So many stories. Every single one, a dieing, war torn, Crime ridden kingdom in need of saving. A threat or calamity no one knows about and that one a certain peasant can battle or prevent.
Why are the bard so obsessed with plots and scenarios that everyone knows never, or will never, happen.
*Sigh* no, there is no place for the previously mentioned stories to take place in our world. For centuries our lands have been peaceful. Every youngster has a good life, some live as they always have, some because adventurers. Its a simple choice, sheer sheep all your life, or go and find treasure and thrill, although at the possibly cost of your life. The monstrous races are contained, many groups are our adventuring even now, keeping such creatures in check. ...But, what are those people from their point of view? Robbers? Murderers? Simple spoilsports? Meh, what human, or elf, dwarf, halfling, etc, thinks of such things? No one. Cause no one cares.
Well, here I have a story for you. Not of a would-be savior, or a world saving group of heroes. No, I tell you of a Goblin, Yes, a Goblin, that traveled away from his village. He lived, fought, and died beside friends some of the monstrous sort, as his kind are called, and even some like you and me, the common folk.
Would you care to listen?
