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Spirits of the land
- original 'goblin' monster
Corrupted, squeezed out like a cyst
Plantations created by the elves, the hedge
- dreamscapes, land grows tangled, ruined, both in material and otherworld
The
gods of the land are overthrown. In many places, the tame gods of the
Church maintain a pastoral form of the natural order. But there are
dark tangles, stains showing through the whitewash, places of
divinity with no gods left to rule them.
God can die. The Church has proven that again and again. In ancient times, before the crusades and the pogroms, that fell afoul of some enemy or calamity would be reborn at the font of their power, either in old form or new. The gods were the land, as as long as the land prevailed, so would they.
The
Church changed that. They severed the ties between the gods and the
font of their power, and once dethroned they were whittled away and
cast aside. But the sacred locations remained. Where it was possible,
the resident god would be replaced by a custodian divinity loyal to
the Church. In other cases, the god was not slain, but chained- in
sigil, architecture, and dream. And some gods were too strong, or
some deaths too brutal, and they left a permanent scar on the land- a
bubbling wound.
From this wound emerge the goblins.
From this wound emerge the goblins.
Goblins
are a result of the land trying to reincarnate its avatar, in a world
where that reincarnation is rendered impossible. Rather than a
powerful, singular force, they are split. Small enough to fit through
the bars of a cell.
Forests, standing stones, sacred hills, people's dreams, emerging from the masses of filth in the sewers: Goblins are everywhere
Forests, standing stones, sacred hills, people's dreams, emerging from the masses of filth in the sewers: Goblins are everywhere
This
also helps explain why goblinism is so
contagious.
the Elvish Plantations
Wood
elves take advantage of this phenomenon to create 'hedges' around
their territories. Tangled lands bristling with thorns, a maze of
trees and rocks, and teeming with needle-toothed goblins, these are
an effective deterrent against incursion. True, goblins offend elvish
sensibilities of beauty to such an extreme degree that they
frequently murder any goblin who strays outside of the blighted areas
of forest set aside for them (elves refer to this as 'weeding'), but
wood elves tend to be more pragmatic than their high elf kin, and
besides the goblins have to pop up somewhere. Creating
the hedges ensures these revolting blemishes stay well out of sight
of the delicate sensibilities of the elves.
In other areas, untended by the elves, and only distantly monitored by the Church, goblin blights fester in the wilderness. Instead of well-bordered hedges, these are sprawling, crawling infections. Often at their centre can be found ruined temples, rings of stones- defiled sources of the divine wound. Something of the supernatural influence over the land lingers in all these goblin-woods, with paths that double back, and trees that seem to conspire and watch, and a creeping fear.
In other areas, untended by the elves, and only distantly monitored by the Church, goblin blights fester in the wilderness. Instead of well-bordered hedges, these are sprawling, crawling infections. Often at their centre can be found ruined temples, rings of stones- defiled sources of the divine wound. Something of the supernatural influence over the land lingers in all these goblin-woods, with paths that double back, and trees that seem to conspire and watch, and a creeping fear.
Gremlins
and Sewer-Goblins
The surfaces of cities are well-maintained by the Church, often with a temple of some kind in every district. Even the worst of slums has it's shrines, and medicant priests tending to the destitute. These institutions form an unbroken net of ward and faith. But in the under-city, the twisting magic of the goblin-force awaken strange paths. Culverts that once flowed clear become snarled. Passageways exist there that show the mark of the worker's hand, but appear nowhere in any worker's memory. The brick and mortar of the above-city becomes quick and strange, here in the depths. The infection, forced downwards, hollows out the rocks, extending impossibly far into the rock. The city becomes little more than a shell, like a rotten gourd which looks ripe and healthy until broken open, and the putrid guts come spilling out.
The surfaces of cities are well-maintained by the Church, often with a temple of some kind in every district. Even the worst of slums has it's shrines, and medicant priests tending to the destitute. These institutions form an unbroken net of ward and faith. But in the under-city, the twisting magic of the goblin-force awaken strange paths. Culverts that once flowed clear become snarled. Passageways exist there that show the mark of the worker's hand, but appear nowhere in any worker's memory. The brick and mortar of the above-city becomes quick and strange, here in the depths. The infection, forced downwards, hollows out the rocks, extending impossibly far into the rock. The city becomes little more than a shell, like a rotten gourd which looks ripe and healthy until broken open, and the putrid guts come spilling out.
The
sewer-goblins are the most revolting of their kin. Barely
distinguishable from a rotting corpse, so bloated with pestilence are
they. The cower in fear of the sun, but during the night creep out to
scrounge for scraps and find drunks and beggars to murder.
Machines and invention inspire a fever all their own, and another kind of goblin haunts the city. An endless trickle of scrawny goblins seek to throw themselves in the gears, to gnaw on the electrical cables, to deface the sacred geometries of the architecture by drowning themselves in a grey tomb of concrete
Machines and invention inspire a fever all their own, and another kind of goblin haunts the city. An endless trickle of scrawny goblins seek to throw themselves in the gears, to gnaw on the electrical cables, to deface the sacred geometries of the architecture by drowning themselves in a grey tomb of concrete
