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 Mélanie 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 archer should be able to easily overcome such weak beasts as these, and, if not, then she would obviously not be worthy 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.

The goblins seem preoccupied, having not noticed Mélanie's quiet footsteps over the sound of their own jabbering. You sigh to yourself, hoping that the other denizens of your labyrinth prove more formidable foes.