The PATHFINDER: FUMBUS! Kickstarter campaign, featuring Pathfinder’s iconic goblin alchemist in his first comic book adventure, has been fully funded! The current stretch goal is the Fumbus Rookie Trading Card—a limited-edition collectible! The campaign ends Tuesday, May 18, 2021 at 6:00 p.m. PDT.

The new Pathfinder comic book special is written by veteran scribe and gamer Fred Van Lente (Marvel Zombies) and illustrated by Tom Garcia (Hellraiser). The tale introduces Fumbus to comics with a 40-page adventure full of diabolical danger! And like any good Tome of Delights, it comes with three cover variants to add to your treasure horde: the Main Cover, the Fumbus Character Sheet Cover, and the delightfully retro Glow In the Dark Cover!

Within you will find brand new official Pathfinder gaming content for your alchemist and goblin characters. We have conjured up six pages of playable content* for your Pathfinder Second Edition campaign! In these pages you'll find:

• New alchemical and magic items
• Rules for making traps out of alchemical items
• A 1st-level Fumbus character sheet
• A “Meet the Iconics: Fumbus” article describing the alchemist’s past

*Character options included in this product were produced by Paizo for a licensed partner and are pre-approved for use with the Pathfinder Society Organized Play program.

Go to the Kickstarter to learn more about the special cover, dice, reference cards, limited edition Seoni statues, and other Pathfinder comics available to those who pledge.

But before you go, enjoy this guest blog from Dynamite’s James Kuhoric!

---

Anyone that has played Pathfinder loves goblins. You may not admit it. But you do. Deep down, you want to be a goblin too. That’s why I am looking forward to the new Pathfinder Fumbus comic book that’s currently on Kickstarter. We need more goblins and this special book thrusts Fumbus to the forefront and gives us new playable goblin and alchemist material for our Pathfinder campaigns. We be greedy… we want that comic! Sorry… I’m sounding a little Smeagol-like there.

If my name looks familiar it may be that you’ve read some of my comics. I’ve written for all kinds of books over the years: Army of Darkness, The Six Million Dollar Man, Stargate SG-1, Hatchet, and Freddy vs Jason vs Ash (an Evil Dead, Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th mash-up). Horror and sci-fi are my jam, but I do love a good fantasy tale. I have collected all the Pathfinder and D&D comics that have been published and really enjoyed seeing the adventures that normally playout in my head illustrated by incredible artists. There’s just something really special about seeing other peoples’ visions for these iconic characters come to life in comics.

I’ve played RPGs for decades, and yet in all that time there have only been two characters that really made an impact and have lasted with me all the years. One was a human orphan raised by dwarves. The character started out as a PC in what was supposed to be just a one-off Pathfinder game; really just a throw-away adventure for us to have some fun with. But he stuck. Yes, the character was created with comedic intent; I wrote him as a 6’ 6” beast of a human that thought he was a dwarf. He talked like a dwarf, dressed like a dwarf, and even served as a cleric of a dwarven deity. And there were some fun moments playing off other dwarf PCs and NPCs that remained incredulous to his behavior. But he became something far more than just an easy comedic setup for the group to play off of. That character had the heart of a dwarf and went on to do incredible things. That’s why we game after all, isn’t it? To have the chance to rise up from obscurity, become a hero we see inside, and embrace the path of glory. Well, that and bust some monster heads. But what can I say? I told you he was a dwarf at heart.

So, if you want to see the rise of Fumbus, head on over to the Kickstarter page and check it out. And thanks for letting an old comics-nerd share his love of gaming, comics, and horror movies with you.

Pledge today!

Is there a more elegant way to title this post? Probably, but this is the most direct.

Hey there, my name is Fred Van Lente, and I’m thrilled to join the Paizo community by writing the Pathfinder: Fumbus one-shot comic book currently (or about to be) Kickstarted. I’m best known for writing comics like Amazing Spider-Man, Marvel Zombies, Archer & Armstrong, Cowboys & Aliens, Action Philosophers (currently in a Kickstarter for a color version itself), but my very first published book was an RPG supplement for Call of Cthulhu, The New Orleans Guidebook, so it’s been very cool to come back to my roleplaying roots.

I am a pretty avid TTRPGer myself. I’ve got a monthly game I run and I’m in a weekly group where we rotate the games and gamemastering duties. (Both currently Zoom-based, alas.) Pathfinder is one of the systems I’ve most enjoyed playing; in this photo I am with Rhys, my sea elf druid who made it to 7th level in the Skulls & Shackles campaign. This watercolor I’m holding was painted by my fellow player and accomplished cartoonist, Alex Cox. Hey Paizo, you ever need another iconic druid, I submit this handsome lad for your approval.

We also ran We Be Goblins! in my weekly group (I was Chuffy Lickwound, whose face might make you sick, but whose knife is awful quick) so it was cool to bring to life Fumbus, everyone’s favorite goblin alchemist, in a new adventure that is the next installment of the long-running Pathfinder comics series—but you don’t need to be familiar with the previous adventures of Seoni, Merisiel, Valeros and friends to enjoy this one. And in addition to the graphic novella itself, there’s a lot of neat new playable goodies* in the back of the book for all your goblin alchemy needs.

So, if that sounds like something you’d be into, head over to the Kickstarter campaign and pledge! And once again, happy to be here—thanks for having me.

*Character options in Pathfinder: Fumbus were made by Paizo and are pre-approved for use with the Pathfinder Society Organized Play program!

Learn more!

Propped on his black toenails, Fumbus craned to see the bearings on the pretty brass compass. He swiveled an expectant grin back and forth between the wizard and the wayfinder, not sure which face was harder to read. Colder still was the reinforced door before them...though not for long. The fuse on the goblin’s bomb was hissing shorter, apparently outside Ezren’s notice.

“Through here?” Fumbus hoped.

Ezren opened his mouth to answer—too late. The fuse’s hissing was sucked into that exciting split-second silence before detonation. Then the bomb and Fumbus’s eyes blossomed red all at once. A concussive ripple showered the companions in sparks and shards. The door had blown ajar, the iron frame bent and peeled widest at the goblin’s height. Ezren would have to squeeze.

The wizard shook the soot out of his white hair. “I suspect so,” he coughed.

“Suspect?”

“The previous inscription led here,” Ezren admitted, ducking sideways through Fumbus’s opening. “But I hoped it wasn’t the last.” He ignited a torch mounted inside the door and looked around. “Oh,” he sighed, letting his staff and compass droop.

The door had been reinforced for good reason. It guarded a haphazard treasury, its golden texture illuminated in piles spread under the torchlight. Half-hazard, more like—the reflective glow made up only the left side of the chamber. Nesting comfortably in its midst was a chest larger than Fumbus, who thought it odd that so many coins lay outside the container. It was as if it had burst its seams. An impressive find to be sure, but the long-faced longshanks looked hungry for something else.

“Mushrooms?” Fumbus offered helpfully. He’d collected them for their brewing potential, but they made a swell snack in the meantime.

Ezren only arched an eyebrow at the blue fungi in the goblin’s outstretched palm.

“Isn’t brain mold after all,” Fumbus reassured him. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Never mind,” the wizard said. “It seems we’ve traced the writing to its underwhelming and predictable conclusion.”

“Drawings,” Fumbus reminded him for the tenth time.

“Er, yes.” Ezren pointed at the cords of tokens around Fumbus’s neck. “Like those, I suppose?”

The little alchemist patted the tokens, each scratched with runes to depict his formulas. Their satisfying clicks were music to his ears. Ezren had tried persuading him that symbolic pictures and “writing” were the same thing, but the goblin knew better. “Exactly,” he said, and swallowed more mushrooms.

He noticed then that he was stuck. Slime stretched between his foot and the flagstones. He wasn’t sure if it was reagent residue from his bomb or drool dripped while he snacked.

Ezren had begun pacing in the meantime, ignoring all distractions any shorter than the wayfinder open in his hand. He let it lead, thinking out loud, “The inscriptions disappeared with each reading. Ending here? Yet there’s no…affirmation.” He paused, stepping back to take in the whole chamber.

“Not mine after all,” the goblin muttered to the string of goo hanging from his fingernail.

“Fumbus, what does the light in this chamber remind you of?”

“Someone’s spit, though.”

“Fumbus?”

“Huh?” Fumbus followed Ezren’s back-and-forth gestures comparing the glowing side of the room to the shadowy side. “Oh. It’s like that face the Master of Spells prays to.”

“Indeed…” Ezren mused. He resumed his pacing, this time straight toward the shadowed half. “A striking duality. Perhaps a clue that all is not what it seems. Because, point of fact, the coordinates don’t end at that door, but—” His next step triggered a faint, metallic ring that echoed around the empty slot in his wayfinder. He froze as if afraid, thrilled in fact, and spoke an incantation. A familiar blue glow spread in response, illuminating an unseen ledge and the zigzag of stone steps leading up to it. The glow’s source was a new inscription, and even Fumbus marveled at how much larger and longer it was than the previous puzzles.

“Hmm…” the wizard purred proudly. “I can read the writing on the wall.”

“Drawings,” Fumbus corrected him.

Ezren gave no argument, already ascending the first landing on his way to the ledge. Fumbus had been fascinated to watch him decipher the other inscriptions, but the ritual had grown repetitive. He was suddenly less concerned with the meaning behind the magic and more interested in the mucus carpeting the chamber floor. It coated the gold coins like paste. When one yielded to his tugging, he became suspicious whether it really was a coin at all, but rather some kind of shed scale. He prepared to bite it to find out for sure, then stopped with his cheeks spread wide.

The chest was smiling at him.

He blinked and looked again. No, it had been his imagination. The golden trim around the lid followed a curved pattern, maybe even meant to resemble a sneering creature, but he was sure it was resemblance only. Pretty sure.

From the ledge, Ezren gave a triumphant shout. “A conjurer’s imprint! Of course. It’s the same inscription, traveling each time. Relocating...”

Fumbus now had his nose close to the mucus trail, sniffing and tracking it. Soon he stood knee-deep in sticky coins. The chest was even larger up close; he could almost see his reflection in its viscous sheen.

He yelped then, high-pitched and giddy, because the chest’s golden lips parted and a pink tongue lashed out. Long and twisted like a wet blanket, it snapped in the goblin’s face and sent him stumbling backward.

Not his imagination!

Illustration by Juan Miguel Lopez Barea from Pathfinder Lost Omens: Pathfinder Society Guide.

The chest shuffled toward him with eerie silence, as if it would maintain its camouflage. Without taking his eyes from the creature, Fumbus called to his companion. Ezren only hushed him back. This inscription was longer, more complex than the others, and he needed time to unravel it. Fumbus cursed the human’s unassailable focus.

The creature noticed it, too. It must have decided Ezren himself was extremely assailable as a result, because it changed course, crawling toward the stairs on at least eight tentacles.

Fumbus admired its cleverness. To disguise itself and then prey on the distracted wizard? Maybe it was more intelligent than he assumed. He knew from experience what a second chance could mean to a misunderstood monster. A possible future flashed before his goggles: shaking tentacles with the creature; taking it in; feeding it pickled whatevers; definitely requiring it to wear a bell; putting its sticky mucus to good alchemical use…

But now the creature slithered up the stairs, almost close enough to grab Ezren from behind. Fumbus downed an elixir, which tasted like that feeling when your foot falls asleep, and leaped over the creature onto the second landing. It reached for him and he pelted it with bombs almost faster than he could light them. Each stuck first and exploded second, like orange geysers erupting on the creature’s hide. But tongue and tentacles kept whipping.

“Drawings…” Ezren muttered up on his ledge.

The creature turned toward the unsuspecting wizard again, craning like an actual chest on stilts.

In a panic, Fumbus prepared something different, injecting a spongy pellet with a rolling chemical mixture. The sponge instantly swelled four times larger and hardened in reaction, now a brittle shell filled with something hot and hungry. Even so, the goblin risked a delay and even an accidental discharge: He hid the ball behind his back and whistled at the creature, hoping it would take the bait.

It did. Mouth open wide to expose not treasure or goodies, but rows of jagged teeth, it flicked its tongue and stretched its pseudopods at Fumbus...who moved. Like a toad with a fly, the creature snatched Fumbus’s bomb from midair and stowed it in its chest-mouth. First the split-second silence; then it stretched wide with a muffled pop. Its tentacles shuddered. Its tongue spilled out like steaming entrails, shriveled and white with acidic burns. Its body oozed off the stones and down the stairs.

Fumbus sucked his teeth mournfully. “Not so smart, I guess.”

“Oh, that seems a bit harsh,” Ezren said, turning away from the wall at last. “Though I do owe you my thanks.”

The goblin shrugged and fiddled with his dogslicer, both pleased and embarrassed.

The wizard’s wrinkled scowl softened into a smile and he pointed. “Drawings.”

Fumbus clutched his formula tokens. “Huh?”

“Drawings! You were right after all. The inscription isn’t an affirmation or command, but a combination lock. Read the runes wrong and they relocate, growing longer. But shuffle them correctly and…”

One by one he touched his staff to the magically bright symbols, but in a seemingly random order. Each glowed brighter as he did, until the entire inscription had been activated. It shifted then, rearranging in the order Ezren designated. The arched pattern swirled and bled together until the runes were gone, merged into a single shape: a yawning portal. A milky film of magic disguised where it led, but Fumbus had a feeling it wasn’t to the other side of the wall.

That metallic ring echoed off Ezren’s wayfinder again. He studied it, nodded resolutely, and clapped it shut. “Right. On we go! But maybe less noise on the other side, eh, Fumbus? Never know what creatures might be lurking.”

The goblin opened his mouth to reply...and filled it with blue mushrooms instead.

About the Author

Andrew Bud Adams learned to dungeon crawl before he learned to walk. Today, he plays in far too many game campaigns, including two run by his own kids. A fan of literary retellings, his work has appeared in short story anthologies and in the Malifaux universe by Wyrd Miniatures. When not spotting mimics or teaching college writing, he can be found on Twitter at @andrewbudadams.

About Iconic Encounters

Iconic Encounters is a series of web-based flash fiction set in the worlds of Pathfinder and Starfinder. Each short story provides a glimpse into the life and personality of one of the games’ iconic characters, showing the myriad stories of adventure and excitement players can tell with the Pathfinder and Starfinder roleplaying games.

Pathfinder fans haven't had as much time to get to know the iconic goblin alchemist, Fumbus, as they have our other iconic characters, but that doesn't mean he isn't up to the same shenanigans as the rest of the crew. He might be new to the mix, but he's far from free of high-stakes adventure. We had initially not planned on doing an Iconic Encounter for Fumbus, as he didn't have an Iconic Evolution video to accompany his story, but after the rest of the series was so well received by the community, we decided to complete the set with a piece for all twelve iconics, not just those carrying over from first edition. While this is the last Iconic Encounter for now, we've loved putting them together, and the door's always open for more of them in the future. In the meantime, enjoy this piece of flash fiction from James L. Sutter showing the sorts of stories you can tell with Pathfinder Second Edition, available August 1!

Illustration by Federico Musetti

Maybe it was the way they were holding him—upside down with a knife to his throat—but Fumbus was starting to get the impression that the wererats didn't want any pickles.

It didn't make any sense. Fumbus was usually pretty good with rats. At first, they'd scratch and bite, like all wild, furry things, but typically all you had to do was give them a bit of food and convince them you weren't going to eat them, and pretty soon they'd calm right down.

At which point you would eat them—because they were rats. But they didn't need to know that.

These rats, however, hadn't even listened to Fumbus's offer of a handful of his best pickled grubs. Maybe it was because they were only rats when the moon was full. The rest of the time, they were humans, and who could say why humans did anything?

It had all started innocently enough. Fumbus had been making his monthly infiltration of the docks, looking for information about Droven—a necessary bit of sneakery, ever since the harbormaster had banned him from the docks. He normally wouldn't have spent much time searching the wererats' ship, as it was too small to have taken Droven to the far-off lands Fumbus imagined the Pathfinder must have left for. But they'd been loading barrels full of salt pork, and everyone knew salt pork was just pig-pickles. Fumbus hadn't been able to resist stealing a taste.

When he'd popped the lid, however, there'd been no delicious strips of salty pig, only a fine, dusty powder. Fumbus had leaned in to give it a sniff, and nearly lost his grip on the side of the barrel as the suddenly overpowering scents of bitterbark and redroot stabbed him in the brain. He'd swayed, the world going dark and tingly, and then both he and the barrel had been falling sideways.

When his head eventually cleared, the world was still the wrong way around, thanks to the wererat holding him up by his feet. They were inside the wererats' ship, the sailors all growing long snouts and fur as they tore through Fumbus's pack, yelling about the Harbor Guard and rival gangs and something called "grit." He'd tried to make his pickle offer, but the one holding his legs had cuffed him so hard he almost passed out again.

Now the captain threw down his pack and whirled on him, long incisors gleaming yellow in the lantern light. He was a big rat, wearing an unnecessarily large number of knives, and leaned in so close that Fumbus could smell the wine on his breath.

"Who are you working for?" he demanded. "Who sent you to spy on our operation?"

"No one!" Fumbus shook his head hard enough that he almost lost his goggles. "No one sent me!"

"I don't believe you." The captain reached down into Fumbus's pack and pulled out a sealed glass vial. He held it up, the claws of his free hand digging into Fumbus's cheeks as he yanked the goblin's head around to face the potion. "If you're not working for anyone, who gave you these?"

Fumbus squirmed, but there was no escaping the wererat's grip. "Nobody! I made them!"

That drew a surprised laugh from everyone present. The captain gave a wide, grotesque grin.

"You made these." His tone said everything. "A goblin alchemist."

"It's true!" From his inverted position, Fumbus glared up at all of them. "I know things—secret things! I brew magic!"

The captain leaned back and crossed his arms. "If you're an alchemist," he drawled, holding up the vial, "then what does this one do?"

Fumbus stared for a moment, then answered truthfully. "It makes light. Lots of it. But you have to shake it."

"Really?" One eyebrow quirked upward. The wererat pursed his lips thoughtfully, then gave the vial a hard shake.

Fumbus hadn't been lying—that mixture really did make light. And heat. And a delicious, smoky smell as both potion and captain exploded into flames.

The wererat holding Fumbus's feet jumped backward, releasing his grip. Fumbus hit the deck and rolled, coming up with his pack before the flames could set off any more of his concoctions—or worse, boil his pickles.

In an eyeblink, he was up the ladder to the main deck. Sailors shouted and scrambled after him, but he dug into his pouches as he ran, coming up with a half-prepared starter bottle and a handful of ingredients. With a practiced motion, he jammed the reagents into the bottle, judging the right proportions by feel and smell, and lobbed it into an open hatch.

Fire bloomed beneath the foredeck, drawing screams from those trapped below.

It wasn't quite enough, though. While several sailors raced to douse the flames, others pursued him down the gangplank, through the maze of crates waiting to be loaded.

He considered throwing another fire flask, but already the dock's fire bells were tolling. He'd come to like living in Absalom and didn't really want to burn down the entire harbor. At least not before Droven came back.

He needed something different. As he ran, he yanked bottles and pots from his pack, flicking open the stoppers to taste each one, trying to find what he needed. Acrid meant guano, which was a fine base, but the tangy toadstool juice wouldn't do at all...

Behind him, filthy claws scraped against Fumbus's pickle-barrel pack as the lead rat lunged, just barely missing flesh.

In desperation, Fumbus upended another flask into his mouth. Its contents fizzed and frothed across his tongue.

Perfect! Ducking around an assembly of loading carts, he withdrew another of his starter bombs, spitting in just the right amount of bubbling liquid. With a flick of his flint, he lit the fuse—

And held it. Here on the docks, everything was too open. But if he could just find the right spot...

There—a gate in the seawall, opening onto a crowded promenade where formerly carousing sailors now gawked at the flames or raced to save their ships. Fumbus zagged toward it, skidding past a shocked guard, and tossed the flask backward over his shoulder.

It exploded in a thick cloud of roiling smoke, engulfing the pursuing rats. In that moment of blindness, Fumbus ducked between the legs of passing longshanks, disappearing into the crowd.

He kept running for two more blocks, making sure no rats had followed, then turned uphill, clambering up a rain barrel and onto the roof of a sagging tavern. From a perch near the chimney, he looked out at the docks, where flames now rose from half a dozen ships.

Fumbus sighed. Now the harbormaster would really never help him find Droven. He'd probably have to avoid the whole district for weeks, at least. And it wasn't even his fault! He didn't mean for everything to end in fire. It was just something that sometimes happened—like lightning storms or burglary. There was nothing to be done about it.

But he had to admit, it was kind of pretty.

Leaning back against the chimney, he rested his head against cold bricks and watched the flames curl skyward.

That concludes this series of Iconic Encounters. For more short fiction set in the world of Pathfinder, check back next week for the first in our Tales of Lost Omens series, detailing the sorts of adventures you can set in the Age of Lost Omens! Until then, Pathfinders, may your bombs only explode when and where you want them to.

Mark Moreland
Franchise Manager

Born in Isger's Chitterwood, Fumbus's early life was practically idyllic, at least by goblin standards. The Chitterwood has been largely left to the goblins since the end of the Goblinblood Wars nearly twenty years ago, its goblin inhabitants now free of the militant influence of their hobgoblin cousins, most of whom were eradicated or driven out of Isger at the closing of the war.

Fumbus had the honor of serving as apprentice to the Fire-Eater goblin clan's chief pickle-maker, a position which gave him a fair amount of standing amongst his kin. Unfortunately, Fumbus had a particular penchant for experimentation that led to spectacular failures as often as it led to new delicacies. When a particularly unstable batch of "spicy pickle brine" exploded in the middle of the Fire-Eater encampment, Fumbus fled the Chitterwood, fearing that the reprisal from his fellow goblins for destroying both the clan's precious pickle barrel and a significant supply of cucumbers would be swift and violent.

Illustration by Wayne Reynolds

Fumbus's initial forays into the wider world were truly terrifying. Scavenging from human farms usually ended poorly, as vicious dogs and horrifying horses would bite, chase, or stomp the poor goblin if they caught wind of his presence. The humans themselves were often even more terrifying, and Fumbus found himself fleeing pitchfork-wielding mobs with stolen, smelly shoes (easiest to find without a light and useful as either food or clothing) tucked under one arm far more often than he found a safe place to fill his belly and sleep. Fumbus's life likely would have ended at the hands of one of these mobs had he not encountered a passing half-orc Pathfinder named Droven whose initial reaction to the little goblin was humor, rather than fear or violence. Used to dealing with a certain amount of prejudice and distrust himself, Droven dissuaded the mob from pursuing their vendetta against the goblin and allowed Fumbus to accompany him on his mission.

Droven's heroics entranced young Fumbus, particularly the alchemical fire and other concoctions the half-orc used to defeat his opponents. When Droven completed his mission for the Pathfinder Society, he brought Fumbus back with him to Absalom. Droven helped secure a home for the little goblin in the Puddles district, where Fumbus's presence would be less likely to cause a stir, and shared what he knew of alchemy with the eager goblin. While Fumbus was terrified at the thought of needing to write down formulas, his mind was sharp and he quickly mastered the art of reading; to Fumbus, collecting these foolishly discarded thoughts was no different than surviving off the trash and scraps left on the outskirts of towns and cities. Fumbus came up with his own system for creating and remembering formulas using small tokens engraved with pictographic runes and a series of leather cords, which he would use to bind certain ingredients in specific orders. Together these implements allowed him to practice alchemy without risking his goblin soul or precious thoughts by performing the obscene act of writing anything down. Of further benefit to Fumbus, his new home's location in the Puddles allows the little goblin to experiment with all manner of inflammable and unstable concoctions with little fear of wreaking destruction beyond the building's water-logged rooms.

Droven offered to sponsor Fumbus into the Pathfinder Society, but the goblin was so impressed by Droven that he truly believed he would not be able to pass the Society's rigorous entry exams. Determined to prove himself, Fumbus busily applied his time and energy to creating new alchemical formulas and perfecting his system for recording his discoveries. As Fumbus's confidence grew, he began to believe that perhaps he might find a place in the Pathfinder Society after all. Skulking through the alleys of Absalom, Fumbus made his way to the Grand Lodge. Upon his arrival, Fumbus learned that Droven had left on a mission several weeks ago and was overdue to report in; his ship was believed lost at sea. Droven had left a letter of sponsorship as well as some funds to secure the goblin a chance to learn at the Society's institutions but Fumbus was unwilling to begin his training without the half-orc present.

Months have passed and Droven has still not returned. Fumbus spends his time perfecting his alchemy, seeking news of his lost friend, and looking for opportunities to ingratiate himself to the Pathfinder Society, despite multiple assurances from the Society's members and leadership that Fumbus's welcome was already secured by his half-orc friend. Something in Fumbus's mind refuses to let go of the idea that he must prove himself to be a worthy explorer of the same caliber as Droven, whose heroics and skill are unmatched in Fumbus's view. The little goblin has made a decision that he holds sacrosanct: he will earn his entrance to the Society by either finding his friend Droven and bringing the half-orc home, or by performing a truly heroic act worthy of the reputation Droven holds in Fumbus's own eyes.

Michael Sayre
Developer