[h2]Fort Magrial[/h2]

Past the boundary, the filth lessened [i]slightly[/i]; the goblins might have been discarding the refuge haphazardly, but they did seem to have some sense in pushing it away from whatever passed for living areas. But the overt decorations increased: smaller animal bones replaced with larger ones, and some sort of order to it.

There was also the sound of [i]things[/i] talking. Almost animalistic in how rough they were, some extremely high pitched, and others substituting the pitch for an even thicker rasp. Not that they were close enough (or liable to speak any recognisable tongue) to tell what they were saying, but the goblins were undeniably in residence.

Nor were they all sequestered away inside: now there were some [i]looking around,[/i] wiry green figures of similar size to their own scout, carrying whatever sharp and pointy thing they could get their hands on — seemingly nothing good for those banished to this dull task, kitchen knives or whatever they'd been able to fashion themselves rather than pilfered arms of any quality.