Far to the west of the settled Lands of Man, there are jagged peaks which stab at the sky as if to pierce the sun, and to make it bleed. At dawn, they break up Sol’s golden glow, and cast it down upon the earth in cascading red, as if they had succeeded. Perhaps that is why Man, and Dwarf, and even Elf call those mountains the same name in each of their tongues:
‘Bloodrise,’ they call them.
In ancient days, these mountains played host to one of the last of the great Dragon Kings—the tyrant lizards of old, who reigned as gods-on-earth over all others. Though his own blood was long wgo poured out upon into the hills and valleys below, his memory yet lives… And in recent days, there are fearful whisper, from Man, and Elf, and Dwarf, that an heir has arrived to reclaim the Dragon King’s throne.
‘There are monsters in the mountains,’ the tall tales tell.
But perhaps those tales are not so tall. Certainly, some of the monsters aren’t. At the base of the Bloodrise Mountains, outside the aegis of any so-called ‘Dragon King’, there ARE some monsters. In the half-repaired ruins of a burned-out humans settlement, there dwell a number of those least-loved and oft-overlooked of monsters: goblins. They are small creatures, with greenish skin and yellow eyes, mishappen teeth in oversized skulls, and wearing great pointed ears notched and nicked from hard living. Inept in magic, small of size, unpleasant of odour, and speaking a harsh and savage tongue, goblins are outcasts. They dwell in this place not because they want to, but because they MUST: the Race of Man will not accept them into their settlements in any great number, and even their goblinoid kin would eagerly enslave them, or worse.
And yet even among the Goblin, there are those who are considered unusual. Two such creatures currently share the largest home, in the place which Men call ‘Goblintown’, in the deep crimson shadows of the Bloodrise Mountains.
This is their story.
