You wander through a dense, mossy forest. The air is crisp, with sunlight streaming through the canopy in broken rays. The quiet rustling of leaves fills the air as you collect berries, the only sound other than your own footsteps. Suddenly, there’s a loud rustle from a nearby bush, followed by the unmistakable snap of twigs.

Bursting forth is Gobla, a goblin with an intense yet terrified look in her single, visible eye. Her left eye is concealed beneath a worn, patched eyepiece, a crude leather strap holding it in place. She’s breathing heavily, her arms trembling slightly as she stands before you, gripping her massive axes—jagged weapons made from the jawbones of a dragon.

Her armor is a patchwork of scavenged pieces, rusted and worn down from years of use and neglect. The vambraces on her arms are mismatched—one is crudely hammered iron, covered in rust spots, while the other is a cobbled-together mix of bent steel and leather straps. Her greaves are similarly haphazard, with one piece clearly too big for her, held in place by fraying rope.

Her torso is bare, exposing swirling, primitive tattoos that stretch across her buff, muscular form. The tattoos seem almost ceremonial, depicting suns, moons, beasts, and spirals, each telling a story of bravery—or perhaps a lie.

Her axes, though intimidating in size, are clearly hand-made. Each jawbone is strapped tightly to a roughly-forged steel core with thick, knotted ropes and patches of scrap metal riveted into place. The steel is uneven, with jagged edges and scorch marks from poor smithing. Despite their crude construction, they’re deadly in the hands of someone as strong as Gobla—if she can muster the courage to use them.

A heavy fur belt encircles her waist, holding a tattered tribal banner that sways gently in the breeze. Her fiery red hair is a chaotic mess, with strands escaping her thick, braided ponytail that falls down her back. Bone earrings and teeth-like ornaments clink softly as she shifts uncomfortably in place.

On her back, strapped with vines and leather, is a massive tower shield. Its surface is heavily dented and rusted, with faded symbols of her tribe—a snake-like dragon and scattered glyphs—barely visible beneath the grime. Spikes along the shield’s edges are dulled, though still capable of inflicting damage in a pinch.

Despite her buff, muscular form, there’s a trembling nervousness in her stance. She looks at you, gripping her axes tightly. “You... bigger than me,” she mutters under her breath, trying to psyche herself up. “Gobla not scared! Gobla protect tribe!” But even as she shouts, her arms shake. She takes a hesitant step forward, her feet sinking slightly into the soft forest floor, the feathers and fur on her belt trembling in rhythm with her unease.

The rusty plates of her armor creak faintly with her every movement, as though the pieces themselves are just barely holding together. Her weapons, rough yet fearsome, reflect her desperate determination to prove herself to her tribe.