At first light Master had given the order clear and final: the three of us, himself, me the cat, and the tiefling Serepha, would head north to scout. The goblins would remain behind, holding the position we had claimed outside Guardsville’s walls. No arguments. No deviations. His word settled over the camp.

The jungle pressed close around us as we travelled, the tropical heat already building even in the early hours, thick with the scent of damp earth, strange fruits, and salt carried on the breeze. My cat vision cut through the dappled shadows under the palms, spotting movement long before the others, small creatures scattering, the occasional glint of water in the distance. I kept one hand on my iron spear, kite shield slung ready on my back. 

I felt at the tiefling walking a few paces behind us. She was useful for now, her horns catching stray beams of sunlight as she scanned the terrain with that mercurial focus of hers, but she was not me. She would never be me.

We had been walking for perhaps two hours when the tower came into view, rising sudden and stark from a slight rise in the ground. It was no grand keep like the one Valenti controlled in Guardsville, smaller, narrower, built for watching rather than holding a large force but it stood in good condition, stone solid and unweathered by time, clearly constructed recently and then abandoned.

My ears pinned forward, tail lashing once in sharp interest as we approached. The Valenti Guild’s mark was still visible on a faded banner hanging limp from an upper window. They had overextended themselves here, pushing too far north too quickly, stretching their small numbers across too many positions. The tower had been left behind when they pulled back to consolidate around Guardsville, and now it sat empty, waiting.

I felt Master’s thoughts shift through the bond, recognition of the guild’s overreach, immediate calculation of the tower’s value as a forward position. A slow, dark smile curved my lips, fangs glinting as I pressed closer to him, claws flexing against his arm. “Master,” I murmured, voice low and intense, “it is already yours. They built it and fled. We take it.”

Serepha moved up beside us, her tiefling tail flicking as she studied the structure, already assessing sightlines and defensive potential with that control obsessed mind of hers. She spoke of how the Valenti forces must have realised they could not hold the outer positions with only their limited numbers, how the tower’s abandonment spoke of a guild stretched thin between the docks, the keep, and any ambitions further afield. I listened with one ear, but my focus remained on Master, my tail wrapping higher around his ribs in a visible, claiming loop. The tower was good stone, defensible, with clear fields of view in every direction. It would serve us far better than the open camp we had left behind.

Master’s decision came swift and decisive, exactly as I craved. We would move the goblin camp north immediately, relocating it around the base of this tower and claiming the structure as our new base of operations. The goblins could fortify the ground quickly, they had already proven their efficiency at the previous site and the tower itself would give us a solid watchpoint and fallback.

Serepha nodded, already turning the idea into logistics in her head, speaking of supply lines back to the docks if needed and how the position strengthened our overall hold without directly challenging the guilds in Guardsville.

We climbed the narrow stairs inside the tower, the stone cool and dry under my boots, my tail brushing the walls as I stayed within touching distance of Master at all times. From the upper level the views opened out across the island. To the west stretched water, a broad expanse of blue that met the horizon, perhaps a river mouth or an inlet feeding into the larger sea, glinting under the morning sun and offering a natural barrier on that flank. To the north, across a stretch of jungle and clearer ground, we could see movement: people, organised groups, and banners snapping in the breeze.

Oakwood Vanguard. The same force we had clashed with in the past, now present here on this island in force. Their colours stood out even at distance, disciplined lines suggesting a proper encampment rather than scattered scouts. To the east the view was much the same, more Vanguard banners, another concentration of their strength, positioned to watch the approaches from that direction. The island was not empty. The Vanguard had already established a presence, and the Order of the Oak lurked further east still, a complication we had been ordered not to provoke on this first scout.

My ears twitched violently at the sight of the banners, tail lashing once before wrapping tight around Master again, claws digging into the stone of the window ledge. The bonded soul carried his thoughts clearly, recognition of the Vanguard threat, calculation of distances, the need to secure our new position before they realised we had moved north.

A flash of aggressive possessiveness surged through me. If any of those Vanguard forces moved toward us, I would tear through them before they reached him. I would make the jungle run red if it kept him safe. But Master’s plan was caution first, and I obeyed. We had come to get bearings, not to start a war. The tower gave us the high ground we needed to watch them without being seen too easily.

Serepha stood at another embrasure, her voice low as she noted the positions, already thinking in terms of security perimeters and how the Vanguard’s presence changed the balance with the guilds back in Guardsville. I barely heard her.

The morning sun was already turning the tropical air thick and heavy, but the new base felt solid beneath our feet, the Valenti tower claimed, the goblins already hauling supplies and stakes up from the old camp to fortify the ground around it.

He was playing it fun, in that wry, calculated way of his, turning the Vanguard banners we had spotted to the north and east into something almost amusing in his mind, weighing how the guilds back in Guardsville might react if we dug in here, how the Order of the Oak might twitch if we stayed quiet. It was giving him a headache. I could feel it through the bonded soul, that low throb of irritation at having to think in circles instead of simply taking what was needed.

Serepha stood at the opposite embrasure, horns catching the light. She had taken to the tower quickly, already sketching rough maps of the approaches, noting sightlines, organising the goblins into work parties to strengthen the ground perimeter before night fell. She wanted control, the same as always: eyes on every guild movement back toward Guardsville, a firm grip on the trade routes that might still flow north, and a defensive shell around this new base so nothing could touch it without bleeding. 

The attack began without warning.

The first arrow thudded into the wooden shutter of the embrasure right beside my head, the shaft quivering, fletching bright against the stone. Another followed, then a third, the distinctive hiss of shafts cutting air rising from the jungle treeline to the north. My ears flattened instantly, tail lashing violent as I yanked Master back from the opening, body curling around him in pure instinctive aggression.

More arrows struck, the soft thunk of iron heads biting into wood and stone, the occasional spark where one glanced off the tower’s solid walls. The goblins below shouted, pulling back in good order toward the tower entrance, dragging supplies and stakes inside the forming perimeter as the first wave of arrows turned the ground around the base into a killing field. The siege had begun.

I felt Master’s headache spike through the bonded soul, that political calculation colliding with sudden violence, and a dark, twisted fury rose in my chest. Someone was daring to shoot at him. At us. At what was mine. My claws dug into his sleeve, fangs bared as I peered carefully around the embrasure with cat vision, trying to spot the archers hidden among the trees. Vanguard colours flashed briefly, the same banners we had seen to the north. They had moved faster than expected, or perhaps they had been watching all along. Either way, they were testing the new tower, probing for weakness before committing to a full assault.

Serepha was already moving, her voice sharp and controlled as she called orders down the narrow stairs to the goblins below. She wanted the perimeter tightened, the entrance barricaded, scouts pulled in so no one was left exposed. Her focus stayed on holding what we had claimed, on turning this tower into a fortress that could weather whatever came next without overextending. I let her handle the immediate defence. My place was here, glued to Maste.

Another volley rattled against the tower, one shaft skittering through the embrasure and clattering across the stone floor. I hissed low, body pressing harder against Master as if I could shield him with sheer will. 

The goblins had pulled back fully inside the forming walls now, the last of them dragging a final crate of supplies through the entrance as arrows continued to fall. The tower felt smaller suddenly, more alive with tension, the air thick with the smell of fresh-cut wood from the barricades going up below.

I purred against Master’s shoulder, the sound dark and unsteady, claws flexing as another arrow thudded into the wood near my face. “Master,” I whispered, voice low and intense, “they chose the wrong tower. I will make them regret every shaft they loose. You decide how this ends. I will see it done.” The morning sun climbed higher, the tropical heat pressing against the stone, and the arrows kept coming in steady waves. The goblins were safe inside for now. The base was holding. 

The Vanguard had stopped firing. No more shafts hissing through the air, no more iron heads biting into wood or sparking off stone. The sudden silence felt heavier than the arrows themselves. My cat ears twitched violently, swivelling to catch every sound from beyond the perimeter we had only just begun to fortify. 

I hated the silence. It meant something worse was coming. I peered through the embrasure with cat vision. The jungle treeline to the north remained still for a long moment, then movement. A prettier banner than the plain Vanguard ones we had seen earlier approached, richer cloth, perhaps silk or fine dyed wool, catching the morning light in deeper colours. It was carried high by armoured figures, more heavily protected than the archers who had loosed the earlier volley. They moved with disciplined steps, forming a protective cordon around a single figure at their centre.

She was the one they guarded. A woman, clearly important, her presence drawing every eye. Even from this distance I could see she was striking, the kind of beauty that turned heads in any court or camp, with an air of confidence that made my ears pin back in immediate insecurity and aggression. Her armour was lighter than her escort’s but still functional, dark leather and plates that accentuated rather than hid her form, a sword at her hip that she wore like she knew how to use it. She walked with purpose, the prettier banner snapping above her as the group halted just outside arrow range from the tower. 

The woman stopped at the edge of the cleared ground around the tower and raised her voice. It carried clear and sharp across the space between us, edged with threat but not yet violence. She poked at the situation like one might test a weak wall, probing, prodding, seeing where it would give. “You in the tower!” she called, voice strong and carrying the accent of the Vanguard’s heartlands, The West Forest. “We know you’re there. We know what you claimed. This position belongs to the Oakwood Vanguard by right of first presence on this island. You overstepped when you moved your goblins north and raised your colours on Valenti stone. Let me in. We talk terms, we settle this without more blood. Or we burn you out. Your choice. The fire will come if you force our hand.”

Her words hung in the humid air, the threat of burning the tower and everyone inside, delivered with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She stood surrounded by her more heavily armoured guards, their plate and mail glinting, shields ready but no weapons drawn yet. It was a show of force without immediate attack, a political move wrapped in steel and silk.

But Master did not respond. His thoughts through the bonded soul remained steady, that headache still present but now focused on weighing her words, the banner, the escort, the lack of immediate assault. He was playing the long game, the fun politic he sometimes indulged even when it cost him rest. I hated it and loved it in equal measure, hated that this woman’s presence had drawn even a flicker of his attention, loved that he trusted me enough to let me stand at his side while he decided. My blue eyes stayed locked on her, cat vision picking out details: the way her hand rested casually on her sword hilt, the slight tilt of her head as she waited for an answer, the way her escort shifted their weight but did not advance. She was beautiful.

Below, the goblins held their positions inside the half formed perimeter, shields raised where gaps remained, their discipline holding despite the tension. Serepha had moved to another embrasure on the lower level, her tiefling horns visible as she watched the woman with that strategic, control obsessed gaze of hers. She was already calculating, how many armoured guards the woman had brought, what their formation said about Vanguard discipline, whether this was a genuine offer to talk or a trap to draw us out.

“Master,” I whispered, voice barely audible even to myself, “she wants in. She wants to talk her way close to you. I can end it now. One leap. One scream. The tower stays yours. She burns instead.” 

The woman did not leave. She stood there with her prettier banner and her armoured cordon, occasionally calling out again, the threat of fire lingering like smoke in the humid air. The Vanguard forces further back among the trees remained still, no soldiers advancing, no second wave of arrows, just the silent weight of their presence and the clear message that this single woman spoke for them. 

The morning dragged on in that charged silence.

He looked at me first. Then at the tiefling. Then down at himself. The silence stretched, awkward and thick, the only sound the faint echo of the woman’s voice drifting up through the tower. Serepha’s face stayed controlled, but I caught the slight lift of one brow, the way her mouth twitched like she was holding back something dry. Master’s expression didn’t shift much, just that noir flatness he wore when he was about to say something that would cut straight through the bullshit.

“Right,” he said, voice low and even, “who has the best charisma stat ?”

The words hung there. Serepha’s brow stayed up, her horns catching the light as she glanced between us, that control freak calm cracking just enough to show the flicker of dry amusement. My ears pinned flat for a second, tail lashing harder against the stone. He looked at the tiefling again, that blunt assessment clear in his eyes. Beggar once. Control freak now. Probably not the one for smooth words. Then he looked at himself, deadpan, like he already knew the answer wasn’t there either. Noir and blunt as anything, he’d said it himself more than once. Not exactly the charming type.

Then his gaze came back to me. My tail coiled tighter around his waist, possessive and restless, claws flexing as I met his eyes. The bonded soul let me feel the shift in his thoughts, the dry dismissal settling in. He didn’t say it gentle. He never did.

“Nah,” he said, still looking at me, voice flat and indirect, almost casual like he was talking about the weather. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way you’re going to be able to intimidate an entire goddamn army. Your charisma is just poking somebody with a spear.”

The silence after that was worse. Serepha’s mouth twitched again, that almost smirk she got when she was pretending not to find something funny, her eyes flicking to me like she was waiting for the explosion. My ears stayed flat, tail lashing once, hard, against the wall. Feral. Animal. The words stung even though part of me knew he wasn’t wrong. I would just want to end it, spear first, if that woman down there pushed too hard. But hearing it out loud, in that blunt way, while the threat was still shouting up at our walls… it made the insecurity twist sharpe.

Master didn’t linger on it. He never did. He just looked at the embrasure again, at the sound of the woman’s voice still carrying, that probing threat wrapped in silk and steel. “Fair enough,” he said, almost to himself, that headache stance still there in the way he rubbed his temple once. “I guess I’ll go have a conversation with this chick.”

He moved before anyone could say anything else. Straight for the stairs, that calm, decisive stride like he’d already weighed the whole thing and decided talking was the least headache option for now. Serepha’s face shifted, that control slipping into something more alert, but she didn’t stop him. She just watched, horns tilting, like she was already calculating what this meant for her security plans.

I followed without thinking, impulsive, tail wrapping tighter, claws still hooked in his sleeve as I stayed glued to his side. No way I was letting him go out there alone with her. That woman, with her prettier banner and her striking face and her armoured people, standing there like she could just talk her way in and look at him like that.

The woman watched us come, her striking face calm, the armoured guards shifting just enough to show they were ready but not advancing. She was from the West Forest herself, that much became obvious fast when she heard him speak.

“Right, love,” he said, voice flat and carrying just far enough, “we both know you either don’t have the manpower or don’t want to injure so let’s talk.”

It landed like a nat 1. Immediate fail. The silence after it was awkward as hell, the kind where nobody quite knew what to do with the bluntness of it. Serepha’s face stayed controlled but I caught the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, that dry almost smirk she got when things turned unexpectedly ridiculous.

She recognised the West Forest accent straight away. She was from there herself, leading a new charter out here, local Vanguard Marauder for this fresh push into the island’s edges. The Oakwood Vanguard background sat behind her like invisible weight, the private army that protected the Oak Trade Road, decentralised halls under Marauders, practical and competitive, focused on trade and stability but willing to flex iron when needed.

She laughed and her eyes flicked to me with that confident curiosity. “Unusual pet you’ve got here,” she said, voice smooth as she stepped a little closer, one hand lifting like she was going to pet my blonde hair or brush my cat ears, treating me like some exotic animal on a leash. “Didn’t expect to see something like that out this far. Where’d you pick her up ?”

My reaction was instant and feral. “Screw that,” I snarled, voice low and intense, claws flashing out to catch her wrist before it could touch me, pulling her hand away hard enough to make the point without drawing blood. The armoured guards shifted, hands moving toward weapons, but I didn’t care. My fangs showed fully now. 

The woman pulled her hand back smoothly, no real fear in her expression, just that same calm confidence with a flicker of respect for the warning.

She spoke then, voice carrying steady across the space between us, the threat wrapped in practicality. The Vanguard wanted the position, wanted to know what Bogclutch was doing this far out, whether we were here to stay or just passing through. She wasn’t here for a full fight yet, manpower and orders keeping it at words for now, but the burn option was real if we didn’t come to terms. Her new charter needed stability, and an unknown tower with goblins and whatever else we had wasn’t part of the plan.