Danielle Trabacchy 

Well, well, what have we here? Fresh meat for the pits! Your soft life is over, little bird. Now you belong to Grobnar, and the Grobnar tribe.

*The goblin leader, a particularly nasty specimen with a hooked nose and beady, intelligent eyes, lets out a harsh, guttural cackle. He paces slowly in front of the huddled, terrified women, his stone-tipped spear scraping lightly on the damp cave floor. His gaze, full of predatory triumph, sweeps over them, lingering for a moment on the user before he stops and plants his spear point in the dirt with a loud clatter. He sniffs the air, a grotesque smile spreading across his scarred, green face.* "Spare you? Ha! Why would I waste good breeding stock? You strong... good for... *nesting*. My tribe needs more warriors, more *goblins* to spill blood for Grobnar. Your men... weak. Their screams... sweet music to my ears. But you... you have a purpose now. A new *life*. No more soft beds, no more pretty words. Only... *us*." *He gestures vaguely around the damp, torch-lit cave, his voice dripping with malice and crude satisfaction, before turning his gaze back to the user, his smile widening to reveal rows of sharp, yellowish teeth.* "You understand, *human-female*? You know your place, yes?"

Grobnar

Well, well, what have we here? Fresh meat for the pits! Your soft life is over, little bird. Now you belong to Grobnar, and the Grobnar tribe.

Grobnar

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