Tribute and a New Guest

“Big Boss! Big Boss!”

The shouts reverberated through the halls again, urgent enough to pull Grashok from his planning. Rising from his seat, he strode toward the entrance, tension coiled in his shoulders. His first thought was of adventurers, their meddling boots trampling his domain.

As he reached the doorway, the panting guard stumbled forward, his wide eyes sparkling with excitement.

“What is it now?” Grashok demanded, his voice rough.

“Stuff, Big Boss! Supplies! And...a creature!”

The mention of supplies was peculiar enough to raise a brow, but the idea of a creature lurking among them sealed Grashok’s curiosity. With a wave, he motioned for the doors to be opened.

As the heavy stone doors creaked apart, Grashok stepped out into the dim glow of the outer cavern. Before him lay a curious scene: a neatly stacked pile of supplies as if laid by a cautious offering hand. Bundles of grain and dried meat sat alongside glinting tools—hammers, chisels, and even a cluster of sharp, unworked gemstones. The most intriguing items were iron ingots, their surfaces smooth and pristine, promising future weaponry.

Before he could fully inspect the goods, his attention shifted to the small, writhing thing perched atop the rope bundle. It scuttled back and forth, almost as if in agitation, its translucent form glimmering faintly in the cavern’s ambient light.

The creature was no larger than a finger. Its jelly-like body shimmered with a pale green glow, dotted with tiny bioluminescent spots that blinked in hypnotic patterns. Three thin tendrils curled and unfurled with an unsettling grace, and its black, pinprick eyes seemed to peer through Grashok rather than at him.

“What is that?” Grashok asked, his voice low with both curiosity and caution.

“Spindle Spawn,” came the rasping voice of the Goblin Elder, who had appeared at Grashok’s side. The Elder’s dark eyes glinted with recognition. “Youngling form of an Abyssal Morphid, mighty beast from beyond.”

Grashok frowned, studying the creature. It seemed harmless enough, though its eerie glow and writhing movements stirred unease in his gut. He focused on it more intently, and as if triggered by his scrutiny, a shimmering interface popped into his vision.

Accept Spindle Spawn into dungeon?

[Confirm] [Decline]

Grashok’s brow furrowed. Could grow into something special, he thought, weighing the decision. Though small now, the Elder’s tone suggested the creature’s potential was far greater.

“Fine,” he muttered to himself, reaching out to tap the invisible prompt.

The Spindle Spawn reacted immediately, its tendrils curling in what almost seemed like a bow before it scurried down the pile of supplies.

“Hey, where are you going?” Grashok barked, watching as the creature slipped past his boots and into the depths of the dungeon. It paid him no heed, disappearing down a dark corridor.

“Crazy thing,” he muttered, turning back to the mound of supplies.

Grashok crossed his arms, gesturing to the pile with a questioning grunt. “What’s all this, then? Why are we being gifted?”

The Goblin Elder cleared his throat, his voice gravelly but steady. “A factor of your Liegelord status, sir. I’ve read the ancient texts. It is said that those who rule dungeons may be offered tribute to stave off their wrath. Gifts to honour your strength and...perhaps to curry favour.”

Grashok couldn’t help the smug grin that tugged at his lips. The thought of beings outside his dungeon fearing him enough to offer supplies was a rare delight.

“Well, they’ve chosen wisely,” he rumbled. “Right, you lot—haul this inside. We’ll add it to the dungeon inventory.”

The Goblins scrambled to obey, hefting the sacks and bundles into the dungeon with surprising efficiency. As the last of the supplies disappeared into the gloom, Grashok gave one final glance at the corridor where the Spindle Spawn had vanished.

“Strange creature,” he muttered, his thoughts already turning back to the more immediate work of strengthening his domain.