Hobgoblin

The Hedge is a liminal space, the in-between realm where aspects of Arcadia and the mortal world coexist and bleed together. Hobgoblins, the denizens of the Hedge, are as numerous as the stars in the sky. They are strange and lovely and terrible, some born of the Hedge or twisted by it, others crafted by the True Fae and forgotten, discarded and left to fend for themselves among the brambles. Many were beings from the mundane world who made one too many fae deals, or found a way into the Hedge and became trapped there, the Thorns leeching away what they used to be and warping them into weirder, truer versions of their old selves.

Hobgoblins can be as tiny as a mote of dust or as vast as the sky. Many are innocuous tricksters, intrigued by the Lost that pass by their nests and wanting nothing more than to pluck a strand of hair to satisfy their curiosity. Others are predators, seeking out the satisfying crack of mortal bones between their hundreds of teeth.

It’s not always clear which is which.

Many hobgoblins carve out Hollows, pushing back the Thorns to make a safe haven and a home for themselves. These might look inviting to a weary traveler, but that is often precisely the point: Lure in the prey, ply them with sweets and songs until their lids grow heavy, then strike.