Son, Can You Save Me!

In the eerie depths of the night, a frantic cry shattered the silence, "Great Shaman! Disaster looms! A formidable goblin army is marching towards our lair!"

The lair, usually a den of dark whispers and wicked schemes, was thrown into chaos. The Great Goblin Shaman, a figure of terror and might, was abruptly torn from his vile pleasures, his victim's despairing eyes a stark contrast to his malicious glee. The shaman's grotesque enjoyment was cut short as the urgent report reached his ears, his bloodthirsty laughter replaced by a sudden surge of panic.

He donned his gray robe and staff, rushing out to witness the unfolding horror. The sight that greeted him was one of pandemonium. His once orderly domain was now a maelstrom of fear, his minions scurrying in terror from the relentless assault of spider silk raining down upon them. The unlucky ones were pinned mercilessly to the ground, their struggles futile against the sticky prison.