The Obsidian Choice and a Seed for the Future

Grashok crossed the threshold of the unfinished Dark Altar room, and the nearest torch spat a thin tongue of flame into existence, as though forced awake from a long, resentful sleep. A moment later, the next torch along the wall flared—then the next—a slow, creeping ignition that slithered away from him down the chamber, each flame rising too tall, too sharp, before collapsing into a low, shuddering gutter.

The light they cast was weak and uneven, swallowed almost immediately by the darkness pooled in the corners. Shadows clung to the stone like living things, stretching toward him in long, skeletal shapes before recoiling, as if tasting the air around him and finding it… promising.

Though no altar yet stood here, the chamber pulsed with a heavy, waiting hunger—an empty stage that felt less like it awaited a powerful actor and more like it awaited a sacrifice. The walls themselves seemed to lean inward, listening, anticipating the choice he was about to make.

When he stepped further into the room, the darkness seemed to tighten around him but it was broken when a glowing system popup cut through the stillness, its sudden presence cold and absolute as it filled his vision

Choose the Type of Altar

The list of options spread before him, each accompanied by vivid descriptions of the sacrifices required and the boons they promised.

The Bloodstone Altar – Fed by blood sacrifices; this monolith grants mind‑bending domination and blood‑forged magic. It pulses eagerly for the rich, potent lifeblood of humans and half‑elves famed for their vitality.

The Altar of Shadow’s Embrace – Born of darkness; this shrine offers mastery of shadow manipulation and stealth. It stirs for the essence of nimble folk — halfling rogues, drow scouts, and any who slip through the world unseen.

The Infernal Pillar – Fueled by infernal flame; this pillar grants devastating fire‑driven abilities. Its heat flares brightest when fed the souls of tieflings, pyromancers, and fire‑touched adventurers.

The Obsidian Altar – Demanding the wills of the wise; this altar bestows dominion over others and brutal physical might. It resonates with hunger for elven scholars, human wizards, and any mind sharpened by arcane study.

The Cradle of the Unseen – Requiring sacrifices of sight; this cradle unlocks foresight and perception beyond mortal limits. It yearns for the eyes of keen‑sensed races — elves, kenku, and diviners who peer too far.

The Ebon Circle – Rooted in earth and shadow; this circle grants environmental control and summons creatures of stone and gloom. It draws strength from dwarves, deep gnomes, and druids bound to cavern and mountain.

The Wailing Cairn – Powered by sorrow; this cairn offers illusioncraft, emotional manipulation, and life‑force shaping. It feeds best on the grief‑laden hearts of bards, half‑elves, and humans whose emotions burn bright.

The Abyssal Altar – Bound to eldritch forces; this conduit opens the way to forbidden, otherworldly power. It whispers for the minds of warlocks, aberrant‑touched humans, and cultists who already teeter on the brink.

The Altar of Eternal Night – Steeped in death and dream; this sanctum grants dominion over nightmares and the underworld. It craves the spirits of shadar‑kai, necromancers, and dream‑walking elves who wander between worlds.

The Altar of the Deep Well – Tied to the sea; this wellspring offers water‑borne abilities but demands oceanic sacrifices. It calls to the essence of tritons, sea‑touched adventurers, and sailors who’ve bargained with the deep.

Grashok studied each option carefully, his mind weighing the pros and cons of the sacrifices and powers they offered. The Abyssal Altar intrigued him with its promise of immense power but unsettled him with the ominous mention of eldritch horrors. Similarly, The Altar of the Deep Well seemed impractical—there were no large bodies of water nearby to make full use of its abilities.

The Obsidian Altar, however, stood out. Sacrificing those with strong will or magical talent appealed to him. Magic wielders were often weaker physically and easier to control once subdued if they were gagged. The promise of being able to intimidate others and amplifying his own bodily prowess, allowing him to overpower any foe, was tantalising.

Grashok nodded to himself, deciding. He selected The Obsidian Altar.

A translucent wireframe of the altar materialised in his vision, allowing him to position it within the massive room. He carefully aligned it to command the space, ensuring its foreboding presence would dominate all who approached. Satisfied, he clicked "Accept."

With a deep, resonating hum, the altar snapped into existence. The shadows in the chamber grew thicker as its dark energy surged outward, sending a ripple through the dungeon walls. A new popup flashed before him:

Fame Increased!

Fame: +500 (Expanded)

Dark Altar Built: +500

Grashok dismissed the notification with a swipe and stepped back to examine his creation.

The Obsidian Altar was a monument to intimidation. It rose upon a broad, two‑step dais of jagged black stone, large enough for a small warband to stand upon. The altar itself was forged from polished obsidian, its surface shimmering with an almost liquid quality, reflecting distorted images of the room around it. At its centre, a deep basin seemed to drink in the light, a void that hinted at the sacrifices it would soon consume.

Tall, spiked pillars flanked the structure, each crowned with an eerie, green-tinged flame that flickered without fuel. Suspended between the pillars was a hanging, skeletal cage, swaying slightly as if touched by an unseen wind. A low hum emanated from the altar, vibrating in the marrow of anyone who stood near, a sound that seemed to whisper unspoken promises of power.

Despite its unsettling appearance, Grashok felt no fear. Instead, a sense of comfort and control settled over him. This was his domain, and this altar was his tool. He ran a hand over the smooth surface, feeling the latent energy thrumming beneath his palm. It was as if the altar recognised him, acknowledged his authority. A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.

“This will serve well,” he murmured to himself, his voice low and confident.

The faint echoes of his words seemed to reverberate through the chamber, mingling with the pulsing energy of the altar. Grashok lingered a moment longer, his thoughts already turning to the first sacrifice he would make and the dominion it would grant him.

He turned, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light, and began his journey back to the main halls of the dungeon. His mind buzzed with possibilities—new powers to harness, new plans to set in motion. His fortress was evolving, and with it, so was he but first he needed to capture a mage.

Grashok stepped out of the darkened chamber of the Obsidian Altar, his thoughts brimming with the power and potential the structure promised. The oppressive energy of the temple still clung to his skin, but outside the air felt fresher. He inhaled deeply, catching the familiar scents of the dungeon—cooking meat, dust, iron, and goblins.

Snippa was waiting just outside, in the shadowed corridor. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, her usual confident swagger—sharpened by her prowess as a ranger and her role as his senior lieutenant—conspicuously absent. Her green-skinned hands twisted the leather strap of her quiver, and her topaz eyes flicked up to his face before darting away again.

Grashok raised an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic hesitation. “Snippa,” he rumbled, his deep voice laced with curiosity. “What is it? Speak.”

She licked her lips, clearly searching for the right words. “Boss...” she started, her voice trembling slightly. She took a deep breath, standing a little straighter. “Snippa got somethin’ big to say. Err... you listen, yeah?”

His eyebrow arched higher, but he nodded. “Go on.”

Her hands stilled, and she squared her shoulders. “Snippa... Snippa gonna have a whelp.” The words came out in a rush, as though saying them quickly might lessen the weight of the revelation. She hesitated before adding, “Yours, boss.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment. Grashok blinked, the weight of what she’d said settling in. Slowly, a grin began to spread across his face, his crimson eyes lighting with pride.

“Mine,” he said, almost to himself. Then, louder, “You carry my child, Snippa?”

She nodded quickly, her brown hair, braided with beads and feathers, bouncing around her shoulders. “Y-yeah, boss. Snippa’s sure. Healer said so.”

Grashok’s grin turned into a deep, rumbling laugh that echoed through the corridor. “This is good, Snippa. Very good! You have done well!”

Snippa’s topaz eyes widened in surprise at his reaction, her tension visibly melting away. “You... you happy, boss? Thought maybe...” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely, clearly worried he’d see her pregnancy as a distraction or burden.

“Happy?” Grashok’s booming laugh came again as he stepped forward. This time, instead of stopping at her shoulder, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her against his broad chest. His embrace was firm, protective, and filled with joy. “More than happy. You’ve given me... No, you’ve given us a legacy. This is a cause for celebration.”

Her lips curled into a shy grin, her pointed ears twitching as she pressed against him, clutching at his tunic. “Snippa glad. Weren’t sure how you’d take it, boss. Didn’t wanna... mess up.”

He lowered his head, his voice softer now, meant only for her. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve done something great. Tell me—how long have you known?”

She tilted her head against his chest, thinking. “A little while. Suspected somethin’, but healer only told me proper-like today. Wanted to be sure before tellin’ boss.”

Grashok nodded, his expression gentling further as he kept her close. “And you’re feeling well? You need anything?”

“Snippa feel fine,” she said quickly, then hesitated, glancing up at him nervously. “Uh, boss... there’s... other goblins wot got whelps comin’. Not yours! Just... you know... from the others. Thought boss should know.”

Grashok’s grin faltered for a moment as he processed this. “Other females are pregnant too?”

She nodded. “Aye. Few of ‘em. But Snippa only one wot got yours, boss. Swear on me blade.”

He studied her for a moment before nodding, his arms tightening around her. “Good. I’ll make sure they’re all cared for. But you, Snippa—you carry my heir. That makes you and the whelp the most important of them all.”

Her cheeks darkened to a deep green as she blushed, her grin shy but proud. “Snippa won’t let ya down, boss. Whelp won’t neither.”

He chuckled, pressing his forehead briefly to hers before releasing her from the embrace. “I know. Together, we’ll see the clan grow stronger.”

They strolled side by side through the dimly lit corridors of the dungeon, their pace unhurried. Grashok spoke of his plans for the future, his vision of a growing clan, strengthened not only by power but by blood. Snippa walked close, her hand brushing his arm, her smile lingering as the echo of his laughter carried through the stone halls.

She listened intently, her eyes shining as his words painted the future before them. When he paused, she chimed in with her own rough but earnest thoughts. “Snippa think whelp gonna be strong, like boss. Maybe get teachin’ early, yeah? Train ‘em up proper.”

Grashok nodded approvingly. “You’re right. A strong start makes a strong future.”

As they approached the busier heart of the dungeon, Grashok paused and turned to her, his expression serious but kind. “You’ve made me proud today, Snippa.”

Her topaz eyes glowed with gratitude. “Thanks, boss. Snippa’ll make ya prouder still, just wait.”

“I know you will, that’s why I want you to come with me” He said before continuing to walk down the corridor.

The topaz‑eyed goblin hesitated only a moment before jogging to catch up, her brown hair bouncing with each step. She had become far more than a loyal subject; she was his stalwart lieutenant, his confidante, his lover — and now the bearer of his heir. Grashok felt it was time to reward her in a way worthy of her devotion.

They entered the grand throne room, the dim torchlight casting flickering shadows across the rough stone walls. The throne loomed at the far end, the natural focal point of the chamber. Grashok strode toward it with purpose and settled into the seat, authority settling over him like a familiar mantle. Then his expression softened; with a warm smile, he patted the armrest, inviting Snippa to join him.

Snippa blinked, her sharp features alight with surprise and excitement. “Wot’s this, boss? Snippa gettin’ a special treat?” she asked, giggling nervously as she clambered up onto the armrest. She perched there awkwardly, her slender frame balanced precariously, but her grin was wide and bright.

Grashok gave a low chuckle. “You’ve earned it, Snippa. Watch closely.”

A translucent menu materialised before him, with deliberate motions, he navigated through the options until he reached the one he sought. His crimson eyes glimmered as he selected Elect Champion for 200 Fame. A confirming chime rang out as he chose Snippa from the list.

The room filled with a soft, golden glow, emanating from Snippa herself. She gasped as the light enveloped her, infusing her with newfound power. The air around her seemed to hum, and faint, melodic tones akin to layered level-up sounds echoed in the room.

Champion Empowered!

Champion Fame Abilities Unlocked!

Snippa’s topaz eyes were wide with astonishment as she looked up at Grashok, her gaze brimming with love, joy, and wonder. “Boss... Snippa... Snippa feels all... shiny inside!” she stammered, her hands clenching and unclenching as if testing the surge of energy coursing through her.

Grashok leaned back in his throne, his expression one of satisfaction. “See for yourself,” he rumbled, nodding toward her personal menu.

Snippa opened her own interface with an eager swipe of her hand, her fingers flicking rapidly through the options. Her gasps and exclamations echoed in the chamber as she took in the details of her transformation. Her level had surged to 6, accompanied by significant stat increases. Her dexterity and stealth had risen sharply, befitting her ranger skills, while her connection to the shadowy realm of the Gloom Stalker had grown even more potent.

As she navigated her new abilities, a notification caught her eye. With trembling fingers, she pulled it into focus.

Choose a Ranger’s Boon

She read aloud, her voice tinged with awe, “’Champion Rangers gain a unique boon tailored to their specialisation.’ Boss! It’s somethin’ big!”

Grashok watched with interest as Snippa considered the choices. Finally, she settled on one that seemed to resonate with her instinctual cunning and shadowy expertise.

Boon of the Midnight Hunter

Grants the ability Phantom Stalk, allowing the ranger to temporarily become an ethereal shadow, invisible and incorporeal for up to 30 seconds.

Increases stealth and perception checks while in darkness or dim light.

Adds extra necrotic damage to attacks made from hiding.

As the selection was confirmed, a final surge of power rippled through Snippa. She shivered, her topaz eyes glowing faintly with a darkened hue, and a triumphant grin split her face. “Snippa... Snippa feels like a proper shadow beast now, boss! Can sneak, strike, an’ vanish like wind through cracks in stone!”

Grashok nodded, clearly pleased. “Good. A Champion should be formidable. You’ll use this power to serve the clan—and protect what’s ours.” he said whilst touching his hand to her belly in a protective gesture.

Squeals of delight escaped Snippa's lips as she dismounted from the armrest, tumbling onto Grashok's lap in a tangle of eager limbs. Her supple form pressed flush against his broad chest as she captured his mouth in a searing kiss, her plush lips moving with sensual hunger. The kiss was filled with a heady mixture of gratitude, tender affection, and ardent adoration. Grashok sank into the sensual embrace, his eyes fluttering closed as he savoured the tender moment of intimacy with his passionate paramour.

However, all too soon, Snippa's bony hips began to undulate suggestively across Grashok's lap, her pelvis grinding in a lewd rhythm against his crotch. The delicious friction sent sparks of heated arousal racing through his loins. Grashok's eyes snapped open to find Snippa's gaze filled with a wicked glint of mischief and carnal hunger. The kiss had transmogrified into an obscene tangle of tongues and teeth, one dripping with unbridled lust and wanton need. A primal growl rumbled in Grashok's throat as his manhood surged to rigid attention beneath Snippa's ministrations.

For several long, heated minutes, the pair were lost in a passionate bestial coupling of groping hands and duelling mouths. Snippa's hands roamed Grashok's muscular form with licentious intent while her hips continued to gyrate lecherously, her leather skirt chafing against the straining fabric of his trousers. Snippa's keening whimpers of desperate need filled the air. "Ooh Grashy!" she mewled wantonly. "I needs ye so fierce, I ain't gonna wait another moment!"

Snippa's deft fingers attacked the fastenings of Grashok's breeches, fumbling to free his throbbing, engorged manhood from its confines. The spindly vixen rutted herself against him shamelessly, overcome with bestial lust. Grashok groaned as he felt the heat of Snippa's womanly folds radiating through their clothes. His straining erection throbbed insistently, aching to bury itself deep within her wet, clutching pussy. Snippa's breath came in ragged pants, her eyes glazed with feral need as she yanked open Grashok's fly. His enormous rod sprang free, pulsating invitingly before her lusting gaze.

Without breaking their wanton kiss, Snippa lifted her skirts and shifted her sopping cunt over Grashok's jutting erection. She notched his flared tip at her dripping entrance and sank down in one swift motion, impaling herself on his thick shaft with a rapturous keen. Her tight walls engulfed him in slick, searing heat as she began to bounce and writhe atop him.

"Aah! Oh Grashok!" Snippa wailed in ecstasy, her inner muscles rippling around his plunging rod. "Ye feel so deep inside me! I...aah...I'm split open on yer great cock!" She slammed herself onto him with wild abandon, her pert bottom smacking lewdly against his thighs with each thrust. The two rutted together with utmost depravity, a debauched coupling of twining limbs, copious fluids, and raucous moans.

Just then, the throne room doors burst open with a resounding crash. Startled, they broke their clinch to look up - a young goblin had charged in, then skidded to a halt. The excited messenger's eyes went round as he took in the compromising scene - his boss's hand buried in the lieutenant's hair while his cock, the size of a melon, was deep inside her as she rode him.

The goblin gulped audibly, nervously shuffling his feet. "Uh, b-boss? S-sorry t'interrupt!" He tried to avert his eyes from Snippa's heaving bosom, exposed where her jerkin had slipped. "It's just...Well, ye best come see this yerself!"

Grashok pinned the messenger with a glare that promised castration. "Out with it, maggot! What's so all-fired urgent?"

The goblin cowered, all but pissing himself. "It's from the scouts, boss! Adventurers! A bunch o' the bastards just appeared outta nowhere! Armed to the teeth an' approachin’ our gate!" He stammered out.

"ADVENTURERS?!" Grashok roared, surging to his feet. Snippa tumbled off his lap with a squeak. The young goblin yelped and scrambled backward, but Grashok was already barking orders. “Arm the clan at once! Rally every warrior, scout, and spellcaster! Those fools dare approach my lair? I’ll teach them the folly of their arrogance!”

The goblin messenger saluted sloppily and bolted from the throne room, his scrawny legs pumping furiously as he disappeared through the door, leaving a fuming Grashok to adjust his breeches. He rounded on Snippa with an apologetic grunt. "Duty calls, love. I'll attend to ye proper, once I've sent those intruders t' the hells."

"I'll hold ye to that" Snippa simpered, blowing him a kiss.

Grashok reached for his Longsword, Soulrend, the dark blade glinting ominously in the torchlight. He hefted it over his shoulder with ease, his muscles rippling as he prepared for battle. His face twisted into a boar-like snarl, rage and anticipation mingling in his expression. They'd soon learn the folly of disturbing an amorous hobgoblin and his lady...

Snippa stepped forward. “Boss,” she said, her tone serious despite the faint goblin lilt. “Let Snippa lead the scouts t’flank ‘em. We’ll make sure none o’ the sneaky ones get near.”

Grashok met her eyes, confidence in her clear. “Handle it. Quiet and clean. I want their corpses as a warning, not their escapes as rumours.”

Snippa gave a sharp nod, her yellow eyes gleaming with the light of her newfound power. “Snippa’ll get it done.”

As she dashed off to rally her scouts, Grashok strode out of the throne room, his boots echoing on the stone floor. The corridors of his lair thrummed with activity as goblins scrambled to arm themselves, haul out supplies, and prepare the traps that lined the entryways.

Grashok’s lips curled into a savage grin as he approached the outer gates. The thrill of battle surged in his veins, the promise of bloodshed invigorating him.

“Come, adventurers,” he muttered under his breath, his crimson eyes blazing with fury. “Come and face the wrath of Grashok.”