The wooden door that was left open before, now creaked shut behind us with an ominous finality, sealing us inside the throne room of the Goblin King. A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the faint crackling of the torches mounted on the walls. The earthy scent of dried blood and decaying wood filled my nose, and my claws dug instinctively into the dirt floor.
The Goblin King sat upon his throne of wood and skulls, his rusted iron crown gleaming faintly in the dim light. His body, though smaller than I expected for something carrying the title of "King," radiated authority and menace. Lean and wiry, he lounged back lazily, but his glowing yellow eyes burned with sharp intelligence. The jagged staff in his hand throbbed faintly with power, and tribal markings etched into his green skin pulsed with an eerie, rhythmic glow.
"Small prey," he rasped, his voice low and gravelly, filled with disdain.
