At the village square of the Ashmork Clan, hundreds of goblins had gathered for what was undoubtedly the most important event the village had faced in years. The wide open space at the center of the settlement was packed with warriors, workers, and elders, all of them speaking in low voices as they watched the candidates waiting near the front.
The atmosphere was tense enough that even the usual noise of the village seemed to have faded into the background.
Several young figures sat on makeshift thrones carved from thick pieces of wood and decorated with animal fur, bones, and strips of dyed leather.
Loki, Grash's oldest son, sat on one with his arms resting heavily against the sides of his seat, his expression filled with the same confidence he had worn since arriving at the square.
