That afternoon, an adventurer kicked over his mushroom garden. Tyler didn't scream. He just smiled, showing three crooked teeth.
"Nobody appreciates a creative goblin," he muttered, sharpening a bent nail. goblin tyler
Then he rewired the adventurer's map to lead into a troll's privy. That afternoon, an adventurer kicked over his mushroom
His lair—a damp hollow under the root of a dead oak—was lined with stolen shoelaces, chewed quills, and one slightly cursed lute he couldn't play but refused to throw away. Every morning, he rearranged his "good pebbles" into angry faces. " he muttered