Borgmurch was born among the Ratskinners, one of the lesser goblin tribes living and fighting each other below the Calphiak Mountains in Varisia. Great Chief Ronk the Earmuncher the Eleventieth often told him and the other younglings about his great deeds of robbery and battle, when he used to sack human villages riding a giant worg named Bloodfang killing many men. Unfortunately, the other goblin tribes didn’t really know how fearsome chief Earmuncher was, and kept waging war to the Ratskinners.
Borgmurch didn’t quite like living in a constant state of war. It became pretty clear that Bloodfang, Chief Earmuncher’s worg, wasn’t coming back to defend them. His others brothers and sisters were slow and dim-witted. Not at all like Borgmurch, who could in a single afternoon hunt up to eight rats! (once he hunted ten, actually. But goblins only have eight fingers so his record remained eight).
The young goblin trapper decided to leave, moving south, and after a few stops along the way he ended up in Riddleport.
Not knowing much about life in an urban setting, Borgmurch started doing what he knew best: hunting rats. A large, wet and dirty city, Riddelport was crawling with the little pests, especially the Wharf District full of warehouses and grog dens. City rats had different tails, but they were fatter and tastier than their countryside counterparts.
It took only a few weeks for the local residents and businessmen to notice a much welcome decrease in the rat problem around the neighbor. A very naive tavern-owner asked the Gendarmes to thank Overlord Cromarcky for it, and they, baffled, investigated and found little Borgmurch happily feasting with a dozen of freshly captured rats. After an initial moment of suspicion, it was easy to allow him to stay as an exterminator. Such a mighty title very much appealed to Borgmurch when he heard one the Gendarmes referring to him as such!
The goblin enjoys his job and newfound sense of accomplishment. He is a gratified goblin and a successful businessman now, hunting rats into town and giant spiders and other pests (and stray dogs. They’re the worst!). He is the proud king of gutters, hidden corners and sewers in and around the Wharf.
Ah! Suck on that, Chief Earmuncher! Beware, pests, for here comes the Exterminator!
Borgmurch is as happy as a goblin can be. He now lives in a large suburban mansion (a wooden abandoned shack in the Wharf District), and in addition to the shiny coins, food and equipment that the clients pay him, he also gets to keep what the rats he hunts for his own meals! That is a great deal, if you ask him. Usually you have to give what you hunt to the ones paying you, but humans aren’t quite as smart as everyone thinks, they still have to figure out how economy works.
He sees most goblins still living in the nature as poor underachievers who the mighty Barghest-gods didn’t bless as they did to him. He does not despise them nor hates them, but most likely pities them and acts condescending. He believes himself to be a part of society on even ground with humans, something that sometimes gets disputed by a human not quite happy with the goblin’s manners.
When he heard of the Golden Goblin, he just had to see it. Could it be named after another successful and civilized goblin? Maybe he’ll find a friend, or a co-worker, or another employer.
So, instead of coppers, he asked his last client to be paid with a necktie. He donned his best-looking coonskin cap and is prepared to enter the high society and see the Golden Goblin.
