As the new chieftain of the larger tribe, Grod immediately went on a rampage in every direction. He knew the meaning of neither caution nor restraint. Under his bloody leadership, it might have seemed to the surrounding tribes that the only thing that changed was the pace of the killing and the body count.

That was only true on the surface, though.

Everything had changed when the Gold Skulls had defeated and absorbed the Dog Eaters. That boost in size and capability gave their brutality a crucial new element it had never had before: speed. After so much fighting, the dog boys that rode their hounds were too few in number to turn the tide in any direct confrontation, but as scouts and messengers they were critical. They could also pick off, or at least distract, the most troublesome elements of other tribes, like archers and shamans.

Suddenly, his three war bands could be practically everywhere at once. Nowhere was safe anymore. Every prime watering hole and hunting ground became the exclusive property of the Golden Skulls, and any tribe that chose to test those boundaries quickly suffered for it.

Grod had been infected by the darkness. Not just by its strength and inhuman healing either by this point. The greed had infected him too. In time, that would make him an ineffective leader. The swamp knew that, but for now it was a perfect combination. He not only coveted everything of any value, but he had the strength to take it from whoever was keeping it from him.

Just like that, being a neighbor to the Gold Skulls became a death sentence as they expanded relentlessly, in almost all directions. Only the Burning Skulls were inexplicably spared after they’d been neutered so violently, and that minor miracle was all thanks to the guidance of the swamp.

Pieces that the goblins could never understand were slowly falling into place. It would need human help to capture the angry fire god of that tribe, who fascinated the Lich at the center of that dark whirlpool so much. The last thing it wanted was for his pet goblins to snuff it out before it could study the rival spirit. So they were left to suffer and lick their wounds in their few remaining warrens while Grod’s minions focused on the rest of the hinterlands.

They responded to that order with glee, cutting a wide swath across the hills with their nightly raids and wars. The blood-soaked land felt almost as much like home now, as the swamp. Sped along by the constant death and the totems that its tribe put up obsessively now, the red clay and rocky outcroppings had become a place of power, and it would walk them at night, gazing off into the distance, always hungering for more.

After the Dog Eaters fell, the Sharp Spears lasted less than two weeks. It was almost anticlimactic. Even with their superior weapons, they simply had no answer to the Gold Skulls' unrelenting bloodlust. Their territory abutted the western hills, where the boulder fields gave way to scrubby trees that eventually became a primeval pine forest. That darkness was outside the swamp’s domain, but it would add to it eventually. From the towering pines in the west to the distant mountains in the north, it would allow nothing to exist beyond its reach.

Though Grod and his inner circle continued to favor their teeth and claws as they devoured their enemies to feed the swamp's hunger just as much as their own, the weapons of the Sharp Spears proved to be a bigger boon than even the dog boys of the last tribe to fall before them had been. With better weapons and stronger warriors than the Bone Gnawers and the Stone Fists to the north, the biggest enemy of all quickly became distance.

Soon their command over all the lands that were a night's march in any direction was absolute, save only for the tiny cave systems that were still defended by the Burning Skulls. There was only so much territory that a warband could navigate in a single day, and only so much the swamp could do to aid its minions once they left its territory for the mountain foothills.

The goblins and their bloodlust would not be denied though, so as they set about finding new tribes to war with, and marked their new territories with reckless abandon, the darkness focused its attention elsewhere. In six months the goblins had gone from a local danger to a regional threat.

The size of the Gold Skull tribe had doubled and then doubled again in that time due to forced recruiting more than anything. They numbered over a thousand now, and more were flocking to their banner every day in an effort to avoid becoming casualties. Grod was a boss of bosses now, and sat on a blood-drenched throne that none of his rivals could hope to climb.

As far as it could tell, none of the humans that he had studied had any idea. Lord Garvin certainly had no idea that a terrible army was growing on his doorstep. That man’s kingdom might be running just fine, but it was no thanks to him. He was in a perpetual stupor as he sought to escape the dreams. Alcohol wasn’t strong enough to keep the darkness at bay, though. All his drinking would do was turn his muscles to fat and the respect of people closest to him into apathy. That was fine with the swamp. The duller that man became, the brighter his replacement would shine.

Kelvun was a rising star in the court of Fallravea. While his brothers were away he had the spotlight all to himself, and as he showed off the new and more accurate map which he’d had very little to do with actually creating, he received accolades from everyone worth knowing in the city. The map itself didn’t tell the darkness anything it didn’t already know, but it was still clarifying. The whole area was a minor peninsula in the grand scheme of things, and the Oroza snaked from north to south before emptying in the Sudder Sea. On the west the territory it could possibly control was bounded by mountains, but on the east side, across the river, were fertile grasslands that might hold all manner of human lives just waiting to be devoured.

It wasn’t long after that, the swamp began to give the boy dreams of his next mission. They always started out the same: as lonely, trackless plains far to the west of Fallravea, past the furthest farms that his father collected taxes on. Each time the boy wondered where he was, but as soon as he looked at the map in his hands, the answer was clear: he was in the west, and he was on a mission for his dark master. The map didn’t show the political boundaries between the counties, and the cities and roads that were marked upon it were incidental.

What really mattered was the gray stain that was darkest in the swamps and the foothills that bordered them. Fallravea had some darkness too, and much of the southern part of the Oroza was polluted by it too, but the focus was definitely the swamp. Amongst all the darkness, though, there was a single golden ‘X’ in the foothills of the Wodin Spine Mountains. It was an obvious enough goal, but night by night the dream changed. In some versions, the trek there was easy, and in others, the expedition was assailed constantly by goblins.

After some research, Kelvun started to plan, and night by night he argued with his father that they should add a map of their western lands to go with the one he’d just finished of the river. The argument that proved to be the most successful was convincing him that it would strengthen their case about the disputed border region with Lindvell county to the west. In truth, it didn’t matter who the hills belonged to.

Neither Lord had bothered to build roads to them because of their terrible soil and questionable value. Besides that, they were well known to be infested with goblins and other monsters. In the end, all the land belonged to the high king, and the lords were merely stewards of it. It had long been a bone of contention between Lord Garvin, who was the undisputed master of the river, and Lord Hamish who controlled the western coast and the dark forests that lay upon them.

Finally, one night at dinner, he relented. “Alright, lad - I hear you. I’ll fund your little expedition on two conditions.”

“Thank you, father,” Kelvun said sweetly. At this distance, the swamp was forced to watch the exchange through his father's eyes because of his weak hold on the boy, but it found it interesting that Lord Garvin could see none of his son’s vicious nature that was so obvious to the swamp.

Did that mean that the young viscount was an excellent actor, or merely that the father was oblivious? The swamp couldn’t say, but it was an interesting detail worth exploring more.

“You know those lands are infested with goblins, and while they may not be much in the daytime, when night falls they can swarm by the hundreds,” the Lord cautioned. “I’ll let you go, but only with a score of knights at your back, and your solemn word that you will return as soon as there is trouble.

The swamp took a sick pleasure in how far this man had fallen. There was a time, only a few years ago, when he’d thrown caution to the wind, only to have all his fearlessness and bravado smashed against the undead of the swamps. Now he was afraid of a few goblins. The irony was delicious, especially since he had every reason to be afraid, even if he was only jumping at shadows now.

“Of course father,” Kelvun lied smoothly enough that his father couldn’t see it, but the swamp knew who the boy’s true master was. “I want to expand our lands and help the kingdom grow. You and Leo are welcome to keep all the adventure to yourself.”

“One day you’ll learn that there’s more to life than books, son,” Lord Gavin laughed, even though the only part of the whole thing that was funny was the idea that none of it was true.

Kelvun’s eldest brother Leo the fourth might pretend to emulate his father during his glory days, but they were almost a decade behind him now. The man would never pick up a sword in anger again, and it was only because of his power that everyone around him continued to humor him.

Eventually plans were set and a few weeks later the boy started west along with a cook, a cartographer, two surveyors, three servants, four wagons, six teamsters, nine horses, and two dozen knights under his command. It was an extravagant, and ostensibly very safe expedition. After all, who would trouble the boy when he had his own personal army? They had a simple mission: travel west, update the maps, and if they encountered anything dangerous, they were to come home immediately.

The swamp didn’t care about any of that, though. Even Kelvun, as useful a tool as he was, was utterly disposable. All the swamp wanted now was that fire spirit, its gold, and as much bloodshed as possible. This expedition promised to give it all that and so much more. It had to wait only a little longer until everything was in place.