With the artifact safely put away, Wulm began to clean up her workshop, when a loud knock is heard at her door. The elderly gobbling with sharp eyes narrows them pointedly at the door. "Who is it?" She grumpily rasped in Gobbledegook.
"Councilor, Master Crafter Wulm our King has summoned you," answered the goblin standing behind the closed door.
"Of course, he has," Wulm mumbled under her voice, before reaching for her outer robes hanging off a hanger.
"Councilor, Master Crafter Wulm?" The goblin uncertainly asked.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Wulm impatiently snapped, before patting down her outer robes one last time.
Shuffling over, Wulm jerks the door open to reveal a young goblin guard in glistening polished holding a pointed spear. She glares at the younger goblin causing the young goblin guard to take a nervous step back.
With a bit of an uncertain tremor in his voice, the young goblin says, "Please Councilor, Master Crafter Wulm, if you would follow me this way-?"
The young goblin is unable to finish his sentence as Wulm rudely interrupts, "I know the way, child," before stomping past the younger goblin.
The younger goblin hurries after the elderly goblin, who firmly leads the way through the maze of stone halls filled with flickering torches. The closer they approach the quarters of the Goblin King, the more elegant and goblin-crafted furnishings begin to appear. At long last, they arrive at the carefully guarded hall filled with rows of goblin guards holding their spears steady. The goblin guards bow their heads in acknowledgment of the elderly Councilor, Master Crafter Wulm.
The young guard trails off to join the guards, while Wulm makes her way across a rich carpeted floor that leads to the quarters of the Goblin King, Grok Gringotts. Without any politeness, she loudly begins to bang on the door. "Open up!" She huffed to the shock of the young guard, who felt rather faint at the display.
The door is opened by a goblin servant in livery, but before the servant can announce the Councilor, Master Crafter's presence, the elderly goblin, Wulm shoves her way inside. "Well, what do you want?" She loudly huffed striding over to the nearest chair, before settling down.
The attendants in lavish uniforms are scandalized, but wear expressions of resignation. Councilor, Master Crafter Wulm was infamous for her jagged temperament. No one was excluded from the receiving end of her outbursts including the Goblin King. After all, she was the King's senior by more than a few dozen years. She still remembered when Grok Gringotts had been a sniveling brat that needed his diapers changed. As if she was ever going to fear someone, who'd she babysat on more than one occasion.
The elderly figure of Grok Gringotts narrows his sharp eyes at the Goblin Councilmember, Master Crafter Wulm. He has a resigned expression on his face. No matter what he did or said even after all these years Wulm still treated him like the infant she had once looked after. It was a terrible thing to have someone be able to recall ones most embarrassing anecdotes since infancy.
Grok Gringotts furrows his brow unhappily. "Well, what are you all waiting for? OUT!" He roared to his attendants and pointed firmly to the door.
Wulm smirks rather cheerfully from her seat watching the reluctant procession of the attendants in lavish uniforms and other goblins stream out from the Goblin King's office. The last of the goblins dejectedly shut the door firmly behind him. With the chamber of the Goblin King now empty, Wulm eyes flicker over towards the where the hanging portrait of King Ragunk, the first Goblin King that held the newly forged sword of Godric Gryffindor in hand.
Grok waves his hand making the room temporarily impenetrable from brute force be it magic or any means. Wulm arches her brow at Grok Gringott's actions and pulls her eyes away from the first Goblin King. "What an unusual rection from your part, Grok," she commented with interest evident in her eyes.
"There is a delicate matter that must be discussed, Councilor Wulm," Grok formally said calling upon Wulm's formal title within the Goblin court.
Understanding dawns in Wulm's eyes as she sits up and tilts her head towards Grok Gringotts in a formal manner no longer in jest. "Wulm, the Goblin Councilor hears and obeys the Goblin King's summons. How may this humble councilor offer her services to aid her king?"
Grok Gringrotts accepts the bow and waves his hand gesturing for Wulm to raise her head and meet his gaze. "The artifact is it complete?" He asked.
"It is, sire," Wulm truthfully answered. "However, I have yet to send word of the completion of the artifact."
"There are no objections, there," Grok Gringotts pensively said, before meeting the eyes of Wulm. "And you vow on your title as Master Crafter, Wulm, that the artifact forged is not a weapon nor true goblin silver?"
"I swear so or lest by rank be stripped," Wulm solemnly vowed.
"Good that sets aside some of my fears," Grok said with a relieved sigh. "There have been more than a few inquiries that I am comfortable with. And while Ragnok and Dulag have maintained their silence on the subject according to the binding contract, the original contract can always be physically compromised and found within our records. As a result, I am personally housing the contract within my own personal files to maintain the contract secrecy."
Wulm purses her lips in a deep frown. "That is not done, my King, and yet, who would have the audacity to break the contracts that we (goblins) hold sacred?"
Grok sends Wulm an assessing gaze, before saying, "It has come to my attention that Bodrig and his Brotherhood have been moving in concerning mannerisms. There are even indications that Bodrig is seeking unsavory allies among those termed as Death Eaters."
"We have always remained neutral from the political intricacies of wizards and witches!" Wulm loudly exclaimed in shock. "Otherwise, it is courting madness!"
"I thought much the same," Grok admitted. "I believed the nonsensical rumors as mere falsehood. Bodrig and his Brotherhood for all our disagreements and differences, we both strive to move to uplift and protect our people."
"Then what has changed?" Wulm asked before narrowing her eyes to a slit. "Or is it, because you have received evidence proving otherwise that troubles you so?"
There is a heaviness in the air as Grok leans back into his seat and closes his eyes to reply. "On the night of the Ministry of Magic's attack upon the former residence of the Potentate of London, Sanderson sent me a letter. A letter which detailed a time and date, where Bodrig had met with former Mulciber Head of House, and that of Livius Rowle. There was a rather detailed account of the event and the conversation that had transpired."
Grok sighs and opens his eyes looking for more tired and older. "The former Potentate of London, Sanderson is someone whom I dislike on a general basis of principles, but he does not lie, which is a rather inconvenient trait to have at times," he quietly said turning to stare for a moment at the portrait of Ragnuk, the first Goblin King, before turning away.
Wulm's mind races before her face grows still with worry and caution. "There is more?" She finally dared to ask the Goblin King.
"There is some rather troubling circumstantial evidence suggesting that Bodrig and his Brotherhood will ensure that an attack occurs at the Gringotts Bank itself," Grok finally said, before rubbing his face with his long, thin fingers. "And that I will perish in the attack and the throne will pass to one of my greedier and treacherous children."
Wulm's dark, slanted eyes grow dark and cold. Her pointed nose wrinkles up as her lips twist into a vicious snarl. "We are goblins, my King. We were created from the cold, dark depths of the mother earth and forged in fire before the breath of life came into us. And so, my King, if what you say is indeed true, then show them the might of our people. It would seem that there are those among us, who have forgotten their place and the ferocity of our nature."
"I thought as much," Grok replied as he removed his hand from covering his eyes. "However, I wish to crush all further dissent and for that proof is required Councilor."
Wulm presses her lips into a thin line and bows her head in acceptance of the Goblin King's decision. "If I may, sire, in the meantime might I suggest that a successor finally be named," she gestured with her hand. "It will force them to move that much faster and thereby leave for a trial to be traced, and for mistakes to be made."
"I did consider such an action, Councilor," Grok truthfully admitted with a deep frown on his face. "However, my selected and preferred heir is not one of my living children, but rather one of my grandchildren. The grandchild in question is most suitable for the position and has surpassed and fulfilled every single of my expectations."
"It will be a controversial announcement, my king," Wulm pensively replied. "However, it will be accepted if it through the paternal lineage." She paused and solemnly studied the Goblin King before her. "Unless it is through the maternal lineage," her voice pointedly trailed off.
"I would have made my daughter, the Queen of our people," Grok replied with a frigid expression. His hand curls into an angry fist, "but all of my precious councilors were against my decision and said there was no precedent for a Goblin Queen. In my foolishness, I listened, and now my daughter lays dead and buried in a cold grave. I shall not make the same mistake, a second time. My daughter's son will reign in her place for he has wholly earned the position through his own efforts and the same cannot be said for my surviving children.
Wulm lets out a soft sigh and bows her head in acceptance of the King's decree. She had been among those who had against the Goblin King's decision to appoint his daughter as heir. Perchance, it would have been the cause for turmoil for a time, but the King's daughter would have been an excellent Queen. It was too late to lament the what-ifs for the King's daughter had perished in the labor of her second child. Neither the King's daughter nor the child had survived. All that was left of the King's daughter was her firstborn, her son, Ragnok.