Cyrus marched through the forest, his catch of the day slung over his left shoulder. It was a fair-sized rabbit, especially for a doe. The meat was rather lean, so much so that he'd starve if he only ate rabbit meat every day. Fortunately, he caught other animals as well. Standing not much over three feet tall, he wasn't exactly an imposing hunter by the standards of the humans and elves who lived elsewhere in the region, but he was reasonably well-built for a male goblin. As much as he had a decent physical prowess, he was somewhat lacking in accomplishments. Armed with a long stone knife, he was quite adept at bringing down animals up to the size of a goat by himself, and had even brought down deer as part of a group. For as good a hunter as Cyrus was, he was still largely untested in war, the ultimate test of one's malehood.

As he approached the village, Cyrus felt the many brambles and pine needles under his feet. While his soles were thick and he was used to the feeling, even he had his limits. Luckily, he knew a good masseuse, and he'd be happy to share the rabbit's pelt with her to cover her services. The treeline ended suddenly as he reached the outermost part of the clearing surrounding his village. The settlement had no name in the strictest sense, but humans took to calling it the somewhat uninspired name of "Greenfield" in recognition of the trees, grass, and skin color of its inhabitants. 

The village was a circular settlement of about 1,000 goblins living in small conical huts made of straw. It was surrounded by a wooden wall made of sharpened stakes, each about twice as tall as a human. A series of plowed fields surrounded the village, save for the path leading to the one entrance, which was little more than a hold in the wall with a crude door which could be barred from the inside. There was a large expanse of open grass between the muddy fields and the village walls, useful for denying attackers the cover of the forest while also putting some distance between invaders and the farms. To the east of the village was the Ahoktan River, a good source of fish and the only easy means of trade the goblins had with the outside world, even though merchants and peddlers made their way to the village every few months. 

Cyrus made his way down the dry dirt path which ran between the fields and towards the entrance to the village. He planned to keep the meat for himself and cook it at any one of the communal fireplaces set up within the walls, and trade the pelt for goods and services.  Fur and leather were used to make what little clothing the goblins had, and most wore simple loincloths. Females supplemented their waist covering with a top piece, even though it wasn't unusual to see nursing mothers do without this when the situation called for it. Upon entering the village, Cyrus heard the chatter of the marketplace and the faint sound of a blacksmith's hammer ringing against a piece of iron. He had been saving up for an iron blade, and the fur might be just enough to get it when combined with the other items he had accumulated. On the other hand, a foot rub was something which would be very welcome after such a long trek in the woods. He sat down on a rock and thought about his options.