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Status: Dead
Guild: Warrior Mage
Race: Goblin
Gender: Male

You see War Shaman Krenze, a Goblin Pyromaniac.
Krenze has a round face with heavy jowls, pointed ears, piercing cat-slitted amber eyes and a wart-tipped nose. He is bald, with leathery skin and a scrawny build.
He is tiny for a goblin.
He is young for a goblin.
He is in good shape.

He is wearing an empty familiar leash, a blood red headdress of sculpted leather and bone, some colorful beaded earrings, a hooded journeyman's cloak made of dark hides and lined with black fur, some fine-linked chain armor set in the center with a circle of gems, a target shield, a moldy green bota with several bite-marks, a mammoth tusk warhorn engraved with a volley of arrows and some grey leather boots with folded black fur cuffs.


On 5/29/2023 the following was posted by GM Irenos in the official Discord server:

A field goblin, dead and clearly butchered by a hunter, lies on the ground outside of the west gates. Where the typical field goblin has patchwork armor, this goblin wears unfitting fine clothing that is mismatched and still carries price tags labeled "Brissom's." The goblin clutches a scroll case, with a single piece of parchment inside, along with three severed fingers. The parchment is splattered with multiple crimson stains and bears handwriting that wavers unexpectedly, as if the author had a tremor while writing.

This note is dictated on behalf of War Shaman Krenze.

Write exactly what I say. Exactly. With no changes. I, War Shaman Krenze, would love to meet. The people of -- what do you call it? Zuma-zura? Zura-ben? Wait. No. It's like a bird. Zola- Yeah. A bird name. Zolu-sparrow? That's it. Zolu-sparrow. Wait, what are you writing? Why are you writing everything I said? Do you like your fingers? You know what I mean, don't mess this up.

People of Zula's Sparrow:

I, War Shaman Krenze, would love to meet. Wait, it's not a sparrow, is it? That's right. What's that little one, kinda brown, with spots, sometimes with a white belly, sings songs with another bird like they think they're some kind of singer? Wren! That's it. Wait, WHY are you writing this? You've already lost one finger, do you want to lose another? Stop writing!

People of Zolu's Wren:

The esteemed War Shaman Krenze has heard your requests. He will allow you an opportunity to surrender to him. Wait, we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we? Wait. What do you mean it's Zoluren?! Don't correct me! We're going to have a talk about taking notes. Stop writing. That's it, that's two more fingers. Or -- maybe your daughter can help us write this.

The note stops. A single line of ink trails off of the page.

It continues, in a different handwriting, more careful, meticulous, and not wavering.

My Adoring Public:

You have requested time to meet with War Shaman Krenze to bask in his glory. The glorious War Shaman has considered this request, and will approach you with a place and time that you may show your appreciation of his wonder and majesty.

Thank you for your unwavering adoration. We will see you soon.