With ground rules established, the oread no longer follows your every move. At least, not when you tell it that you're going to sleep. It waits outside whatever room you're sleeping in.

It's somewhat comforting, to be honest. It's hard to be scared of something you've accidentally jizzed on, and the constant presence keeps you from sinking too far into dark thoughts. Thoughts which have become more and more common as days stretch by with no word from Mercy.

No adventurers attack.

No one starts a feud in your lair, or goes missing unexpectedly. You don't even hear anything from the lust imp.

Life is calm.

And it's missing Mercy.

The work teams have, at Sith's insistence stopped going into the woods, to focus on stone, and you're building up a not insignificant stockpile. You just don't want to start the next phase of floor two until she returns and you know what you have to work with.

A week passes in what would be calm idleness if not for your ever mounting anxiety, until you're woken from your slumber, and dreams of better times, by Feathers.

Her hand on your shoulder is enough to rouse you from the mound of furs you're currently sharing with her. You registered her leaving some time ago, but had elected to remain in bed. It seems that's no longer an option.

“Red, you needed. Got problem.”

Her words send a shot of adrenaline through you, but as you jerk upright the gobliness grabs you and places a small kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“No worry, not attack. But you needed.”

She slips out, with a slightly exaggerated sway in her hips, leaving you to collect yourself and follow her towards the training room.

Where a significantly larger number of goblins than you expected are waiting for you.

There's easily a dozen of them, possibly two, of all ages. A small gaggle of children are chasing Banger and Pointy, two of your own goblin children. Two goblin elders are squatting with Clatter, talking in low voices as they keep a wry eye on the children. One goblin, bigger than the others, sits on the broken spike of stone that is one of the few remnants of the adventurer attack that nearly cost you Amanda.

Most telling, to you at least, are the faces of Hammer, Notch-ear and Sand.

Hammer and Notch-ear are wearing identical smiles, large enough that they threaten to split the tops of their heads from their jaws, as they cackle and chatter with a small group of adult goblins.

Sand does not. She is stood alone, at the top of the stairs down into the sandy pit. Her hands are clenched so tightly her knuckles are white, and her eyes are red. Feathers is stood next to her, silent but close.

You approach them, to ask... something. Or offer support, or something, anything than leave Sand to watch her friends have a happy reunion with their families when it's so obvious that hers haven't made it, when the larger goblin shouts out, standing up on the rocky spire.

“You! Finally! You slow! Was told you good, but here you slow. Not impressive like green lady say.”

You pause, and turn to look him up and down.

He's attractive enough, for a goblin male. Short dark red hair, a few scars and tattoos. Better armour than the other goblins, incorporating metal into leather and fur, with four white lines painted on the shoulder. Two shorter lines in between two longer ones.

The Longteeth goblin clan.

He grins at you, baring more teeth than strictly necessary.

You turn away from him, and towards Sand. Her eyes widen, and even Feathers looks surprised for a spilt second before she schools her features and offers you a small smile.

“Are you OK?”

Sand smiles at you, but it wavers after a second and she returns to blank stoicism. “Will be. Need a little time.”

You nod, and bump her shoulder with your nose. “Have a day. Go outside, do something you like. Get drunk. Whatever you want.”

She looks doubtful for a moment, before Feathers puts a hand on her shoulder. Sand sighs, and nods.

“Thank, Sir. Be back this night.”

As she slips away, you turn back to the presumed chief of the Longteeth, who is staring at you with narrowed eyes.

You ignore his earlier insults.

“What can I do for you?”

It amuses you that, even stood on his spire, the goblin has to look up to meet your eyes. You're sure he'd love to be in your face, posturing, you can see it in his stance, but it's also clear that the goblins are to remain in the pit until they're given clearance.

The kobolds, casually leaning against the walls either side of the staircase make that clear.

“Pretty lady, green lady, she pass through village. Say you bring glory to tribe if we come here.”

He shoots you a nasty smile.

“She say she yours when asked, but for your woman, she smell like other men a lot.”

You snort, translating his words in your head.

“Well, she's certainly allowed to sleep around if she wishes. Did she say anything else when she turned you down?”

“She say I be chief of goblins here-”

“No she didn't.”

“She say you goblins have no chief! I Chief!”

The goblin is spitting his words now, your casual disregard for him getting under his skin.

“No she didn't.”

“She say you goblins run by woman! No chief!”

You look at him for several seconds, then turn to look at Feathers, who shrugs at you.

“Did she perhaps say we had a female chief?”

“No chief!”

You roll your eyes, but he isn't done.

“Woman goblin small! Woman goblin weak!”

You wince and go to cut him off as you feel Feathers tense next to you. Clatters stops his muttered conversation and quietly starts to usher the old and young goblins out of the way. The kobolds draw themselves up, the intimidation factor of the short lizardfolk boosted significantly when Hyena stands up and raises his lip to reveal inch long fangs, sensing Sapphire's dissatisfaction with where this is going. Unfortunately, he isn't done, either ignoring or not noticing the tensions skyrocket in six words.

“Woman goblin stupid! Woman goblin good for fuck, clean, and fuck again! No woman chief!”

He's almost frothing at the mouth in rage.

You turn to Feathers, who is staring at you, a look of predatory anticipation on her face. She makes a small gesture towards the loudmouth.

“Is there a way you'd like to handle this?” you ask her.

“Chief against chief. Winner take both tribe.”

The goblin hears her, and screams in rage. “YOU WOMAN! NO CHIEF! THIS NOT THE WAY!”

You turn to him in shock. You've never actually met someone like this before, and it's honestly scary how someone can be so suicidally stupid and also in a position of power. Even his tribe is looking at him askance.

You look over to the gaggle of elders.

“I take it he doesn't get laid very often?”

One of them chortles, while the other, a woman if you're not mistaken, whispers something to Clatters as the soon to be ex-chief howls in rage.

Clatters whispers something back, and gets a short reply. He raises his voice.

“He likes them tall, and hasn't been happy since Mercy called him a 'limp peanut caught between two misshapen lumps who will never find a woman willing to touch his nasty pecker unless it's to hurt him', and he probably came here to cause trouble. He didn't tell the tribe.”

Silence descends, as the chief goes purple, a very impressive feat for a goblin.

You blink.

“There's no way she,” you gesture to the old goblin woman who gives you a toothless smile, “Said all of that that quickly.”

Clatters shrugs. “Goblin is very information dense when it comes to insults.”

You nod, impressed despite yourself.

“Very well. Chief Peanut, you appear to have come here under false pretences. Chiefteness Feathers has issued a challenge, single combat, for control of the losers tribe. Do you accept?”

After several seconds of harsh breathing, the chief gets himself under control.

“She no chief. She no issue challenge for tribe, she no have right. I challenge for body. She pay for every insult with mouth and ass.”

Fire rises in you.

“You are in no position to make-”

Feathers hand touches your shoulder, and you stop.

“Woman goblin weak? Male goblin strong? But not better body. Not better head, or you not be so dumb. So why better? Must be cock.”

She nods, thoughtfully, stroking her chin.

“Man goblin better because he have cock. Make sense, cock pretty good. You challenge for this body?”

She gestures at herself, stroking down her front, pulling her top against her body. The chief follows her every movement with wide eyes. By goblin standards, Feathers is a rare beauty, and her scars only add to the appeal.

“Then I challenge for yours. Now I get fun either way. Accept now?”

The chief nods so fast you begin to winder if he makes a habit of it, and the rattling around his brain must do is the sauce of his stupidity. He shoots you a nasty smirk and completely disregards your own amused smile.

“Then we begin.”