Alissa joined her brother, maternal instincts taking over. "Your master died?"
"Master Cornelius... good to Grix." The goblin wiped its nose with a dirty sleeve. "Give Grix food, a warm place to sleep. Now Master is gone, and Grix has nowhere."
Is that a domestic goblin? Of course, this world has domestic goblins.
Noah cracked the door open slightly, still wary. "How long have you been in this alleyway?"
"Three days," Grix sniffled. "Looking for a new home. But nobody wants Grix. I have no food, except for a chicken from three days ago."
The creature's story unfolded in halting sentences. Cornelius had been an elderly alchemist who'd bought Grix from goblin raiders twenty years ago. Too old to fight, too small to be useful in traditional ways, Grix had become a laboratory assistant instead.
Twenty years of domestication. No wonder it seems harmless. Although it looked so scary trying to go after that chicken a few days ago.
