You are a Goblin. The meat and potatoes of our funky family. The infantry of our freak army. My dear Goblin, many blessings upon you for creeping up from your cozy hole to watch us play and perform. Your greasy-clawed applause makes our magic flow. Without you we would be but lonely duds splayed and writhing upon the harsh soil. Your rewards will be handsome and modest but exciting. Ogle the list of treasures below, greedy Goblin:

Ahh, Gem Troll, the rarest of Troll. Not befouled with curious ooze like your lesser cousins. Not shriveled, raisin-like, with wrinkled waves of scaly flesh. The smooth rubbery skin of a fine sow or a dolphin drapes over your sturdy skeleton. And the startling aroma of warm milk and mulched sod hovers about you as the butterflies drink from your ears. Your nimble round fingers count gems in the shade of a cedar grove. Your mere presence makes us swoon, and for that we gift you greatly: