You grumble and moan, but stop yourself from chasing after them. Your tribe just tripled in size, and their chiefteness is going to be occupied for a while. Amanda is dealing with the immediate fallout, which gives you a little bit of time to get sorted, but there's a lot to do.

First, food.

You flap out of the arena, spraying stained sand in a crimson wave, and push into the unnamed tavern, the oread a few steps behind you.

Even as you stride through the clutter of tables that you're now very glad you future proofed, you can hear the clattering and cursing that indicates Charlemagne is hard at work. You still don't know much goblin, but there's a certain effusiveness to the language that makes it easy to pick up on the curses.

Your goblin chef is not alone, to your surprise. One of the new goblins, the old woman, is hobbling around after him, waving a knobbled stick at him, rapping his knees and knuckles as he dances around the room. His blade is still on his hip, so you don't step in to stop an attack, but his eyes still go to yours.

"Red Scale! Stop this - Buraakka kur hash! This old hag! She's going to ruin my kitchen!"

The withered gobliness spits out her own harsh words, and Charlemagne responds in kind, leaving you totally in the dark once more.

The next time they pass you, you gently wrap your tail around the newcomers midsection, bringing her to a halt. She cackles, and shoots another insult towards Charlemagne, but a slight tensing of your tail cuts her short.

"What's going on?"

Charlemagne points towards the woman.

"I went to ask if any of the newcomers wanted to work with me, to keep up with all the new mouths, and this, this creature attacked me! She keeps trying to put things in the pot, but won't tell me what they are! And when I stopped her, she came at me with a club!"

You look at the old goblin, who grins at you, exposing black, toothless gums.

"That... sounds plausible. Does she have anything to say in her defence?"

The two goblins converse in low tones for a moment, before Charlemagne glowers.

"She says they're 'good herbs' that will make goblins fast and strong. But I don't trust her. And goblin food might not be palatable for humans, kobolds or drakes."

You hum to yourself. "Thank you, Charlemagne. You don't need to worry - you'll always be the head chef here,"

Charlemagne's face expresses disbelief that that could ever have been in doubt, but his posture relaxes a little.

"But you do need an assistant, and this one obviously knows her way around a kitchen.

If we make it clear she is to follow you direction?"

Charlemagne goes to reflexively refuse, before visibly swallowing his reaction. You hold up a hand to forestall his answer.

“That wasn't an order, but a suggestion. It's your kitchen. But this one isn't likely to be much good with the miners or woodcutters, nor the hunters or builders. We don't really... need a healer in the same way a goblin tribe would, at least, not just yet.”

That's uncomfortably true – while a goblin tribe of level fives would attract level five to ten adventurers, perhaps resulting in injuries that weren't fatal, your own experiences have either been death or victory, as higher level adventurers kill your minions in one or two successful blows. Perhaps as you expand and grow, the need for healers may grow too, but as it stands Mercy's healing spells have had you covered.

Charlemagne nods slowly, and takes a few seconds considering your words before he answers.

“I... will take her on, if she behaves, and is willing to learn how to cook for other species.”

The goblin matron hacks out something else in the guttural language, and your chef sighs.

“And yes, I'm willing to experiment with goblin cuisine on the others. But a little at a time, not dumping a whole bag of random herbs into the communal stew.”

At this point, you're not surprised the old woman can understand common. It's called common for a reason, after all.

“Now that's sorted, my actual reason for visiting: Do we have enough food stored and produced to feed the influx?”

Charlemagne makes a so-so gesture.

“We have enough for a day or two, but we're going to need to up our hunting parties. I'd say about one in four of the new goblins should become hunters, which brings it's own issues – they're going to need to go farther afield in order to find prey. We're not talking one day trips any more. It's either that or...”

Both of you turn, with some trepidation, to the door to the larder.

“Or more bugs.” you finish, with a shiver.

“It's not all bad. Some of them are quite good. And there's other things in there – mushrooms, moss, bats and rats. Just a little of each, but I think if we increased the space then that would improve our production exponentially. And it's more things to fight adventurers, and train our goblins against.”

You nod. “Better than sending a fifth of our forces away on hunting trips.”

Skittering, burning, stinking

You force yourself to stand still. You are better than your fears.

“I'll expand it. It will delay things upstairs, but food is more important.”

Charlemagne nods at you. “Thank you.”

You leave the way you came, to make your way to Goblin Town. It makes sense to get a sense of the changes you'll need to do there too before you begin the construction, after all.

There's a box, in your entrance.

A crate, really. Very well made, with smoothed wood planks forming the body, no splinters or mis-hammered nails in evidence, so obviously not made by any of your minions. The wooden slats fit together so perfectly you can't see a hint of a gap between them.

This makes you suspicious.

You poke it.

It vanishes

Faction Resource Box claimed!

423 wood

234 stone

212 bone

132 hide

47 clay

45 scrap metal

30 iron ore

29 copper

7 vials of minor poison

4 gold ore

You smile.