Goblins die.

Goblins, also live, eat, shit, fuck and die.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, goblins die.

Troup’s death was different and Brendon knew it. He had spent the night retracing the reports from the murder. Things were not adding up.

The clerical report detailed the broken ribcage which puntured the poor goblin’s lungs, later determined to be the cause of death. However the alchemist’s findings located minute traces of Ser Poison, a substance known for its rapid effects and for its high gold value.

Brendon sat back from his desk. He began to reshuffle the docemnts before him, when a smaller sheet that he hadn’t noticed fell out.

It was a small shorthand note written in Goblin, Brendan could barely make out what it said but he could piece enough to know what it’s about.

“Leave now….they caught me. I am going to die. -Troup.

Brendon signed.