From Fair-eyes

The correct collective name for a group of Goblins is a ‘rabble’ and Anfad could quite see why. Disobedience wasn’t a problem. Suitably graphic threats were generally enough to ensure they did what you asked, provided you used short words and avoided metaphor. The problem was incompetence. A Goblin could find opportunities for blunder in even the simplest of tasks.

Take this Lockjaw fellow (if only someone would). Send him out to get food for the group and what does he come back with – a soggy hat full of what had probably once been only slightly over ripe blackberries and one fish-head.

Anfad opened his mouth to ask the inevitable question but then thought better of it. Goblins’ explanations had a tendency to be even more incomprehensible than whatever it was they were trying to explain.

In fact Lockjaw’s afternoon had started well enough. He was enormously proud to have been selected for the important job of collecting provisions for everyone and had set out full of optimism and enthusiasm.

After only a short while, he thought his luck was in when he met an old, and seemingly unarmed, elf with a couple of fish slung over his shoulder. Unfortunately…

Some people do not suffer fools gladly. Arbuthnot Troutsman was one of those who does not suffer them at all. In fact, in any encounter between Arbuthnot and fools it’s generally the fools who end up doing the suffering.

‘Been fishing then?’ sneered Lockjaw.

‘No. Shot ‘em out of a tree,’ replied Arbuthnot.

The sarcasm was lost on Lockjaw who, like most Goblins, took everything that was said to him literally. He was slightly surprised but prepared to believe trout could climb, such were the wonders of nature.

‘Troops need food.’

‘’spect they do.’

‘My job be to get food.’

‘You’d better go do a spot of fishing then.’

‘You give me fish.’

‘You give me the willies. Be off with you.’

‘OK, you asked for it!’ With that, Lockjaw drew his knife and launched himself towards Arbuthnot.

Now when you are the size of a Goblin, a full sized trout, expertly wielded, is a remarkably effective weapon. As it happened, it was only the fish which lost its head in the impact, but it was a close run thing. Lockjaw was sent flying head over heels down the small embankment which was next to the path.

He picked himself up and, for a brief moment, considered climbing the bank again to have another go at the mugging. He was dissuaded by a well aimed fish head right between the eyes.

Muttering curses under his breath he set about looking for another source of food. There were brambles in amongst the hedges. Maybe they wouldn’t fight back quite so fiercely - although even in this, it turned out he was being just a tad over optimistic.