Goblins

Goblins rule the world. Their meteoric rise from petty tricksters and deviant wee folk to the economic masters of Eem, came swiftly after the collapse of the Middle-Kingdoms and the dawning of the Dungeon Era. Their fastidious nature and cruel drive to lord over all those deemed “lesser deviants,” (namely boggarts, boggles, and wugs) filled the ravenous power vacuum, primarily in the Mucklands where the once great forests and woodlands laid ripe for mass lumbering. From lumbering came profit, profit bore investments, and investments sprung multi-county industrial mega outfits hellbent on tunneling a new world beneath the old one.

Characterized by long, sharp noses, and green to yellowish skin, they are, by all scientific accounts, boggarts. However, being the smallest subset, and of an extremely prideful temperament, Goblins despise such associations and maintain themselves to be of a superior breed.

Individually, Goblin children advance mentally and physically at a rapid rate. Ancient books of anthropology surmise that this is because Goblins are not expected to live for very long, usually being on the wrong end of an Ettin’s foot, or some such. But ever since the Dungeon Era began, Goblin life expectancy has sextupled, and cultural expectations have risen accordingly. If a Goblin toddler has not captured and subjugated a pixie slave, he or she is labelled a simpleton, and sent to work in corkscrew-saber factories. Additionally, offspring are encouraged to leave their parents’ hollows at the ripe old age of 11, and enter the workforce immediately. Following in the footsteps of one’s mother or father is generally frowned upon, as it’s more respectable to cast out and hatch one’s own ponzi scheme, or what have you.

As one would expect, a Goblin’s cruelty provides the perfect formula to excel in bureaucracy. Many sharp-toothed clerks would rather embalm their enemies in red tape and ink than draw their swords and fight. However, this does not necessarily make them cowards. On the contrary. Goblins with grudges bide their time, and they never forget. In fact, legend has it that long ago a Goblin wax collector’s fetid harvest was burgled by Trolls–and though the Trolls were bigger, badder, and smarter than the Goblin–some years later, each Troll vanished, never to be heard from again after answering a scam letter that promised a gnomish hot spring and delivered a Slarmeel tar pit.