Years ago, when the goblin was but young, he met a rather rude lady. But you know rude is really just the wrong word. More like hostile. The rogue liked her right away. She had more in common with him than that bald guy, or the crazy elf druid, or even that Talos worshipper (you know the one with the primitive dog). Or even that rather evolved guy, what with his magical blasts that he shouldn’t have normally been able to toss. Right away the rogue knew the wizard was special. Heck she could follow along a good lie, picked up off the fly and to boot do so without any precaution, notice, or other before hand hornswaggling.
Now extremely old, a being unique amongst his kind, the goblin sat looking at a tome. Was her name Anyan? Peelp thought so, but rightly was having trouble, her death being some 40 years ago. Looking at the spells written there, unable to understand them, he missed his old friend. Worse yet the pain of her death still troubled him, for deep down he blamed himself for the tragedy.
When Peelp was young he had many problems. For one he was nearly always starving. Coupled with that he was always running from trouble, typically stuff he started. He always believed that he could convince some of the pink skins that his kind was not all the evil race that they were cracked up to be. This dream nearly was the end of Peelp when it became his overwhelming desire to prove that peaceful goblins, orcs, and orges existed. As his goal to prove his point of view became an obsession he began to hate his kind little by little. The day Anyan died was like so many others. Peelp simply lost patience and assumed the worse. Why didn’t that dam ogre speak up or get lost! Why did he fire on the orge with so little provocation?
Anyan was a good friend, she fired an ice spell soon after Peelp nearly missed the brute with a crossbow, killing the orge instantly. But the man-beast had friends and they intern rushed the mage and killed her.
Though frail, sick, and bent nearly double the goblin’s intellect was as sharp as ever, even more was his desire for adventure. He knew what had to be done, and just how to do it. It was a shame he handed thought of it earlier.
Nearly three weeks later Peelp clamored over the rim of the Great Glacier. Teeth clacking madly in his constant shivering he began to dig. On and on he went, the work doing nothing to stave off the numbing cold. With a respectable depth attained he laid the book in the freshly dug grave. Wrapped in sky blue silk and celestial white fox fur a brief prayer to the gods of the frozen lands escaped his thin blue lips, and with is last bit of strength managed to bury the spellbook. There upon the fitting grave sight for Anyan Ice Queen of the North, Peelp took his last breath and was concerned no longer.