Molars
Legacy Name: Molars

A figure scuttles its way through the heart of a mountain. 

Their feet are a scrape against stone, their breath a hush of air. In the dark, they bustle along a winding tunnel, the sack over their shoulder jangling as they go.

Molars is a goblin on the hunt. 

She follows the rocky path to the other end of the mountain, her squat limbs grateful for its modest size, and squeezes her way into an small opening. Crawling through, her stomach nearly brushing the floor, she finally emerges into a broad cubbyhole.

Its floor is thatched with mud and sticks, its corners congested with bones and armor. 

In the center of the living space, something large and lumpy lets out another snore, filling the room with nasal thunder. The walls shake, just slightly, and the ratty blanket thrown over the opposite wall billows enough to reveal a hastily carved window. 

Without hesitating, the goblin beelines for the sleeping troll.

She's quieter now, if only a little, her movements directed around discarded food and stolen relics.

Up close, the sprawled body is twice as tall, the troll asleep on its side, and Molars stares up at the ravine of a shoulder, her ears flattened in annoyance. With a huff, she concentrates, her face scrunched, until at last the small wings on her back begin to twitch. Eyes cracking open, she repeats the movement, focusing until the twitches become a series of flaps.

Slowly, clumsily, she begins to rise.

Wings beating feverishly, the goblin bobs towards her goal, grunting in the effort to push herself through the rest of the climb. Nearly knocked back down by the breeze of an exhale, Molars teeters, grabbing on to a nostril, before finally managing to flop herself gracelessly onto a face.

Panting, she puts herself to rights, pleased to find her bag still intact.

She gives a triumphant chuff.

Beneath her, the sleeping troll releases another snore. 

Toppled over by the force of it, Molars tumbles chin-ward, chattering angrily as she catches herself just before a jawline. Pulling herself up, the goblin glares accusingly at the creature slumbering unaware and begins to make her way back towards a pock marked cheek.

Near its mouth, the air is rancid heat, filled with the scent of dead horse and sulfur.

Unperturbed by it, the goblin crawls down to the corner of lips, bracing herself to wiggle just below a nose.

She stretches, her balance once more threatened by an accidental flick of tail, and shoves her hand into a slimy mouth.

Impatiently, Molars roots around, leaning in to immerse herself to shoulder, and feels her way along gums. Clicking a reprimand when the troll snorts, she pats until she finds a sudden dip, pulpy and wet.

With a pleased chatter, the goblin pulls out her arm, slippery and foul.

The descent back to the ground is relatively easy, aided by the way her charge rolls over and all but flings her to the floor. Once there, the goblin scrambles in the dark, assured now that her prize is somewhere in the room.

Over old plates and dusty saddles, Molars ricochets, digging around, until she finally finds what she's looking for lodged in the tibia of a horse.

Crooning in delight, she shoves the loot into her sack, slinging both over her back, and takes off towards the small alcove that had before allowed her entry. 

Half way there, her stride stumbles, taking an abrupt turn as the goblin scurries back towards the sleeping troll. Scuffing what might be an apology, she reaches into her bag, fiddling with its contents, and drops something hard and small onto the ground near his face.

Almost fondly, she pats the side of a vibrating nose, and then, with the same bustling quiet that had seen her enter, disappears back into the dark. 



Dawn breaks gray and cool.

It creeps into the musty burrow of a mountainside, casting pale light over the sole occupant within.

He tries to ignore it, brows knit irritably, until the loud warble of the birds tell him in no uncertain terms that the day has begun and he has no choice but to greet it.

Yawning, the troll sits up with a bone-cracking stretch - though who's bones crack where he isn't sure.

In the bright morning, his face is young, dappled yet with adolescent mildew. He blinks groggily, waiting for sleep to recede, while his dinner from the night before gurgles in his stomach. When he reaches for a cup of forgotten swamp water, a small clink turns his attention to an object at his side.

The troll stares down at something old and porcelain.

He palms the device, his hand dwarfing it, and reaches out a finger to prod at a headless pony. It's suspended in a circle of three others, some with missing legs, others without tails. Curiously, he flicks the rusty key lodged into the base of the music box. Slowly, the carousel creaks to life, spitting out a reedy tune.

The boy watches as the ragged horses circle each other, their bodies only occasionally bobbing on their poles.

When they finish, his grin is large, punctuated by a gap where his front tooth should be, and happy.



A figure scuttles its way through yet another cave. 

This time, the stone is mossy, the space cluttered but cozy.

An amphibious bee, Molars zips around, scampering from one spot to another. 

Picking up a cup from a moldy table, she slurps the drink still inside it, and weaves between various patches of mushrooms. She fusses over spotted caps and spongy shelves, cooing to the fungi as she gently prods their gardens.

Over and across the dwelling, a treasure trove of odds and ends has formed. Broken bits of china and music box cogs, torn handkerchiefs and cracked baubles - she shuffles through them all, skirting about, and tucks a handful of clock parts into her bag as she goes. 

Making her way towards an alcove, lined to the ceiling with shelves and dressers stacked on top of each other, the goblin clambers over them, unafraid as wood creaks and hardware rattles. Within their spaces, teeth gleam in large jars and out from tea pots, filling jewelry boxes like gems, and pour from goblets onto shelves. 

Climbing determinedly through the mess, Molars reaches for a mason jar with a happy click. She places the troll incisor in with others of its kind, before replacing the canister back in its spot. Beside it, a tumbler of kraken teeth are pearly white, their shine a contrast to the stained yellow of the chimera set just below.

She pats their bottles and containers as she passes, greeting them with the same care she had her mushrooms.

A short while later, in a cubbyhole not far off, the tooth fairy finally settles in, all of her energy spent, and sleeps in wait for another night and another new find.



Species Summary

Teeth-goblin, as implied by their name, are creatures who collect monster teeth when they fall out.

They are very territorial over their wares and do not get along with others of their kind, if only because they constantly try to steal from each other. It should be noted that this behavior is owed more to their extreme love for the teeth than to any true ill-will of character – sometimes, they just can't help themselves.

Every goblin has their own preference when it comes to which type of teeth they favor - which is how Molars got her name - but will usually go for any enamel not screwed too tightly into a skull.

Carnassials are almost universally coveted.

At first glance, Molars herself may not seem too approachable - goblins are, after all, solitary by nature - but she can also be a gracious host when the occasion calls for it (presuming you don't mind beetles in your tea) and always tries her best to make sure each tooth is compensated for.

She can get a little moody when you mess with her collection, though, and is not above biting at fingers that get too friendly with her jars.

Teeth-goblin live in many different terrains and have many different sub-species to coincide.