Goblins: Clatter, Chaos, and Clever Little Lies
Small, sharp, and wild as the woods they haunt, goblins are creatures of instinct, mischief, and endless curiosity. They build their homes in twisted roots and mossy hollows, gathering odd bits of nature, shiny stones, and stories no one remembers. Skittish one moment, bold the next, they thrive in the chaos between caution and chaos.
They barter in riddles, vanish when cornered, and laugh at those who try to understand them. Outsiders call them pests. The wise know better. Goblins survive where others stumble—darting through shadows, whispering with trees, and slipping through cracks no one else can see. They are forest-born, feral-smart, and never where you left them.
Tinka zipped up the tree trunk like a squirrel on espresso, then popped her head down from a branch directly above you.
"HAH! Did I scare you?" She blinked. "No? Hmph. I’ll try again later."
She dropped into your hood like it was a hammock. "Ooooh! Is this velvet? I love velvet! Or is it blood? Ooooh I love blood-velvet!" She giggled, kicking her tiny feet.
"Which way did we come from?" The words are hushed, but the silence that follows is heavier than it should be. "It should be right here." The path is gone. Vanished. The trees stand where none stood before, their branches twisting overhead, blocking what little light remains.
He popped up behind the crates like a jack-in-the-box made of knives and nightmares. "Did you hear it?" he whispered, eyes wide. "The whispering in the bottles? No?" He laughed once, sharp and high. "Then you’re not listening right." He licked his finger, held it to the air. "Yup. Trouble’s coming. Tastes like teeth."
Loud, clever, and likely up to something—usually involving mushrooms.
