A tale of goblin summoning

Once upon a time, the great goblin horde broke free of their fancy Fae overlords and built a glorious ramshackle city of their own. Sure, their homes often fell apart or burned to the ground, but what’s a party without some mayhem? As immortal creatures of the wild woods, these consequences of chaotic creation only inspired more hijinx - havoc is nothing to fear. 

The frivolous but mighty Fae, however, in their gowns and glitter and good sense, decided once more that the goblins could be of use. (Or rather, if you believe their grand propaganda, they could fix the ramshackle city and save the goblins from assured self-destruction.)

The goblins fought for their freedom from the threat of safety and, gasp, organization. But the war was going poorly… until one band of clever goblins danced a magic dance together under the dark power of the eclipsed sun to summon forth a warrior of renown and reputation unlike any other. A warrior from another time, another world. Fierce and bold, and most of all, grumpy.

Their leader used the scummiest pond in the land to scry upon this warrior, and witnessed with glee the murderous intent with which he swiftly dispatched his enemy over and over again. The summoning was (shockingly?) a success.

Except that two creatures stumbled out of the glowing vortex of magic, not just one.

Wilkins arrived, and so did his arch-rival, the coffee-despising Wontkins.

Good enough, they decided.

Cackling with triumph, the goblins handed them both a basket of magical grenades and used the last wisp of unseelie energy from the darkened sun to give them a single, irresistible command: SMASH THE FAETRIARCHY!

What did the leader see in the scrying pond?