Skinny workers chopped wood sloppily and weak hunters wasted more food than they produced. A redheaded woman wearing battle-scarred clothes was grinding her teeth and pulling her hair out, and her struggling village. She sat inside her dinky little stone tower in the outskirts of nowhere, pondering intensely about her next course of action. She had quit her bandit group. She didn't like the path the group was headed in, which was annihilation. She had left for her hometown to reclaim her birthright. The only problem being that upon returning, she found that everything was in squalor and on its last legs.

Out of frustration she opened up a metal flask and took a swift gulp of the contents within. But before she could take another, a sickly pale man knocked on the door to the keep. “Mayor Clara, we have a problem!” He was panicking.

She sighed and opened the door. “What is it? I’m trying to figure out how to pay for supplies.”

“There are goblins on the outskirts of town!” He cried.

Clara’s eyes widened. "Bloody goblins," she cursed in her mind. This was terrible news, the hamlet had no guards, no one trained to fight and the few ex-soldiers were old and crippled. Only she had any combat experience, but she was alone.

She bit her nails in frustration. “Where are they attacking?” She barked.

“N-no, they're just standing there! Waiting at the edge of town, one of them even spoke our language! He demanded to speak with the leader.” The man's face sagged with fear and his knees buckled.

Her head began to throb. "Monsters are now speaking!" She scoffed to herself. If this wasn't a sign of the end times, she did not what was. Had these low-level monsters come to her town to demand tribute? Well no matter, she would simply kill their leader on the spot and run away.

Clara stormed through the snow, heading to the edge of town, where she saw a group of around 10 goblins, standing together with information. They did not look like normal goblins, instead, their skin was bright yellow, and their eyes shone like gems. One of them was sitting on a Glimmer Goat! They were the same goblins that had attacked the bandit camp.

The one atop the goat looked down at her in a contemptuous gaze. She could instantly tell that it was not normal. It carried itself as if it was an aristocrat, or perhaps more accurately a wealthy merchant. Its hair was wavey and pitch black, and its gemlike eyes had a clear sign of intelligence.

The goblin spoke. “Are you the leader?” Its voice was stern and gravely.

She kept her hand gripped around the hilt of her blade. “Yes, I’m the Mayor of Woodwick," She replied with an unyielding gaze. "Never in my life, I expected to talk with a monster.” She laughed at herself internally.

The goblin’s face grew an odd smile. “I recognise your voice! You were one of those bandit goat herders!” It chuckled with its horrid voice.

Clara clenched the handle of her sword tightly, slightly drawing it sword from her scabbard, revealing a flawless and pristine blade. The goblins readied themselves similarly.

“Relax. There are no hard feelings between us. I can clearly see you’ve distanced yourself from them.” The goblin leader spoke calmly.

“How do you know?” Clara's eyebrow was raised. What the goblin said was true, but she wanted to know how he found out.

“Well. What kind of bandit would be the leader of a shabby place like this?”

Clara snorted in frustration. “Alright, tell me what you want, goblin,” she spoke that final word with venom.

“I wish to discreetly open a trading partnership between my tribe of Amber Skins, and your hamlet of Woodwick.” He declared.

She was taken aback. A trade negotiation? With goblins? The words of those priests were true, the world had indeed gone mad.

“Why would I ever trade with the likes of you.” She sneered.

“You have things I want, we have things you want. It is that simple. There is no need for vitriol between us.” He said dramatically. “After all, we are all living beings simply trying to survive the harsh winter.”

There was silence, she gazed upon with a completely neutral face. "Speaks like a noble too," she mocked to herself.

The goblin's gaze became sharper. “Look at your town, it's crumbling into pieces. Your people are so hungry they can't fix their houses. There are no animals, and no crops to feed them. And most importantly, you have no money,” he explained.

Her brow furrowed, he was right. But what could be done about it? The baron had enforced high taxes upon all of them and forced farmers to grow special crops for alchemy, none of which were edible.

“Now, there are things I want. I want mortar, I want seeds, I want to learn how to make iron, I want food for the goats. But you know what I do have? It’s money.”

He took out a small sack and opened it up, revealing a large number of silver coins. Clara’s mouth drooled a bit at the sight of the money. The goblin was correct, money could solve all their problems. Her posture had relaxed a bit, but her gaze remained sharp. If she killed this rich goblin right now, she could take all that money for herself, but she probably wouldn't survive the others. "Might as well go along with this lunacy," she sighed to herself.

“You want to make iron? So you can go out and attack innocent people?” She admonished him.

“That’s rich coming from a bandit.” He grinned. “If it makes you feel better, we can sign a non-aggression pact between us.”

She couldn’t think of any counterarguments. She had joined the bandit group as a way to rebel against the baron, who only cared for his own luxury and left his people to starve. At first, it started as attacking noble caravans, but it slowly devolved into attacking normal people.

“Right, but we don’t even have mortar. And as for everything else, do you think I would be selling out my people for a couple of silvers?” She crossed her arms and stood proudly.

“I do have several propositions for you. Firstly, I will hire your entire village to mine limestone for us with our current funds. You will deliver the limestone here and will receive more pay. For further deals, we will offer our own services, such as repairing old buildings, and building 2 walls, one of stone and one of wood.”

The offer was very tempting, but the goblin's horrid visage did not inspire confidence. “All of this sounds good, but how can I trust you?”

He laughed. “We have no pen or paper to write a contract, nor do we have a judge to oversee us. How should I trust you to not run away with our money…? All we can do is act in good faith.”

They stood in silence, staring at each other. The cold wind nipped at their faces. “All right. You better not double-cross us,” She said.

It smirked. "Same goes for you."

Interface You entered a verbal non-aggression pact with the Amber Skin Goblins You entered a verbal trade agreement with the Amber Skin Goblins.

“It would be inappropriate for a human to refer to me as ‘Holy Chief’, so you may call me by my name. Gild Domov.”

She took a moment to analyse the name, after all, what kind of goblin had a last name? “I am Clara Morganfield," she replied coldly.

Gild threw the sack of coins towards her, which she caught with one hand. He snapped his fingers and the other goblins pushed towards a crate filled with iron ore. "Consider this as a sign of future products we'll be able to trade. Considering our current agreement goes well."

A lifeline had been thrown at her, which she gladly accepted. Who cared what the churches said? They were half-mad themselves.

“I will be back within 3 weeks. The product better is ready by then,” he threatened. The goblins turned their backs and Gild slowly rode away with his tribe back to their goblin camp.

Clara stood at the edge of town staring at their shrinking bodies until they disappeared completely into the forest.

The sickly pale man crawled out from behind a building. “Mayor, so what now?”

She took some coins from the purse and threw them at him. “What now? Gather everyone and get mining! We have money to make!” She smiled broadly. Clara laughed to herself, to think a stinking goblin would be more generous than a human baron.