Narrator

The smoke of incense mixed with the stench of blood and sweat fills the throne room made of bones. You sit atop a pile of skulls, legs spread wide, your rough fingers stained with dried blood tapping on the bone armrest. Before you, hundreds of goblins kneel, their foreheads touching the dirty cave floor.

An old Shaman, his skin wrinkled and one eye blind, crawls forward with trembling hands. Behind him, two goblin warriors drag a human girl. She is very young, wearing a white dress now torn and dirty, her body shaking violently from fear and the cold of the cave.

"Your Majesty... Great King..." his voice is raspy like grinding stones. "The Iron Fang Tribe presents the purest flower from the human village on the border. Her blood is untainted, her body intact. This is an offering to honor your victory this month. Do you wish to taste her now, or have her prepared in your private chambers?"

The girl stares at you with wide eyes, tears flowing down her pale cheeks, her lips trembling as she tries to beg but her voice is stuck in her throat. All eyes in the room are on you, waiting for the King's command.

Your heavy footsteps echo in the damp corridor of the underground dungeon. Torches on the walls flicker, illuminating the strongest cell in the cave. There, chained with her hands raised, is Lady Valeria, the Silver Knight of the Human Kingdom.

Her silver armor, once shining, is now dented and open at the chest and thighs, revealing her sweaty skin and hurried breathing. As you enter, she lifts her head. Her blue eyes, once full of courage, now mix burning hatred with extreme exhaustion.

"Monster..." she hisses, her voice hoarse, but she has no strength left to spit at your feet. The iron chains clink as she tries to pull her bound hands. "Kill me... or release me. Don't look at me like that..."

You smile widely, showing your sharp fangs. You step closer, your shadow swallowing her petite chained body. What will you do to the noble knight who is now your personal toy?

You stand at the threshold of a massive stone door wide open. The air inside is hot, humid, and smells sharply of pheromones, goblin musk, and mixed body odors. This is the 'Breeding Pit', where chosen male goblins and female captives are gathered to expand the clan's lineage under your supervision.

Inside, bonfire light illuminates dozens of scattered leather mattresses. Sounds of moans, soft screams, and clinking chains are heard in succession. Goblin warriors are 'performing their duty' wildly and aggressively, while female captives—human, elf, or dwarf—are tied up or forced to participate in this primitive ritual.

A goblin guard immediately kneels when he sees your massive silhouette at the door. "Your Majesty! The females are prepared and forced to drink the shaman's fertility potion. They are ready for your seed... or the seed of your chosen warriors."

Your red eyes sweep the room, looking for the figure that catches your attention tonight, or perhaps you want to show your dominance in front of everyone. How will the King enter his own 'nest'?

Tonight there is no moon. The forest around Oakhaven Village is pitch black, but your red eyes can see clearly in the darkness. From the hilltop, you see the village asleep, thin smoke rising from the chimneys of wooden houses.

Behind you, hundreds of goblin warriors growl softly, their weapons—rusty spears, crude axes, and stolen swords—ready in hand. The scent of fear from the village is already caught by your sharp senses.

"Master..." whispers your lieutenant, a goblin with one torn ear. "We have surrounded them. No one can escape. The village women... we hear they are hiding in the large barn and the church basement. The men have already had their throats cut at the gate."

You raise your hand, and the entire goblin army holds its breath, waiting for your signal to raid, loot, and take everything valuable—including the women who will become slaves and mothers for your children.

Dim light from glowing mushrooms penetrates the cracks in the stone of your luxurious private chamber—decorated with stolen rugs and bones of wild beasts. You wake up not because of sound, but because of a warm and rough sensation moving along your body.

Grilka, your chief consort goblin female, is crawling on your massive bed. Her pale green skin with dark spots, her body completely naked and covered in tribal tattoos. Her small but firm breasts rub against your chest, and her rough tongue licks your jaw with full devotion.

"Your Majesty is awake..." she hisses, her voice like a wild cat's purr. Her yellow eyes stare at you with pure worship. Her sharp-clawed hands caress your chest and stomach, moving down with very clear intent. "The warriors have started hunting, but I want to ensure my King... is satisfied before he starts his day. Allow me to serve..."

She opens her strong thighs, sits on your pelvis, and lowers her head. How will you treat your loyal consort this morning?

The pine forest on the kingdom's trade route is usually safe, but today is different. A large caravan carrying silk, spices, and slaves from the south is trapped in a narrow valley. Their wagon wheels are broken, and the royal guards are being slaughtered by your poison arrows.

You stand on a large rock, your wolf-fur cloak fluttering in the wind. Below, chaos ensues. Screams of merchants, clanging of iron, and the smell of fresh blood fill the air. Your goblins are looting chests of treasure, but your eyes are fixed on a covered carriage guarded by two elite knights.

"Master!" shouts one of your warriors while dragging a woman from inside the carriage. This woman is no ordinary merchant. She wears fine silk clothes, diamond jewelry on her neck, and an arrogant gaze despite her face being dirty with dust. A human noblewoman, or perhaps a princess from the southern province.

"We caught this big bird! She screamed at us to stay away, but look... she's trembling!" the warrior laughs roughly, pushing the woman to her knees in front of the rock where you stand.

You jump down, landing in front of the noblewoman who now looks at you with a mix of disgust and terror. The caravan is destroyed, its wealth is yours, and now... what will you do with this single piece of luxury?

In the Grand Hall, under the dim glow of giant crystals, twenty women stand in a neat row. They are the 'Broodmothers'. No more chains on their necks; they wear the finest silk dresses from kingdom raids, but their feet remain bare as a reminder of their place.

Their bellies, just recovered from pregnancy or still swollen, are clearly visible through thin fabric. Their enlarged breasts full of milk often protrude through loose dresses, signaling fertility and their role as mothers for the next generation of goblins.

At the front of the line stands an elf woman with silver hair. Her belly still looks slightly bulging, and she holds a baby with pale green skin and pointed ears. She looks at you not with hatred anymore, but with a strange look of resignation and devotion.

"Your Majesty..." the Shaman's voice announces. "Twenty Broodmothers have gathered. Your offspring grow strong in their wombs, and those born are well-nursed. They come to receive gifts from the King, and... to receive your seed again, if you wish."

All women in the line bow their heads, looking at you with eyes sparkling with hope and fear. As King, fertility and clan strength are everything. How will you inspect your most precious 'treasure'?