"Goblin Sorcerery? That's bullcrap. A Goblin couldn't enchant the backside of a sick goat to- Well, you get what I'm saying."
"I pick your fleas, you pick mine. Well, that would be if either of us had fleas. Haha, right?"
Most know the love that goblins have for mushrooms. Few know the lengths they will go to obtain their delicacy.
A slightly atypical stinking swamp festering with goblins
Sometimes the simple solutions are best..
To be sure, the Dirdums are fair teeming with goblins.
Captain Wandern, ship’s log.
An outcaste goblin with a sadistic streak and a secret talent
Squinzerephtoritzpik, aka Squints, is a simple small time scumbag informant who happens to be from a tribe of goblins with a unique body modification tradition…
Stonedeath is a goblin assassin, but much more than that. His new form allows him to scale walls, fight with uncanny agility, and above all that; he has a hatred for adventurers.
Even the boldest quake with fear of the Kobelyn Cavalry of Terkuss Tahkhan! Especially if they’re on the same side!
This stuff will make you a sexual Red-Frilled Blood Dragon.
Jesk, Orcish gladiator
How empty are their bellies that already so much man and horse flesh cannot fill them?
Excerpt from the Lex Predatoris
He may be a small green goblin but donÃ¢t tell him that or he might show you otherwise.
Nestled among the smaller and less noticed store fronts, hidden among the sundry vendors, and purveyors of beads, cheap jewelry, and meat-on-a-stick products in a small building that smells strongly of hot linen, cotton, soap…and goblin.
An escaped goblin who only wants to live his life to help others. Yet humans and other more advanced races push him down and chase him off.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.