"Pissing humans," muttered Gukb as he lashed his teeth at hardened bread. "Always be throwin' out tha' good stuff." 

It was a fine day for rooting through unwanted waste, and the goblin descended on Estermere's rubbish mounds with hopeful ambition. He enjoyed humans for their quiet disregard for cleanliness; he'd of never found this kind of stuff on the streets of an Elven settlement, that's for sure. 

"An' wa's this?" he said gleefully, reaching into a bundle of soiled rags and pulling out a half drunken bottle of Alwyr Red. "Aha!" 

Without a moment of hesitation, the downtrodden footpad had torn off the mouldy cork and was excitedly guzzling the sour liquid. Within seconds, the bottle was empty, and he chucked it aside with a slight fire stirring in his tummy. 

"Oi, you there," called a gruff voice, muddled with alochol. 

Gukb looked up, and noticed he was not alone in scavenging waste. A human, most likely homeless and down on his luck, was staring at him menacingly. The goblin noted that the man was dressed in shit-stained trousers, and wore no shirt - but that his chest hair was matted with something unwholesome. 

"Gimme that bottle," the man yelled.

"Shut up, ya big prick," sneered Gukb. "Ya be alertin' the guard, like." The man stumbled forwards, and Gukb hefted his crossbow. "Back away now, 'fore widowmaker makes a ... er, a widow- ah nevamind, just back off." 

Realising he'd picked on the wrong cretin, the shambles of a human turned and ran, catching his leg on the corpse of some stray animal and falling over into a pool of muck. Gukb grimaced, half in pity, half in disgust. 

Concerned that the ruffian may have been heading to raise the alarm - or gather his friends - Gukb decided it wise to sneak away, and so he ducked into a dismal alleyway. More litter greeted him, and though he wished to sift through it, he decided that the stale bread and the alcohol pulsing through his veins would suffice as a 'good day'. You could never push your luck, leading the kind of life that he led; a stale loaf of bread too far would get you a tummy full of rusted iron. 

Staying on the streets as he had been doing was not wise; though the town guard were busy dealing with the town's day to day running of the central square, they were still potentially at large. Further still, if one of the less progressive inhabitants spotted him, then he'd be willing to bet his meagre ten copper pieces on them raising the alarm. He chuckled to himself as he imagined the exchange:

[i]"Guards, guards!"

"What is it, milady?"

"There's a goblin shittin' in my lav."

"A goblin shittin' in your lav? All things holy! To arms!" 

Bells across the town ringing, as the town watch mustered in their hundreds to track down the formidable toilet bandit.[/i]

"Ya, no thanks," he muttered. "Best be findin' me a place to stay low, so's I can stake out the place. 'Member Gukby old boy, every goblin needs iz castle!"