Goblin limbs fly about and blood splatters across your breastplate. You don't show any mercy to the creatures that have been terrorizing the village. If anything, you feel as if you're being too kind to grant such swift deaths upon the pack.
Among the chaos of the battle, one goblin stands out to you. It scurries away, throws down its weapon and waves its arms at you. Something in your gut makes you think it's trying to tell you something, but the cries of a goblin mean nothing to you. A quick slash across the stomach, and it doesn't squirm any more.
As the goblin falls to the ground, dead, something clicks and a thick bracelet pops off of his wrist, rolling toward you. When you reach down to pick it up, it jumps of its own volition, and clings to your wrist. You yank on it, but it won't come off. "Well, shit," you say to yourself. A cursed artifact. Just what you needed today.
One goblin remains in the pack, but he struggles off while you're inspecting your new burden. You decide to let him go, for now, and return to the villagers who reward you with a feast and a brothel. The celebration lasts through the night.
The following morning, you awake. "What will you do now, hero?" one of the women asks you.
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