Every now and then, a burly Elite Goblin adorned with more trophies and decorations would come over, shouting angrily. The whip in its hand lashed at the fighting goblins, maintaining a chaotic but stable order.
Deep inside the mountain camp.
From within the largest tent built of giant beast bones and thick hides, came muffled grumbles and suppressed roars.
In the center of the tent, the hearth crackled, distorting shadows projected onto the rough beast-hide tent.
If Gauss were here, he would notice that the goblin who rode the bat that night also sat here, cowering timidly.
On the main seat sat a goblin chief.
Its physique was even more robust than a Big Goblin, and atrocious scars almost covered its entire skin.
At this moment, it was constantly tapping a large unidentified creature's leg bone in front of it, producing a dull thudding sound.
Below it sat the hunched Old Shaman, holding a staff entwined with feathers and bone bells, its murky eyes half-open.
