The Elder offers wisdom

As Grashok made his way toward the crafting room, he crossed paths with the Goblin Elder, who was sitting on a small stone, deep in thought. The Elder’s eyes, ancient and wise, flicked up at Grashok as he approached.

“Ah, young leader,” the Elder rasped, his voice crackling like dry leaves. “I have been contemplating our situation.”

Grashok paused, curiosity piqued. “What’s troubling you?”

The Elder leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if the very trees might overhear. “The Ratkin have been unusually bold lately. They’re straying far from their usual haunts in the swamps across the river. There are whispers among my kin about a new leader among them.”

“A new leader?” Grashok asked, his interest sharpening. “What do you know of him?”

“The Vermin King,” the Elder replied, his expression grave. “He has claimed a territory and is expanding his domain. With the Ratkin rallied under his command, they are becoming a more organised threat. This is no mere rabble; they are empowered by the very rules of this world—the ‘code of the game’ as some call it.”

Grashok frowned, feeling the weight of the implications. “What do you mean by ‘the code of the game’?”

The Elder glanced around cautiously before continuing. “It is said that the game itself rewards those who can seize power, amplifying their strength and influence. The Vermin King has harnessed this power and is using it to dominate other tribes. His followers are emboldened, attacking villages and driving out those who oppose them. But more troubling is his command of the expedition mechanic—he spends resources not just to defend, but to send out entire forces, armies even, to raid, conquer, and expand. Each successful expedition brings back more tribute, more supplies, more soldiers. The tribes he crushes are forced to send him offerings, which he then reinvests into new expeditions, creating a vicious cycle of power and conquest. With every campaign, he grows stronger, and with every tribe that falls, his empire expands. We are not safe here, not while he commands the Ratkin and turns the very rules of the game to his advantage.”

Feeling a flicker of concern ignite within him, Grashok clenched his fists. “Then we must be vigilant. If we are to survive, we need to grow stronger. We have already started building our lair, but I will need more resources and allies.”

The Goblin Elder nodded slowly, his brow furrowed with worry. “You have the right idea, young one. If the Ratkin are indeed under the sway of this Vermin King, we will need to fortify our defences and prepare for an eventual conflict. Our survival may depend on how quickly we can rally our strength.”

Grashok considered this, determination surging through him. “I will gather more resources, craft better tools, and expand our numbers. I will not let this Vermin King threaten my domain or my people.”

The Elder placed a gnarled hand on Grashok's shoulder. “You have the spirit of a true leader, Grashok. But do not underestimate the cunning of the Ratkin or the power of their new leader. Prepare well, and seek allies among other tribes if you can. Together, we may stand a chance.”

With a newfound resolve, Grashok nodded. “Thank you, Elder. I will do what is necessary.” He turned to continue toward the crafting room, already strategising how to bolster his forces against this new threat.

As he walked away, the Elder called after him, “And remember, Grashok, it is not just strength in numbers that wins battles. Sometimes, cleverness and strategy can turn the tide just as easily. Be wise in your decisions.”

Grashok absorbed the Elder's words as he pressed on, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. There was much to do, and the looming threat of the Vermin King would not wait. He steeled his resolve, knowing he would do whatever it took to protect his new home and the goblins who had placed their trust in him.

The flickering torchlight cast jagged shadows along the walls as he brought up his character menu with a practised motion. A series of nested options unfolded before him, and he tapped into the War Chief sub-section. His eyes narrowed as he spotted something new—Expeditions.

A glowing icon pulsed faintly beside the label, and as he selected it, a detailed interface slid into view. It listed expedition targets, possible rewards, risk levels, and—most critically—a daunting cost in food, resources, and goblin manpower. Grashok let out a low whistle. “Phew. That’s steep,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “We’re going to need to keep the resources flowing if I want to do this more than once a moon.”

Still, excitement stirred in his gut. This was the kind of mechanic the Elder had warned him about—one that could spiral into either triumph or ruin. His fingers hovered briefly, then moved with growing confidence. He selected the entirety of his available tribe, watching the units populate in the launch window: basic goblin warriors, a goblin hedge-witch, a goblin leader and his wolf—no Golems, though. They were greyed out, unselectable, bound perhaps to the lair itself or requiring a different command structure. “Figures,” he grumbled, but shrugged. “Can’t send the stoneheads, then the greenskins’ll have to do.” He also noticed that there was no cost associated with his wolf, due to its Loyal Companion status.

He clicked Launch Expedition. The interface pulsed red briefly, then confirmed deployment. A slight rumble passed through the lair, and a notification rang out—his first warband was going to be sent out.

Grashok stepped away from the menu and headed toward the entrance hall, the familiar scent of damp stone and iron filling his lungs. He could already hear the bustle of his tribe preparing to march beyond the safety of their tunnels. The expedition had begun.