The Call to War

The mess hall buzzed with laughter and the clinking of tankards as goblins, humans, and Xvarts mingled over food and drink. Grashok sat at the head of the long table, the Xvart chieftain beside him. The atmosphere was warm, and for the first time since negotiations had begun, the tension had finally melted away.

Grashok tore into a haunch of roasted meat, occasionally nodding as the Xvart chieftain spoke about his tribe’s survival tactics and the challenges they faced in the surrounding wilderness. While the Xvarts were cunning and resourceful, their small stature and lack of true warriors made them vulnerable to larger predators and marauding enemies.

As the goblins laughed loudly at some joke from the Elder, a young goblin guard rushed into the hall, his breath coming in quick gasps. He made his way to Grashok, leaning in to whisper urgently into his ear. Grashok straightened, his sharp instincts immediately on edge as he absorbed the guard’s hurried words.

“Second group of Xvarts approaching, chief. Should be here in about fifteen minutes,” the goblin said, his voice low but firm.

Grashok growled softly under his breath, standing up from his chair with an imposing presence that silenced the chatter in the room.

“Elder,” he barked. “A second group of Xvarts is approaching. Show them in when they arrive.”

The Elder nodded quickly and rushed to organise a party to greet the newcomers. The rest of the hall exchanged glances, murmurs of curiosity spreading through the assembled groups.

The minutes passed with an uneasy hush over the room. The clattering of boots against stone signalled the arrival of the second Xvart group. Led into the hall by a pair of goblin guards, the new arrivals bore signs of a hurried journey—mud splattered their short legs, and their breathing was laboured.

The leader of the group, a wiry male who looked like he’d sprinted the entire way, bowed deeply before the Xvart chieftain and began to speak in hurried tones. The chieftain’s expression darkened as he listened, his sharp teeth bared in a grimace.

Grashok, standing beside him, leaned closer. “What’s this about?”

The chieftain turned to him, his voice heavy with concern. “Ratkin incursion across the river. They’ve struck already—a small farming camp, but their numbers are swelling. If they cross further, it’ll be our villages next.”

Grashok growled low in his throat, his mind immediately switching to tactics. The Ratkin were a vicious and cunning enemy, and if left unchecked, they would overrun the Xvart territories.

He opened his character sheet, mental muscle memory guiding his mind as he navigated swiftly to the Expeditions tab. The interface loaded with a pulsing red alert—Threat Level: High. He began allocating troops, dragging units from the roster into the expeditionary force: front-line warriors, bannermen, and scouts for reconnaissance. In a small tooltip beside the cost breakdown, a line glowed green: 75% Expedition Cost Covered by Xvart Allies. Grashok grunted approval. He left a solid core of defenders behind, ensuring the dungeon’s resources and vulnerable were protected. After a final check of readiness and formation balance, he clicked Launch Expedition. The rune-lit interface dimmed, confirming deployment.

He glanced at the chieftain, his tone firm.

“Do not worry,” he said. “We will be there.”

Relief flickered across the chieftain’s face before he mastered it. “Good. Then I must return at once to stabilise our frontiers and prepare my warriors for your arrival.”

He gave Grashok a sharp, respectful nod and immediately barked orders to his escort. Within moments, the Xvart party was already on the move, hurrying out of the hall and heading for the surface to race back to their lands.

As soon as Grashok issued his promise, the mess hall exploded into action. Goblins scrambled to gather weapons and armour, their energy heightened by the prospect of battle. Lieutenants barked orders, their voices echoing through the stone corridors as warriors assembled in the training hall.

With Snippa, still in their quarters, tending to their newborn son, Rukk, Grashok gathered his remaining lieutenants—Nyxie and Sylrith around him.

“Nyxie,” he said, his voice commanding. “Take stock of the potion supplies and ensure we have enough healing draughts and mana potions for the war band. Sylrith, inspect the warriors and ensure they’re equipped with the best weapons we’ve got.”

Both women nodded, their expressions resolute, and hurried off to carry out their tasks.

Grashok remained in the hall for a moment longer, watching as his clan moved with a practised efficiency. Despite their rough beginnings, they had grown into a formidable force, capable of meeting the challenges that came their way.

Satisfied that preparations were underway, he turned and made his way down the dimly lit corridor toward his personal quarters.

The warm light of a small fire greeted Grashok as he entered the room. Snippa was seated near the hearth, her delicate goblin features glowing in the flickering light. In her arms, she cradled their newborn son, Rukk.

Grashok’s expression softened as he stepped inside, his heavy boots silent on the stone floor. Snippa looked up, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of pride and concern.

“You’re going, aren’t you?” she said softly.

Grashok nodded, lowering himself to sit beside her. His massive frame made the chair creak, but his movements were gentle as he reached out to stroke the tiny green cheek of his son.

“I have to,” he said. “The Xvarts are counting on us, and the Ratkin won’t stop unless we make them.”

Snippa sighed, leaning against him as Rukk made a soft, gurgling sound.

“Be careful,” she murmured. “We need you here, too.”

Grashok wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “I’ll come back,” he promised, his voice a low rumble. “You’ll keep everything running here, won’t you? Keep Rukk safe. Keep them all safe.”

Snippa nodded, her resolve firming despite the moisture in her eyes. “I will.”

Grashok leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before brushing a soft kiss against Rukk’s tiny head. “You’re in charge until I return,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of his trust in her.

With one final look at his family, Grashok rose to his feet. His gaze lingered on Snippa and Rukk for a moment longer before he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he prepared to lead his war band into battle.