A well muscled hobgoblin sits among the spoils of his kobold raiders, running a whet stone along the edge of a battle axe. He pauses to use the edge of the weapon to scrape at his one remaining tusk, not even flinching when he nicks his lip. Satisfied at its sharpness, he rests the axe across his knees as a scrawny kobold nervously shuffles in.
“What do you want, Grink?” the hobgoblin snarls, spittle flying from his mouth. “I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“I-I sorry, Lord Irontooth,” the pitiful creature says, bowing low to the ground. “B-b-but I has bad news. The raiding party is all killed up!”
“WHAT?!” the hobgoblin shouts, rising to his feet. “Who? Those fools in Winterhaven barely leave their precious walls…”
“The spy say new adventurers done it,” Grink squeaks, trying to bow while shivering in fear.
“Adventurers! I have no fear of the likes of them,” Irontooth spat, hefting his axe. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the kobold glancing at some coins lying at his feet. “Thank you for this information, Grink. Here, choose your reward.”
The kobolds eyes lit up as he greedily reached for the treasure. The axe whistled through the air so fast that the hungry look was still on Grink’s face when his head landed on the floor next to his spurting corpse.
“Not sharp enough” the hobgoblin said as he resumed his work with the whet stone.
As another kobold scampered past the treasure room, Irontooth shouted “Gar-kar, get someone to clean up this maggot before he attracts flies. And send out the Skull-Skull fighters to hunt down these ‘adventurers’. They will soon learn who really controls Winterhaven…”