Just shy of a month had our Greenskin clan been walking, ousted from our homes by some… bastardised versions of ourselves. Not even the humans, whom we used to trade with in times of peace, would extend their hands. ‘Goblins’ they called us, a term which should only be reserved for those mindless creatures of horror, twisted by the system and the new gods.

Our clan had not yet given up on the Gods of old, sealed away they may be, according tot he Shaman. We’ve seen what happened to the others, proud warriors turning into barbarians and wize doctors turned into patchworkers.

The Shaman of the clan had felt it long ago, the curse that they brought upon us. Most, if not all newborn greenskins had started come out like the disgusting monsters, human-like features twisting to have wicked teeth, bulging torso’s and long noses, ‘Goblins’. The entire clan took care of those not yet struck by it, though even those had begun growing up. There was no new generation for us to continue our ways.

Our tribe had grown tired, every day it seemed that there were less of us left. Some going into the forest to find food and never returning, some saying they ‘’Needed a rest and would catch up shortly’’. They never did…

The adults, atleast those who had chosen the path of the warrior, tried their best to defend us with the little numbers they had. Even with their priority in recieving food and rest would their numbers dwindle till only a handful were left by the combined effort of these ‘Goblins’ and ‘Ogres’, the latter being what we assumed to be happend if a Goblin grew strong enough.

The Chieftain had died several days ago, we all remembered his unscarred back as he faced off against a Ogre and several goblins, mortally wounding the beast to let his clan escape.

I often wondered why I myself survived this, I’m but a simple tinkerer, my body tall as a warrior, but more lean. My brain was my strongest weapon, I was an artist in mechanisms.

Yet, I’ve grown old, my hands shaking more then I remember them to, even during the most stressful of times. The good days are still in the back of my fading memories, how the Chieftain would tell each generation stories, how our tribes are that of adaptation, even in our species itself, our bodies adapting to the roles we fill in society.

I can see some of our smaller, younger kin running backward towards the group as if they’ve seen a demon, or worse, Goblin. The Shaman speaks to them, hussing their worries. I can see his eyes coming alight after such a long period of time, the message inside them clear. Hope.

Whatever it was the younglings had found we never found out. As behind us began the alarm. More creatures of horror had found our clan. I suppose it is now my time to protect the next generations.

The Shaman stands with us after sending the younger generations away, drawing a large circle to grand us a boon of our gods. Our clubs, rusted swords and broken armor won’t do much against Ogre’s, being only mildly effective against the smaller Goblins.

Let it be known that we Greenskins, we Orcs, have payed for the survival of our clan with blood. May the next generation that comes hold dear memories of us. May the gods who we shall not abandon bring our souls into their arms.

My name is Urum. Let my story be known to whoever finds this diary. I who have lost my son to these foul beings will fight untill the end.

Our Clan of Greenskins, those untainted by the curse, will live on. I have faith they will.

Allen watched as the three figures at the entrance of the cave bolted away without taking a single step inside, turning his gazet o his only companion.

‘’Hey Neith… Why does this feel like a failed encounter or something? Was I suppose to act all smug and evil while calling them inside…?’’

The spider didn’t answer, crawling halfway out of its tunnel before tilting its body sideways, as if silently asking why her creator was even worried about things not trying to murder him for once.

Several minutes passed, both the spider and core remaining silent like always. Right as the mechanical structure of the two was going back towards the tunnel, and the magical rock towards its studies of the new designing features, footsteps sounded in the distance, outside the square cave.

...

‘’Hey… Ozram… This is where you 3 found the weird place, right?’’ One of the larger greenskins of the group would peer inside the tunnel, right away noticing its perfectly square shaped entry.

Another, smaller one would nod, standing besides 2 similar sized Orcs, distinguishing them as being from the same generation. ‘’I think it may be a old Dwarf mine Boss, we can take shelter inside.’’

The older Orc would nod, leaving the 3 at the entrance to go and collect the rest of his clan. His steps would hurry upon hearing a distant scream.

With the final stand being made, their ‘clan’, if one could call it that, was little but 30 strong.

No warriors remained, the chieftain and shaman had died, neither had a successor. Ozram called him boss because he was the strongest of his generation only.

One of the younger Orcs, one with a defined sense for Magic was a promising pick for the new Shaman, while it seemed Ozram would be a fine leader someday, even now leading his Generation on missions.

He shook his head, collecting the remaining women, elderly and children. Together with himself and 4 others of his generation and the one above, all of which would be considered Adolescences, they had about 7 healthy males left, one being injured from a previous fight. Raising a hand, he’d count the remaining members of the clan as they passed. 8 males, 8 children, 7 women, 3 newborns and 4 elderly. A depressing sight.

Arriving back at the tunnel, would he see Ozram and his 2 companions with their weapons raised, slight tears forming into their eyes as they faced off against a well-sized, strange construct bearing similarities to some form of spider.

Running towards the trio, would he quickly pull back the one in the line of sight of the construct. He briefly heard Ozram yell his name. ‘’Boss Tukor!’’ before feeling something hard crash against his own weapon, snapping it in half. Call it the luck of the gods, but the constructs fangs managed to deflect off his arm, destroying what little leather he had in the form of armor in the process.

As the spider pulled back, one leg being placed near its abdomen, Tukor would notice the massive, softly glowing gem at the end of the tunnel. Right after, would he hear Jigi, the next Shaman, suddenly yell out. ‘’Tukor, this isn’t a mine, it’s a Dungeoncore, and a old one at that, even at the entrance the mana is thick enough to notice it if you look for it!’’ Shifting his gaze away from the spider, would he notice the silk-like blue trails and tinges in the surrounding air. Feeling the mana fuel his lungs to greater breaths, his muscles for more power and his head to increase his train of thought. He remembered one of the stories the Shaman had told when he was still a youngling, how Greenskins unlike humans, dwarves or elves had trouble utilising magic, but instead having a closer connection with the land and mana itself, muchlike monsters.

However, The spider merely saw its pray stop paying attention to herself, as she tensed the suspension of her legs to lunge forward, would the smaller prey suddenly move itself infront of the larger, the shine of water present in its eyes. ‘’P-please… Construct… spider thing… have mercy on our people. W-we do not wish to harm whatever it is you’re protecting… We’re merely trying to rest our weary bodies…’’

Allen… had no idea whatever it was the green-skinned creature was saying. It wasn’t english… Or German… or any language he’d ever heard of, for that matter. What he did see, was the child’s act of sacrifice. He ordered Neith to pause, having it take a step back.

Once again he found his lack of communication a issue, both parties staring at eachother. Though he doubted any of the group knew he was actually here.

What broke the stalemate, was a shout from the back of the lines, near the entrance of the tunnel. From what Allen could see, said tunnel was atleast several meters wide and tall, enough to fit their group of 30 without entering the chamber of his core.

Shifting his gaze back, would he notice the smaller greenskin reaching out a arm to touch his spider, Neith still being under the orders to ‘stop’ and unsure what to do next.

The group of greenskins would stare outside with a weary gaze, several heads continously turning from outside to inside the tunnel. Allen, through the mumbling of the group, would hear the same word continously, though he was unsure of what it meant.

Even without knowing the meaning, the Dungeoncore and its only inhabitant knew something was up, the tones of the greenskins sounding as if they were speaking about a monster.

It was then, when another scream was heard, the entire group struggling to get further inside. Neither Neith nor Allen reacted to this fact, the latter gambling and hoping that they wouldn’t touch his core. At the entrance of the tunnel would a large beast appear, atleast 4 meters in height, if Allen had to guess.

It was clad in little but a loincloth and using a large tree-like club as a weapon. Blood still covered the end of the weapon as well as parts of the creatures body. While it seemed to have suffered a few shallow wounds, it seemed to not worry about it much, a expression of glee on its downright ugly face.

‘’Neith… Food’s here, got git em Girl.’’ Allen said, and his spider listened, lunging forwards, And…

Getting smacked right ontop of the head, the creatures size giving it enough force to create a dent in the metal, though shattering its club…

A brief silence echoed through the tunnel…

Before a collective cursing replaced it, both the Greenskins, creature, dungeon core and probably even the Spider itself all cursing in their own respective languages.

Neith shrug off the blow, flashing her large fangs at the massive creature. As the giant raised a arm to flatten the spider once more, she bolted towards his flank, abdomen leaving a wire-like cable behind.

The monster turned, Neith bolted.

The monster turned again, Neith bolted, again.

The monster turned once more, Neith bolted, once more.

By now, a distinctly visible cable had begun to form around the creatures legs. The spider would then grab ahold of the wire, tugging on it with two of her eight limbs. The giant crashed against the wall as his balance was robbed, Neith lunging to scramble up ontop of it, covering it with more cable-silk and finally sinking her fangs into the being before it could rise again, injecting the acid-like venom she held stored within her fangs.

A large, bubbling cloud steamed from the corpse, the monster screaming as its fluids were being removed untill it was no more, going limp in the constructs grasp. The dent in her armor would slowly pop itself outwards as the spider drew in the surrounding Mana, its ‘tatoos’ glowing brightly as she did.

The Greenskins stared in awe and confusion, nobody noticing a single individual slowly moving over to the large core inside the room they found themselves in, and placing a hand ontop of its surface.