Not what you expected.

Entering the tent, the interior is lit by huge braziers surrounding a large table. Maps are spread across it, a group of women dressed in leather armor surrounding it and discussing strategy. Presiding over this meeting is a massive tan harpy that sits on a raised throne towards the back of the tent, her dress so she thin you can see her ample peirced tits jiggle from here. As you approach they stop arguing, all heads swiveling to assess the rag tag band of goblins sent by the the dark-lord. Some giggle openly, licking their lips and eyeing up your male soldiers with lustful hunger, still others retain a stern controlled demeanor, but their skin is flush with heat.

"So the Darklord finally sends aid! Does he think to insult us by sending so few, and goblins at that!?" The matronly woman seated on the throne bellows, her indignant fury clear to all in her tone. Stepping forward you lock your gaze with hers, her dilated pupils reflecting the image of your presence, two pin pricks of light seated in a mass of shadow staring back at you.

A fanged smile spreads across your face a you swing your arms wide, addressing the rowdy queen and her generals, "The Master sends his avatar Minion to cull the uprising you are about to begin. I am of his flesh, his essence, I speak with his authority!" Your voice booms as the queen shrinks back, unable to pull herself from your burning eyes, "Are the pacts you sealed worth so little? That you would go against the Darklord to satisfy your primal desires!? My goblins have more discipline than you sorry wenches!" You leap onto their table, pointing to the quaking harpy with a single clawed digit, "You would destroy all that has been wrought by your alliance, make enemy of the great one by starting a petty campaign. Think of what you will lose when he comes for you after you have claimed your meager trophies." The generals about you nod silently, clearly understanding the danger, "Only one chance he will give you. We come on his behalf to prevent this folly, assist you in ending your unnatural rutting season. Don't waste it."

Boring into her with your poclimation, the queen struggles to regain her composure while you wait for her response.