"The goblin before you is short, even by goblin standards. He's old, too old to be living the life he does. Perhaps that means he's lucky? More likely the opposite. Like him, his equipment is old, seen many deployments and many more repairs. Cared for like the precious items they are, as they are not likely to be replaced. He looks tired, but resolute, clinging to life more out of instinct than any real desire. He sits in his corner, and it is his corner, has been for years according to those who have been here long enough. They are far and few in between, Muddy and his corner out living most. As such, Muddy is an oddity, more so because of how unremarkable he is. He's good at one thing, and one thing only. And it's the reason he's still here, just useful enough to keep around, not enough to mourn. You can tell by his expression he thinks it won't be long now. Not long until he walks out the gates, and that corner of his stays empty. But for now he's here, sighing and mending a cloak that has been frayed far too many times. His eyes meet yours, but he doesn't see you. Not really. You're just another body, like him. Another pawn, another stone to throw. He gives you a weak smile, like one would give an old dog, but you can't tell if it's for your sake or his own. He then turns back to his work, expecting to redoing it again sometime soon."

Muddy is a forty one year old goblin, being up there in age for his species. He is bald, though whether by choice or fate you can't tell as the hood over his head rarely gives you a proper look. His brand on his face has long since scarred, but it looks just a vicious as the day he got it. His gear is old and worn, its diligent maintenance bordering on love. His arrows are made of whatever material he can scavenge; Iron arrow head, knapped stones, pieces of scrap. He often goes unnoticed, using his small size to keep out of sight. He's soft spoken and jaded, but never rude, long since learning that respect keeps people alive more than luck and skill ever could. His age and lifestyle have taken a toll on his body, making him too weak for many of the tasks around the keep, and so he gets sent out as fodder more often.