Threads of Discord

Grashok stood near the edge of the goblin lair, his sharp eyes taking in the cramped sprawl before him. The space was little more than a cluster of rough‑hewn hovels and makeshift shelters, their crooked frames lashed together with rope and scavenged timber. Smoke from cookfires clung to the low ceiling, and the air buzzed with the chatter of too many goblins packed into too little space. With the influx of the Wroughtfangs, the lair was straining at its limits; bodies slept in corners, belongings were piled wherever there was room, and narrow paths wound between the clutter like burrows in a warren.

It couldn’t stay like this.

His construction menu offered several useful upgrades to make the space more habitable. With a mental command, he finalised the plans for upgrading the lair to level 2, noting the additional sleeping quarters, the multiple levels, and the wooden walkways and rope bridges that would connect it all once the golems completed it.

He then turned his attention to other critical areas of the dungeon, adding upgrades for both the herbalist’s workshop and the crafting areas to level 2. As he finished, a nearby Pebble Person stirred from its dormant stance and began its slow, steady march to carry out the construction.

Satisfied, Grashok dusted off his hands and began to head back to the heart of the dungeon, Skarn still trotting at his side. On his way, a goblin messenger scurried up, breathless and excited. “Big Boss! Scouts coming back! Two of them!”

Grashok nodded. “Send word for the Elder and Elenara to meet me in the throne room.”

The messenger saluted and darted off. Grashok quickened his pace, entering his throne room just as the Elder shuffled in with his staff, and Elenara swept in soon after, her ever-watchful eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Moments later, the two scouts arrived, their clothes dusty and their faces weary from travel. They saluted, their small frames trembling slightly with exhaustion but standing tall under their leader’s gaze.

“Report,” Grashok commanded, his voice a low rumble.

The scouts exchanged glances before the first stepped forward. “Snippa has set up hides near the human settlement, boss. We’ve got eyes on the approaches and the town itself.”

The second scout picked up where the first left off. “The settlement’s busy—lots of people moving in and out. We’ve seen trading caravans coming and going, some bringing goods, others leaving with them. There’s also adventurers—not too many. Most seem low-level, but a few look more dangerous.”

Elenara leaned forward, her expression intent. “Did you find anything resembling a post box?”

The first scout nodded eagerly. “Aye, found two of the magic letter boxes! One’s near the centre of the town, just like you described, with the mark of the Immaculate Order on it. The other’s further out, on the road beyond the town by a small bridge over a stream.”

Elenara’s eyes lit up. “Excellent. This will be crucial. Did you observe anything else of note?”

The second scout hesitated, then spoke. “There’s some tension in the settlement, Lady Elenara. Arguments in the marketplace, mostly about prices and shortages. Some of the caravans seem wary—like they’re worried about being attacked on the road.”

Elenara’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Good. Very good. Those cracks can be widened. Did you notice any specific people or groups causing unrest?”

The scouts shrugged. “Not sure, Lady, but the traders seemed most upset. They were talking about needing more guards for the roads and complaining about taxes.”

Elenara nodded thoughtfully, her mind clearly working through the information. Grashok watched her silently, confident she would know how to exploit this.

Grashok turned his attention back to the scouts, noting their tired expressions and dirt-streaked clothes. “You’ve done well. Go to the canteen, get some food and drink, and rest.”

The two goblins beamed at the praise, saluted again, and hurried off. As they left, Grashok heard one of them mutter to the other, “Wonder if Crikka’s serving? Might try my luck with her!”

The other chuckled. “Good luck, mate. She’s sharp as a knife!”

Grashok allowed himself a small smile at their banter before turning his focus back to Elenara, her sharp, calculating expression belying the schemes turning in her mind. Her blue eyes gleamed as she withdrew a neatly stacked bundle of letters from her inventory, the parchment crisp and unblemished, the seals unbroken. Each bore the wax imprint of different crests and emblems, a subtle but significant touch.

“Let me guess,” Grashok began, his voice low and tinged with wry amusement, “these are the first threads in your web?”

Elenara smiled faintly, her fingers brushing over the topmost letter. “Exactly, my Lord. These will lay the groundwork. My time running the ladies' mercantile enterprises left me with plenty of contacts in this part of Arkus. They may not have seen me in years, but I know their weaknesses and desires. These letters play to that knowledge.”

She held one up and passed it to Grashok, her tone growing more serious. “This one, for example, is addressed to the head of the town’s grain supply. He’s a vain man, overly concerned with appearances and status. This letter contains whispers about Ratkin sabotage, suggesting that they’ve been tampering with the grain to weaken the settlement before a full assault. It plays to his fear of losing control and positions me—or, rather, the unknown sender—as a trusted informant.”

Grashok scanned the elegant handwriting, noting the precise blend of urgency and plausible deniability. “You expect him to act on this?”

“Oh, I’m counting on it, my Lord,” Elenara replied, her confidence unwavering. “Even if he doesn’t openly accuse anyone, it’ll plant seeds of paranoia. He’ll start looking for enemies where there are none. The cracks will widen.”

She passed him another letter. “This one goes to a merchant who trades in cloth and small luxuries. She’s fiercely protective of her trade routes and despises competition. The message suggests that a rival trader—someone she already distrusts—has been collaborating with the Ratkin, supplying them with goods in exchange for protection.”

Grashok gave a low chuckle. “You’re turning them against each other before they even realise who their true enemy is.”

Elenara shook her head lightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Not just that, my Lord. Weakening our enemies is only half the work. I intend to ensure we have allies — friends — within Ingunde as well. People who will stand with us when the time comes.” She folded her hands behind her back, her voice smooth and confident. “These people are already on edge, weakened by shortages and the Ratkin’s harassment. I’m not creating discord out of thin air; I’m simply amplifying the tensions that already exist. When the time comes, they’ll be desperate for a solution — one that aligns with our interests.”

Grashok set the letters down, his gaze steady. “And what about the post boxes? You’ll use them to deliver these?”

Elenara confirmed, a satisfied glint in her eye. “Yes. The scouts have identified two. The one in the centre of town will be tricky; it’s likely under regular observation. But the second one, by the stream, is perfect. It’s far enough from prying eyes that our scouts can use it safely. I’ve already given them instructions on how to place the letters without drawing attention.”

She paused, a shadow of caution crossing her face. “Of course, there’s always the risk of adventurers finding the letters. But even that could work to our advantage. Adventurers thrive on conflict. If they think the town is fracturing, they’ll likely involve themselves, further stirring the pot.”

Grashok leaned back, a low growl of approval rumbling in his throat. “You’ve thought this through. These letters are just the start, aren’t they?”

Elenara’s smile returned, this time edged with a hint of mischief. “Of course, my Lord. This is only the first wave. Once the town starts to tear itself apart, we’ll be ready to step in with friends at our side, people who already see us as the lesser threat. But for now, we observe and wait for the seeds to sprout.”

Grashok picked up another letter, its contents teasing at a rumour of Ratkin alliances within the town’s militia. “And if the Ratkin catch wind of this? Won’t they try to counter your plans?”

Elenara tilted her head thoughtfully. “Perhaps. But the beauty of this strategy is its deniability. Even if they suspect interference, they won’t know who or what is behind it. By the time they figure it out, it’ll be too late.”

Grashok nodded, impressed despite himself. Elenara’s schemes were intricate, but they had a ruthless efficiency to them that mirrored his own approach to battle. “Good. Keep me updated on how this plays out.”

Elenara inclined her head, gathering the letters back into her inventory. “Of course, my Lord. This is only the beginning.”