Character - Pigmut

Character Name: Pigmut

Race: Goblin

Class: Rogue

Alignment: Neutral

Starting Statistics (Including Class Bonus)

Str: 13 Dex: 19 Con: 10 Int: 8 Cha: 12 Wis: 8

Lore

Pigmut's road in life would be vastly different from the other goblins born in his clutch, yet all were deposited into the same dirt pile in the black depths of a cavern deep in the Kregon Boglands. The cave had been raided by a rival goblin horde, and though the fight turned bloody with great losses to both parties, the forthcoming green-coloured forest goblins brought with them the force of more than one enslaved ogre. They would not be fended off, and they later left the cave victorious with armfuls of cave-goblin babes.

It was on the forest goblins' journey home, when navigating along a treacherous cliffside, that Pigmut would be spared the same fate of slavery and torture that awaited his brothers and sisters. A tussle broke out between two goblins. One pushed the other; the victim kicked the offender in the knee, who fell to the ground. The fallen righted himself and in a rage, with an egg-sac in hand, he charged to retaliate. He struck a glancing blow to his mark, who had swiftly tried to step aside, and both went toppling straight over the cliffside, hundreds of feet down to the rushing water below. As if showing a miniscule shred of decency, the goblin holding Pigmut turned before he hit the water and held the egg-sac up as high as he could. While the goblin was surely crushed in the shallow waters, the egg merely submerged, briefly, and then floated downriver, where it became lodged against a jam of branches in the cold water. A frigid death could have been his fate, but whatever governing force watched over him would not let it be so. He was three months along, the prime age for the emergence of his slimy little frame.

There in the glacial water, an infant goblin emerged through the top of the sac, cruelly introduced to the the world by a face full of running water. But with nothing else to do but climb, he used his tiny limbs instinctively and soon found himself sitting atop the branches, warming in the spring sun.

As holds true to goblins, he was born to match the water about him, and developed a skin almost opaque. Beneath it, the white goblin bones of his skeleton could be faintly made out.

In the time following, life for Pigmut did not always bring such good fortune. Alone in the wilderness, he ate berries and flower petals and grew thin. He had close calls with the many beasts of the lands, but thanks to his size and innate craftiness, he was not an easy meal for most. But the tables turned for him one day, when he watched and trailed a party of human hunters, seeing them kill prey with bows and catch fish with rods. Curiosity turned to jealousy, and he waited for nightfall before sneaking into camp and making off with one of their bows and a stocked quiver. Not to mention--for the first time in his miserable life—the taste of cooked meat in his mouth.

Still, he had no idea how goblins were meant to live, nor of war bands or rivalries. He was alone, and his only possible true brother or sister that wouldn't see him as an enemy was beyond his knowledge, probably dead after the fall.

Then one day, fate saw him come upon a battle in the woods—a horde of goblins had surrounded an odd-looking group. Encircled, they stood there and despite the threat about them appeared calm, even menacing. Dozens of goblins shouted and hooted and laughed with spears and clubs waving in the air. And there did Pigmut's instinct kick in. These goblins were green, and different, and not at all like him; these goblins were the enemy.

Rushing in with a fury of arrows and frantic slashing, the tiny, skeletal Pigmut showed the confused goblins the skills his lonesome life of hardship had taught him. And after the last of the greenies went scrambling up the hillside, only a tired Pigmut and the odd group of strangers remained. Pigmut had found his warband, albeit a peculiar one, and though he didn't know it at the time, these would be the people who would teach him to grow old without the typical morals and ideals of most goblins.

Upon thanking Pigmut for his aid and welcoming him, one of them pointed a finger at him and made the comment that his skin had no pigment.

“Pigmut!” the goblin echoed jubilantly, liking the word. “Pigmuuut!”