Goblins!

Your suspicions were right, leaving you mildly disappointed. The low, grumbling voices, the crackling flames of a campfire - where do they get the firewood from? - and the multiple red dots on the map had led you to believe, accurately this time, that Aliénor was approaching a band of filthy goblins. Some five feet tall, a dirty shade of green and covered in warts, they are in all probability at the bottom of the food chain in your labyrinth. The many scars that crisscross their hides - you spy three of the wretches - nevertheless testify to their hardiness. Many of the less savoury species down here will not think twice about consuming goblins if food is scare, and these worms have obviously had to defend themselves in the past.

In any case, you will not deign to possess the body of such a lowly creature. This captain should be the best of her little group, more than capable of defeating a rabble of weak beasts such as these. If not, she would be manifestly unworthy of your time and attention. She must pass this first test, at the very least. Plus, the form of a goblin would not satisfy you. Goblins are made to fight and to die, nothing more. You, however, wish to breed.

Aliénor advances slowly as the band of goblins jabber obliviously to one another next to the crackling flames. She observes them for a time out of sight, ever cautious, sizing up the small group, as if coming up with a plan of attack. Eventually, only when she seems satisfied, does she emerge from the shadows. The goblins, caught unawares, rush to unsheathe their weapons as the captain covers the distance between her and her enemies at speed, spear at the ready.