"Ug" Burg chortles, his high-pitched voice cutting through the swampy air like a mischievous melody. The diminutive goblin moves swiftly through the ramshackle town, his keen eyes darting around as he enters the tattered tent. The scent of rotting wood and wet moss doesn't seem to bother him; instead, he seems invigorated by the peculiar atmosphere. It was not too different, in fact, from his homelands of the Lur swamps, where rot and life existed in an eternal cycle.
The old hag's words catch him off guard, and Burg grins mischievously. "Expecting me, huh?" He hops onto the cushion, barely making a dent. "Well, well, word travels fast in these parts, doesn't it? But enough about me, how 'bout we cut to the chase and share some tales over a good mug of ale? Goblins love a good story almost as much as a shiny trinket." And thus, departed from the swamps of his youth, Burg took his first steps towards eventual notoriety in Aevos, each and every movement bursting with ambition and excitement.
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