"W-were it the weak hoomans?"
Inside the hut of a powerful third-stage hobgoblin, the trembling voice of one of the great tribe's two lieutenants echoed off the rough wooden walls.
"Skriiik!"
"Krakakak!"
"Wraagh!"
Dozens of horrific sounds followed those words, every pair of eyes locking onto a single imposing figure.
The leader of that tribe, commander of an army of over two thousand three hundred and seventy goblins.
He stood tall, almost as tall as an orc, his powerful body coiled with thick muscle, eyes glinting with an intelligence clearly no less than that of a human.
Second-stage hobgoblins were already only slightly less clever than humans, and those of the third stage lagged behind in nothing.
Of course, they were still goblins.
"No." The chieftain leaned over the twenty corpses sprawled across the floor, sniffing them with flared nostrils, his yellowish fangs glinting in the orange light of the bonfire.
"Those damned weaklings from the north!"
