sweeping over the crowd. “We face overwhelming odds, but this is our home. We will fight for it. We will protect it. And we will show the humans that the jungle is not theirs to take.”
The response was immediate and powerful. Hisses, growls, and goblin cheers echoed through the fort, a collective roar of defiance. The sound carried into the jungle, a challenge to the advancing army.
Jannet let the moment linger before retreating to her quarters, her mind already racing with plans. The battle was coming, and New Scar would be ready. Together, they would face the storm. Together, they would stand strong.
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The jungle seemed to close in tighter with every step, its oppressive heat and buzzing insects gnawing at Osric's resolve. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through with sweat, and his boots squelched in the sticky mud that clung to the army's path like a living thing. The faint smell of rot and damp earth filled his nostrils, mixing with the acrid tang of his frustration.
Osric flexed the fingers of his remaining hand around the hilt of his sword, the knuckles white with tension. His left sleeve hung empty, pinned neatly against his side, a stark reminder of what had been taken from him. Just over a year ago, the jungle had claimed his arm, the venom from one of those damned lizards coursing through his veins until the surgeon had no choice but to cut it free.
Garrick was dead now. The image of his friend’s shrouded body haunted Osric’s every step, driving him forward. He hadn’t been required to return to the fight—missing an arm was reason enough to be reassigned to safer duties—but the memory of Garrick’s mangled corpse had kindled something in him. A need for vengeance. A need to see these goblins and their monstrous lizard pets wiped from existence.
He tightened his grip on his sword as a mosquito landed on his cheek, the itch immediate and infuriating. With a swift slap, he smeared the insect across his face, his lips curling in disgust.
“This jungle is a gods-forsaken hellhole,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the din of the marching column.
Ahead of him, a soldier stumbled, his boot caught in a patch of concealed mud. He swore loudly as he yanked his leg free, his pants splattered with muck. Behind him, another man stepped forward to help, only to trigger a hidden trap. A crude spike lashed out from the foliage, striking the man in the thigh. He collapsed with a scream, clutching at the bloody wound as the column ground to a halt.
Osric clenched his jaw as the soldiers around him broke formation to tend to the wounded man. These damned goblins. Their traps were everywhere—spikes, pits, even venom-laced tripwires that turned minor wounds into festering nightmares. The front of the column bore the brunt of the dangers, but even here, further back, Osric felt the tension of every step. The heat, the bugs, the constant threat of ambush—it was enough to fray even the hardest nerves.
He gritted his teeth, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “Dragging us out here for no reason,” he spat. “They don’t even belong here. This jungle isn’t theirs—it’s ours to tame.”
The Duke had made the right choice, Osric told himself. The goblins—and whatever bizarre lizard pets they had enslaved—were a stain on this earth. Creatures of filth and cruelty. They lived in squalor, festering in holes like the vermin they were. The gods didn’t favor them; that much was clear. Why else would they be condemned to this wretched jungle, scraping by on scraps and filth?
Ahead, the column began to move again, the wounded man dragged to the side as the march resumed. Osric fell into step with the others, his boots sinking into the mud with each step. The road, if it could even be called that, was little more than a trail of trampled vegetation, its surface slick and treacherous. Every now and then, a soldier would slip, their curses adding to the cacophony of the march.
A soldier to his right swatted at a cloud of gnats, his face twisted in frustration. “This place is cursed,” he muttered. “It’s like the jungle itself is trying to kill us.”
Osric didn’t reply, his focus fixed on the path ahead. The thought of Garrick’s final moments played over and over in his mind—the panic, the pain, the way his friend’s body had convulsed before going still. It had been those lizards. Those soulless, cold-eyed monsters. They had torn Garrick apart, limb by limb, while the goblins watched from the shadows. Osric had been too far away to help
He wouldn’t let it happen again.
The Duke had to be swift, Osric thought. Swift and ruthless. These creatures didn’t deserve mercy. They were an abomination, an affront to the gods themselves. And now they were emboldened, declaring themselves a nation with their ridiculous flag and their crude walls. It was madness. Goblins weren’t meant to have walls. They weren’t meant to have flags. They were scavengers, nothing more.
Osric’s lip curled in disgust as he thought of the lizards, those scaled monstrosities that seemed to haunt his nightmares. The way they moved, their tongues flicking out as if tasting your fear. The way their cold eyes bore into you, calculating, unfeeling. And now they were wearing clothes. It was unnatural.
As another bug landed on his neck, Osric slapped it away with a growl. He tightened his grip on his sword, his steps quickening as his anger burned hotter. He would kill them. Every last one of them. He would make them pay for Garrick and for the hell they had brought to the borderlands.
The column trudged onward, the oppressive heat and unrelenting bugs doing little to temper Osric’s resolve. The Duke’s plan was sound, he reminded himself. The spring brought new strength to the army, the men’s spirits bolstered by the change in season. They had the numbers, the weapons, the will. The goblins and their lizards might think they were clever, but they couldn’t stand against the might of a united human force.
“This ends here,” Osric thought, his gaze fixed ahead. “No more traps. No more games. No more Garricks.”
The jungle pressed in around them, its shadows deep and full of menace, but Osric’s rage burned bright. The goblins had made their stand. Now it was time to break them.