The scent of damp stone and sulfur lingered even aboveground, clinging to the squat figures that emerged from the Narrow Pass. A procession of goblins, more than five thousand strong, made their way through the winding trail toward the war camp, eyes squinting in the grey light.
At their front marched Grogus,a bit out of place compared to the other goblins, he was clean, too clean compared to the others who are covered in dirt and grime as they came directly from the mines. A fine blade hung at his side, ceremonial but sharp enough for ingredients.
The guards at the outpost gates raised their weapons.
Grogus approached slowly. "It's me…," he shouted while revealing himself from the darkness.
"Oh it's just you…and more goblins" one of the orc sentries shrugged his shoulders.
With the current state of things, they would need all the hands they can get, and the goblins, though with little hands, they would still be of some help to them.
