In The Tower
Gillin followed the horde, searching for the body that would lead them. It really wasn't much of a horde, for, excluding the old one; there were only three of his kind. The old one, who was named Gnarl, yelled at any of them who showed signs of slacking. Gnarl. The name suits him. I wonder if it was really his birth name. Among any other people, Gillin would have doubted it, but that wasn't even close to the weirdest Minion name he'd heard. Minion. Now what kind of name is that? It pretty much puts the idea that we are, and always were, slaves. The others were cheering, because they had dug up the new Overlord. We are slaves, Gillin. Don't try to fool yourself. The short creatures ran around, gathering armor for the new Lord. He shifted his thoughts to their future. Giblet has smith's hands. He'll probably be sent to the forge, as soon as it's repaired. Niblert is a soldier, and always will be. Gnarl's days of manual labor are long past. He's effective at leading us, though that won't be needed with the new Overlord. He'll most likely be placed as an advisor. The jester, wherever the Abyss he is, will either keep his job or be killed. The last one never killed him, and he's actually a tough little sucker, so there's a good chance he'll survive. Finally, I'll be forced into the army with Niblert. Maybe I'll be sacrificed. He sighed. They were definitely slaves. He wondered if they always were.
Their first field operation was a success. The Tower Heart shined, back in its pool. Gillin was sitting down in the cave where the minions were housed. He wasn't in the pit, like Giblet, Niblert, and the new guys. He simply sat, staring at the hive. It was a unique thing, this hive. It was filled with eggs that were constantly growing. A lot of them were already mature, but they were dead. Minions required the energy released from a dead body in order to hatch these eggs. The Overlord had the ability to instantly send this energy to the hive, if he touched it. Only Minions could pick it up and carry it. Certain life forms released different kinds of energy, which created different kinds of Minions. There was no point in dwelling on this, as there was only the Brown hive in the cave. The others had been lost the last time the tower was attacked. Gillin, for reasons not understood by him, reached out and touched the hive. A flash of light emanated from the Minion-birther.
Gillin woke up, feeling odd. Something seemed different. He would've noticed this sooner if the light hadn't disoriented him, but the difference was that he was no longer in the tower. Looking around, he did notice the rocks that acted as a natural barrier for his home, but that very home was nowhere to be seen. Leaving through a tunnel, Gillin wanted to see if he could determine the whereabouts of the tower elsewhere. The valley where Spree had been located when the world made sense looked pretty much the same, except for the halfling homes. Gillin didn't remember seeing so many of them. At one part, two groups had gathered. One was made up of humans, while the other was made up of halflings. Sneaking closer so he could hear, the Minion listened. "I, Duke Larti El Spree, founder of the great earldom of Spree, am telling you, we need to hunt the imps down."
"I am telling you, great Duke of Spree," the halfling said the title sarcastically, "That the imps never bothered us when we simply collected the necessary food. Your farms are what brought them out. Get rid of them, and the problem disappears."
"Then what, pray tell, are my people supposed to eat?"
"Hunt, gather, go back to Heaven's Peak." The halfling's eyes narrowed at the last suggestion.
Imps. I think the last Overlord called red minions that once.