Grofnarg The Goblin

Gather round, young goblin children, and let me impart to you the tale of the greatest goblin who ever lived: Grofnarg the goblin necromancer. Grofnarg was born and lived most of his life much as you do today; spending his days chained to the mine face in search of new metals for the Orcish war machine, and his nights eating grubworms, vandalising Orcish pay phones, and doing sweet flips onto his bed.  But he dreamed of bigger things, dreamed of the day he would no longer be forced to lick the Orcish bootheel.  And he watched and waited, always looking for his chance to escape from the mines, until at last his moment came. An Orcish black mage visited the mines, looking for goblins and mine-spirits to perform weird dark magicks on or something, and as he passed Grofnarg’s station, something fell from his pocket.  It was his magical wand, made from the shinbone of Halfgar the totally Badical, a great warrior of the frigid Northenlandr tribe who had only been defeated at the hands of the Orc King himself.  Grofnarg could not believe his luck; he seized the wand immediately and concealed it beneath his highly unfashionable mine-rags.  After all the other goblins were asleep, he took it out, found a secluded shaft, and began to experiment.

At first, he simply tried pointing it at the walls and shouting things, but all this produced was a few bouquets of Orc-Flowers, which are brown and smell like a troll with dysentery AND gingivitis. After a moment’s thought, he realized that the wand was made of bone, and so might have something to do with bones.  He grabbed a nearby rat skeleton and tapped it with the wand.  To Grofnarg’s delight, the skeleton began to move, following his every command.  He had to try his newfound gift out on bigger beasts! Grofnarg returned to the sleep caves, found a sleeping goblin that no one really liked very much because of his terrible taste in cave wall posters, and slit his throat.

He dragged the goblin carcass back to his hiding place and tapped it over the head with his wand. The goblin rose, his eyes glowing, and moaned in a terrible voice

“I am yours to command, Grofnarrrrgh.”

Grofnarg smiled, his gross goblin teeth pointing every which way.  At last, here was his chance for revenge.

Grofnarg’s reign as Necromancer-King of the mines lasted for about fourteen hours before he was deposed and de-headed by the Orc King, Grimbolg.  In that time, his legion of zombie goblins killed dozens of Orcs, hundreds of mountain goats, several goblins by accident or because Grofnarg didn’t like them much, and a passing elvish T-shirt vendor who was late for his stall at the music festival down the road. Grofnarg may have died an inglorious death, but his memory and his Elvish Presley T-shirt have always stayed with us as a symbol of goblin resistance to Orcish oppression.  And so, young goblins, keep this story close to your heart, and leave me alone for a while.  I’m trying to watch the Blood Bowl game.