Listen up, goblin mothers. I need to vent about feeding my picky, ungrateful brood.
I can cook. My fermented mushroom stew is famous. I roast a rat to perfection. I bake a passable mud pie. My cave is stocked with moldy cheese and pickled eyeballs.
Every night I call them to the dinner rock, and every night they turn up their noses. "What's that smell?" "This again?"
I've threatened extra chores. I've bribed them with trinkets. I've guilted them with stories of starving goblin orphans. Nothing.
They'll only eat things covered in slime, sprinkled with dirt or faintly glowing: rotten fruit bats, owl pellets, the occasional gnome who wanders too close.
I consulted the Oracle, who mumbled that picky eaters are a sign of impending doom. I tried bribing the local troll chef. I'm starting to suspect a curse, or a picky-eater demon.
So I'm done. They can feed themselves. I'm going to enjoy a quiet bowl of fermented toadstool soup.
If anyone has advice, or knows an exorcist who specializes in culinary demons, write to Griselda's Grimoire. Update: the brood ate my soup.
