Shadows in the Wilds

The march had been steady and unchallenged for most of the morning, a crisp wind cutting through the thick canopy above as Grashok’s forces moved with purpose. The land beyond his dungeon was a mix of rolling hills and dense woodland, scattered with ancient trees whose gnarled roots clawed at the earth like long-forgotten sentinels. Their path wound through the forest, and while the journey was smooth, Grashok’s mind was sharp with focus.

Beside him, Skarn padded through the undergrowth, his massive wolf form silent despite his bulk. The beast’s ears twitched at every rustle, his snout lifting to scent the air as they moved. Grashok occasionally reached down to run a hand along his thick fur, receiving a lick in return.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, they neared the outskirts of the path leading toward Ingunde. Here, Grashok sent a scout ahead to locate his lieutenant, Snippa, and her contingent of goblin scouts. They had been operating in the area for days, gathering intelligence and keeping watch over the town. Snippa’s insights would be invaluable, ensuring they had the most up-to-date information before proceeding.

Beyond strategy, however, the meeting held a more personal significance. It had been too long since they had seen Snippa, and Grashok found himself looking forward to reuniting with his much-missed lover and mother of his son.

They continued marching through the forest, Skarn at his side, Nyxie and Sylrith keeping pace, their expressions focused and their weapons ready. Nyxie’s wild, dark curls had come loose from their bindings, framing her flushed, determined face. Whilst Sylrith’s long legs ate up the ground with an easy, unhurried stride, her movement smooth and unforced despite the pace.

It wasn’t just Grashok who felt a twinge of unease, Skarn too seemed to resonate with Grashok’s sudden tension. The wolf’s ears perked up, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air, his eyes darting back and forth. Despite his unease, Grashok continued forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready to respond to any threat.

Skarn growled low in his throat, his fur bristling.

Grashok slowed his pace. His eyes swept the terrain, muscles tensing. His troops sensed the change as well, their conversations dying down, hands drifting to weapons. There was no visible threat, but the weight of something unseen pressed against him, primal and instinctual.

A trap? A predator lurking in the trees? His hand moved to his sword, and his breath slowed, steadying as he prepared to react.

The tension grew palpable, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, as the light grew dimmer, casting long shadows across the path, it happened. Skarn’s growl grew louder, a warning rumble that sent the hairs on the back of Grashok’s neck standing up. He spun around, expecting an attack from the foliage.

Then, before he could fully process the movement, a shape darted from the shadows.

Grashok pivoted, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his weapon—only for warm, lithe arms to coil around his shoulders. A familiar scent filled his senses a moment before soft lips claimed his in a fierce kiss.

Snippa.

The tension in his body unwound in an instant as her small but strong frame pressed against him, her fingers twisting into his hair as she deepened the kiss. For a heartbeat, he let himself enjoy it—let himself taste the sharp hunger in her lips, feel the eager heat of her against him.

Then, with a growl, he pulled back, though his grip on her arms remained firm.

“Damn it, Snippa,” he rumbled, his voice rough but not unkind. “You could’ve been killed.”

She grinned up at him, sharp teeth flashing. “By you? Not likely.” Her eyes glowed with mischief, but beneath it, there was something else—relief. “I saw an opportunity.”

Skarn huffed beside them, clearly unimpressed by the display, and flicked his tail before settling back on his haunches.

He stepped back and looked at her. Her brown hair was a mess of tangles from her time in the forest, and her green skin bore smudges of dirt and grime. She was dressed in the attire Ellyn had prepared for her before she left: a dark green leather corset‑dress that moulded to her body like a second skin, highlighting her delicious cleavage and the firm curve of her ass. The leather was tight across her chest, stretching over her small, pert breasts, and a studded leather belt cinched her waist, drawing the eye to the flare of the short, fringed skirt that fluttered around her hips as she moved.

The fabric was scarred with signs of battles past, the leather marred by claw marks and dried blood, but it had been carefully tended to, patched and mended in a way that only served to enhance its allure. Her boots were high and black. They were scuffed and dirty from her time in the wilderness.

He liked the look of her, and the grin on her face and eyes alight with excitement made it clear that she knew he did. She stepped into the light, her bow slung over her shoulder, and enveloped him in a fierce hug again.

The scent of the forest clung to her, a mix of loam and pine, and her body felt warm and alive against his. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her tightly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Well met, my love,” he murmured into her ear, feeling her body relax into his embrace.

Her kiss was fiery and passionate, her tongue darting out to dance with his in a way that left him breathless. Nyxie and Sylrith watched the reunion with knowing smiles, their own desires flaring at the sight of such raw affection.

The brief moment of joy was a stark contrast to the looming threat of the brigands. With renewed vigour, they broke apart, and Snippa stepped back, her yellow eyes gleaming.

Grashok exhaled through his nose and shook his head. “What happened to the scout?”

“Safe,” she assured him, finally stepping back but letting her fingers linger against his chest. “I had to make sure it was truly you before revealing myself. Things have been… complicated near Ingunde’s region.”

His expression hardened. “Explain.”

But first, Snippa turned, her keen gaze sweeping over his gathered forces. “You’ve been busy,” she observed, nodding approvingly at the disciplined ranks.

Grashok followed her gaze, his own pride swelling at the sight of his troops—goblins, Xvarts, and others standing strong under his banner. He had built something real. Something powerful.

Turning back to Snippa, he met her gaze once more. “Now, tell me everything.”

Snippa’s sharp eyes flickered with warmth as she looked up at him, her arms still loosely wrapped around his waist. For a moment, there was no war, no schemes—just the two of them, reunited after too long apart. But before anything else, she had a question.

“First, tell me of our son,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Rukk—he is well?”

Grashok’s grin softened, touched with the quiet pride he held for his son. “He’s more than well. He’s thriving—and keeping the nursemaids on their toes.”

Snippa let out a delighted laugh. “Terrorising them, is he? Just like his father, then. You’ve always had a talent for keeping women occupied.” She smirked, giving his chest a teasing nudge before stepping back, letting the moment pass as her expression turned serious.

With a small sigh, she folded her arms and squared her stance. “Come,” she said, “we have much to discuss.”

Grashok followed her as they moved toward a more secluded spot where they wouldn’t be overheard. He watched her closely as she launched into her report, her sharp mind and unwavering focus returning as she spoke of all she had learned.

“We got here three days ago and delivered the letters straight away,” Snippa began, glancing around as if gauging their surroundings before continuing. “We used the post box south of the town, just like Elenara wanted.”

Grashok nodded. Those letters were meant to undermine the town’s stability, setting its factions against one another with whispered doubts and fabricated betrayals. Elenara was careful—these first messages wouldn’t openly call for rebellion or outright conflict. Instead, they would lay the foundation: hints of corruption, fears of outside influence, and the subtle suggestion that their leaders did not have the people's best interests at heart.

“Any signs of them taking effect?” he asked.

Snippa smirked. “It’s early yet, but we’ve already seen tension in the market square—merchants snapping at each other, guards speaking in hushed tones. One of my scouts overheard a heated argument between two local leaders about supplies going missing. If things continue like this, Ingunde will be too busy looking inward to notice us closing in.”

Snippa’s tone shifted, becoming more cautious. “But something else caught my attention. While south of the town, we picked up tracks—human ones—heading off in an unusual direction. Not toward the main roads, not toward any known settlements. It was strange enough that I left my scouts in place around Ingunde and followed the trail myself.”

Grashok gestured for her to continue.

“It led me straight to the brigand camp.”

She crouched and began sketching the rough layout of the camp into the dirt with the tip of her dagger.

“It’s larger than we expected—fifty men at least, and that’s just at any one time. They have a solid rotation, with some groups out on raids or scouting missions while others remain behind. The camp is well-placed—hidden just inside the forest, far enough from Ingunde to avoid easy detection, but close enough that they can strike fast when they want to.”

She carved a small X near the northern side of the camp.

“They’ve set up a defensive perimeter, but it’s not much more than wooden stakes and a few tripwires. They’re relying on their numbers and the terrain more than any real fortifications. There’s a single entrance—here—where they funnel in and out.”

Grashok studied the layout carefully. “And their leadership?”

Snippa nodded, marking another spot. “Their leader has the largest tent, toward the centre. It’s well-guarded, but the real power doesn’t just rest with him. The second-in-command is a spellcaster—some sort of hedge mage, from what I could tell. He’s got his own tent near the leader’s and keeps a handful of guards with him at all times.”

She looked up, meeting Grashok’s gaze. “They’re undisciplined but dangerous. They drink heavily, they brawl amongst themselves, but they know how to fight. They’re used to ambush tactics and quick, brutal attacks. If we give them the chance, they’ll make this a bloodbath.”

Grashok’s expression was unreadable as he absorbed her words. Then, with a slow nod, he straightened. “Then we don’t give them the chance.”

A small grin curled Snippa’s lips. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

Nyxie and Sylrith had moved in closer as Snippa spoke, both listening intently. Now, as the discussion turned toward strategy, they exchanged glances before looking to Grashok.

“A night attack would be best,” Sylrith suggested. “They drink heavily in the evenings. If we strike while they’re at their weakest, we can cut them down before they even grab their weapons.”

Nyxie nodded in agreement. “And we use the Xvarts to their advantage. Their snatch tactics are perfect for this—they can slip in under cover of darkness, net any key targets, and leave them vulnerable while our main forces move in.”

Grashok turned back to Snippa. “What about the terrain? Any weaknesses we can exploit?”

Snippa tapped her dagger against the ground. “The northern edge of the camp backs up against a rocky outcrop. It’s steep enough that they don’t expect an attack from that direction, but it’s climbable for those who know what they’re doing. A small force could get over it and strike from behind while the main attack happens at the entrance.”

Grashok considered this before glancing at Skarn, who had been listening quietly at his side, ears flicking forward at the mention of the attack. The great wolf could sense the tension in the air.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he decided. “Snippa, you and your scouts will lead the first wave over the rocks. The Xvarts will take the southern side, using their nets to take down the guards before they can raise the alarm. The main force will hit the entrance as soon as chaos starts spreading.”

His gaze swept over them all, his voice low and steady. “We don’t give them time to react. We take them fast, we take them hard, and we don’t stop until the camp is ours.”

There was a moment of silence before Snippa grinned. “Now that’s the Grashok I remember.”

The group stood, their boots and armour clanking as they dispersed to prepare for the night’s assault.

“Grashok,” Nyxie spoke up, her eyes narrowed with concern. “What about the Ratkin?”

Grashok's face turned contemplative. The Ratkin were a relentless plague, and he was aware that his recent actions had been largely reactive, driven by their persistent threat. However, any of their presence near Ingunde was a development that demanded serious consideration.

“Have you seen any?” he asked Snippa, his voice low.

Her eyes grew thoughtful. “A few. They keep to the shadows, mostly. We’ve had reports of small bands skulking around the edges of the forest, but they’ve been keeping their distance from the town—so far. The humans don’t know about them yet, or if they do, they’re keeping it quiet. The rats are clever that way. They don’t want to draw attention to themselves unless it’s on their terms.”

Nyxie’s stomach turned at the mention of the Ratkin. The very thought of those twisted, diseased creatures sent a shiver down her spine. She knew all too well the horrors they brought with them—their insatiable hunger for flesh and the chaos they wrought.

Grashok’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening as he processed Snippa’s words. The Ratkin were a menace, but if they were lurking at the fringes of Ingunde, waiting, watching… it meant trouble.

"They don’t make a move unless they see weakness," he mused, his voice low and thoughtful. "If they’re staying back, it means they’re waiting for an opportunity. If the town falls into disarray, that might be the opening they need."

Sylrith crossed her arms, her usual poise giving way to a faint grimace. "Then we should make sure they don’t get that opportunity. If they think we’re not paying attention, they’ll creep in like the vermin they are."

Nyxie exhaled sharply, arms tightening across her chest. "We’ve dealt with them before, but they’re cunning, unpredictable. If they smell blood in the water, they won’t hesitate."

Grashok’s gaze flickered toward Snippa. "Have they taken an interest in the brigands?"

Snippa hesitated before shaking her head. "Not that I’ve seen. If they are, they’re being subtle about it. But that doesn’t mean they won’t swoop in once the fighting starts. If the brigands are weakened or scattered, the Ratkin might decide to clean up whatever’s left."

Grashok exhaled through his nose, weighing his options. The brigands were the immediate threat—undisciplined, dangerous, and bold enough to strike at will. But the Ratkin were something else entirely. They were patient, opportunistic, and spread like a disease if left unchecked.

Finally, he straightened. "We stay the course for now. The brigands come first. But we keep an eye out for any sign of the Ratkin. If they make a move, we deal with them before they can become a bigger problem."

Snippa smirked. "Fine by me. I’d rather kill them now than let them fester."

Nyxie’s expression was still tight, but she nodded. "Let’s just hope they don’t get any ideas in the meantime."

With that, the group turned their focus back to the battle ahead, but the unease remained. The Ratkin were watching. And Grashok knew that sooner or later, they would make their move.

A low whistle cut through the tension—the signal from the forward scouts. The column tightened ranks, weapons shifting, bodies angling instinctively into marching order as the column began to move once more.

The warband moved like shadows through the dense forest, their pace steady but cautious. The towering trees loomed overhead, their thick canopies blotting out much of the late afternoon light. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves beneath their feet and the occasional snap of a twig—quickly silenced by a sharp glance from a nearby scout.

Grashok strode at the front, Skarn padding beside him with silent grace, ears flicking at the distant sounds of woodland life. The wolf’s hackles remained smooth, but Grashok noted the way his head tilted, constantly scenting the air. He was wary, as if sensing something just beyond their perception.

Behind them, Nyxie and Sylrith kept pace, their eyes ever watchful. Snippa moved with ease, flitting from shadow to shadow as she coordinated with the scouts. The rest of the troops followed in disciplined formation, maintaining the quiet needed to avoid detection.

They kept well away from the open lands surrounding Ingunde, never straying close enough for the town’s patrols to catch sight of them. The human settlement remained hidden beyond the thick tree line, but Grashok could imagine its walls, its torches flickering in the growing twilight. The town wasn’t their concern tonight—the brigands were.

The forest was old, thick with gnarled roots and undergrowth that threatened to snag at their feet. It was difficult terrain for larger creatures, but for goblins and Xvarts, it was perfect. They slipped between the trees like wraiths, leaving little trace of their passage. The Rock Troll however would be lumbering along solidly behind.

As they advanced, the distant babble of running water met Grashok’s ears. Soon, they came upon a narrow stream, its waters clear but fast-flowing over a bed of smooth stones. It wasn’t deep—perhaps knee-height at most—but crossing it would require care.

Snippa signalled for a halt, raising a hand. She turned to Grashok. "We cross here. Careful now, the rocks are slick."

Grashok nodded and motioned for the first wave of scouts to move. The goblins took to the water with ease, their small frames making little disturbance as they stepped lightly from stone to stone. The Xvarts followed, their nimble feet proving just as adept.

Grashok was among the last to cross, Skarn stepping through beside him, water dripping from his dark fur. Sylrith made it across effortlessly, while Nyxie muttered a curse under her breath as she caught her balance on a moss-covered rock. Finally came the Rock Troll, oblivious to the care that everyone else had taken as it ploughed straight through.

The water was cold, sending a shiver down Grashok’s spine, but he felt invigorated as they continued their march. The afternoon light still lingered, warm and slanting through the trees, and the anticipation of battle beat steadily in his blood.

Snippa fell into step beside him, her eyes gleaming in the fading light. “How was your night with Maren?” she asked, her tone light.

Grashok couldn't help the chuckle that rumbled from his chest. "Passionate," he said, his teeth flashing in a wide grin. "Very willing."

Snippa raised an eyebrow. "I can imagine," she said with a smirk. "Humans have always had a certain... appetite."

Grashok chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his broad chest. "She certainly knew how to satisfy a Hobgoblin’s hunger”. he said, “Perhaps we should enjoy her together when you get back."

Snippa’s eyes widened slightly, a hint of surprise and excitement playing across her face before she responded with a smirk. "Now that's an idea I can get behind."

The group continued their march, the light-hearted banter serving to ease the tension that hung thickly in the air. Nyxie’s footsteps grew a little louder as she approached, her boots crunching softly on the damp leaves. She grinned at the two, her teeth gleaming white in the gloom. "I hope you two weren’t getting too distracted."

Snippa's laugh was low and mischievous. "Just catching up on old times, Nyxie. He was telling me about all the nights he spent with the delectable Maren!"

Grashok smirked, his eyes flicking to Nyxie. "Only the one night with Maren," he said, his voice a playful rumble. "But it was quite the experience."

Snippa's eyes danced with mirth. "I'll bet," she said, nudging him with her elbow. "But what about the others? Did they keep you warm in my absence?"

Grashok's grin widened, his tusks glinting. "They certainly did," he said, his eyes sparkling with the memories of the past night's passion. "Nyxie and Sylrith... they were quite the handful."

Snippa's eyes narrowed playfully. "The both of them, huh?" she teased Nyxie. "I've never had the pleasure of sharing you with Sylrith before. Tell me, how was she?"

Nyxie rolled her eyes at the other goblin's antics, but couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Good," she said, her voice low and sultry. "Very good."

Grashok's chuckle grew deeper. "You've missed quite the show, Snippa. They're both insatiable."

The Goblin Ranger's smirk grew wider. "Well, I wouldn't want to miss out," she said, her gaze sliding to Sylrith. "Perhaps we'll have to organise a little... reunion when we get back."

The group fell into a companionable silence, the air between them charged with a mix of anticipation and camaraderie as they enjoyed each other company and caught up on events that had occurred, the coming of the Wroughtfangs, and the development of Rukk. However as the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest grew darker, the shadows deepening. The time for jesting was over; it was time to focus on the task at hand. The brigand camp wasn’t far now.

The trees began to thin, and the undergrowth became sparser as they neared their target. The scent of woodsmoke drifted through the air, mixed with the faint stench of unwashed bodies and spilled ale. Grashok’s lip curled in distaste—humans and their lack of discipline.

Snippa gave him a knowing glance before signalling for them to stop. She crouched low and motioned for him to follow. Together, they crept forward, crawling up a rocky incline that overlooked the encampment.

As they reached the crest, Grashok peered down, taking in the sight below. The camp was just as Snippa had described.

A roughly cleared patch of land nestled between the trees, surrounded by crude wooden palisades in places but mostly left open to the forest. Several large tents dominated the centre, the flickering light from campfires illuminating their stained canvas.

To one side, a sprawling makeshift pen struggled to contain a restless herd of animals. Horses, their mismatched saddles and nervous eyes betraying their stolen origins, shifted uneasily, their hooves sinking into the sodden ground. Among them, oxen stood broad and steady, their heavy frames unmoving despite the storm. Nearby, a cluster of goats and pigs huddled together, their occasional bleats and grunts barely audible over the pounding rain. Some were tied with fraying ropes, others loosely corralled, all of them undoubtedly taken from unfortunate farms along the way.

Among the more familiar livestock, a handful of strange creatures caught Grashok’s eye. Towering over the oxen were a pair of shaggy-furred beasts with curling tusks and six stocky legs, their deep, rumbling breaths visible in the cold air. Nearby, a pair of reptilian pack animals, their scaly hides slick with rain, flicked forked tongues out to taste the air, their ridged backs rising and falling with each uneasy shift. Most peculiar of all were the squat, hunchbacked creatures with thick, greyish hides, their oversized eyes reflecting the firelight in an eerie glow. They let out occasional, warbling honks, their short legs surprisingly sturdy despite their awkward proportions. Whatever corner of the world these beasts had been stolen from, they were clearly out of place here.

Grashok turned to Snippa, who was already watching him with a knowing smirk. The goblin scout adjusted her hood, brushing away a stray leaf before nodding toward the unfamiliar creatures.

"You're lookin’ at a muskram," she said, pointing to the massive, tusked beast. "Strong as an ox, mean as a troll, and stinks worse than both when it's angry. Good for hauling, though. Tough, too—some idiots even try ridin’ 'em."

She then gestured to the sleek, reptilian pack animals, their forked tongues darting out as they shifted uneasily. "Those are duskwalkers. Come from the south, I think. Fast, quiet, but skittish as hell. Good luck gettin’ one to move if it don't want to."

Finally, she waved a hand toward the squat, wide-eyed creatures, which let out another echoing honk. "And those? Cave bleaters. Ugly little things, but they can eat just about anything, even rock lichen. Supposedly, their meat’s good if you don’t mind it tasting like moss."

Grashok grunted, taking it all in. The spoils of war were often strange, but this was the first time he'd ever seen creatures like these. "They worth keeping?" he asked.

Snippa shrugged. "Depends. The muskram’s useful if it don’t gore anyone. The duskwalkers might be worth somethin’ to a trader. But the cave bleaters?" She wrinkled her nose. "Maybe as emergency rations, but Tilda will have a better idea."

One of the squat creatures let out another mournful honk.

Scattered around the camp, brigands lounged by their fires, drinking and laughing. Some sat on rough-cut logs, sharpening their weapons, while others argued over dice games. A few unlucky souls stood watch near the edges of the camp, though their focus was lacklustre, their gazes drifting toward the fires rather than the darkness beyond.

Grashok counted quickly. Fifty, maybe a few more. Sloppy.

Snippa nudged him lightly with her elbow, her grin barely visible in the dim light. "Told you they were careless."

Grashok smirked. "Aye. And that’ll be their downfall."

He exhaled slowly, his eyes scanning every detail. The camp was ripe for the taking. Now, all that remained was to strike.

Grashok remained crouched, his gaze sweeping over the camp below. He turned his head slightly and gestured for Nyxie and Sylrith to join him. Snippa was already at his side, watching him expectantly.

"Listen well," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "When we strike, we do it fast and hard. But I want prisoners—fighters will be cut down, but any females or magic users are to be taken alive." He looked directly at Nyxie and Sylrith. "They may be useful. If they have knowledge, skills, or value, I want them secured."

Nyxie nodded, understanding his intent. Sylrith's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "A few captured mages could be quite the asset as will skilled females. We’ll use the Xvarts and their nets, we can substitute their original tasks to remove the guards to some of our warriors"

Grashok turned his attention back to the camp. "The livestock, the supplies, the coin—take it all. I don’t want this camp put to the torch unless there’s no other choice. The more we claim intact, the stronger we grow."

Snippa’s grin widened, her sharp teeth glinting in the firelight below. "Understood. We’ll make sure nothing goes to waste."

Grashok gave a firm nod. "Good. Now let’s get into position."

With that, he slid back down the rocky incline, his warriors already awaiting his signal in the shadows. The night would soon be filled with screams and the clash of steel, but if all went as planned, the spoils of victory would be theirs.

Grashok watched as Sylrith, Snippa and Nyxie spread out and communicated the plan changes.