Reaching Nabulu’s office required a great deal of wagon hopping, which wasn’t something the short-limbed, heavily-armored dwarf was meant to do. Naturally, with Hilda’s luck, Nabulu was riding at the head of the line while her kind host rode near the end. As always, if the world was a soup, Hilda was a fork.

To make matters worse, there was etiquette to wagon hopping of which the dwarf was wholly ignorant. This had resulted in many oaths and curses hurled her way by people stuck behind her or forced to do acrobatics to avoid her clumsiness. When Hilda actually did slip, a rider caught her by the wrist and tossed her back without offering any commentary. A few minutes later, an imp armed with some kind of a very hard fruit took a pot shot at her and whisked out of existence before she had a chance to acquaint it with her hammer. Hilda cursed in Dwarfish. Why must everything in life be so hard?

She had to complete a mini-quest simply to talk to someone who’d probably give her another mini-quest so she could do another mini-quest just to talk to someone else. Hilda thought trade would be just talking to people, but no. It was a series of countless, seemingly random challenges that had nothing to do with trade.

She tried to look on the bright side. Maybe all this rubbish had earned her some XP. Maybe this was the result of dealing with humans. Humans were short-lived. They must have enjoyed these pointless challenges in their mad scramble to earn as much XP as possible while they were still young. Such a sad existence…

A hand burst from a window and grabbed Hilda by the ankle, causing her to teeter and almost fall. Laughter turned into squealing as Hilda kicked down with all her strength, possibly breaking someone’s arm. She may not have had a lot of Dexterity, but she sure had a hell of a lot of Strength. Grabbing her was a very dangerous game to play.

A rider glared at Hilda and she glared back at him. He made an obscene gesture and rode on. Hilda had the sinking feeling that this was not the end of it, but what was she supposed to do? Just let some asshole trip her because he thought it would be funny? That wasn’t very paladin-like, was it?

Finally, Hilda landed on the merchant’s great metal wagon and knocked on the trapdoor. The door opened by itself and a ladder extended downward with a metallic creak. Hilda muttered a quick blessing for success in business and climbed down. Hopefully, the person she kicked wasn’t Nabulu’s buddy. Hilda pushed that thought out of her head and looked around.

Nabulu’s office was luxurious, painted with the red and yellow of the Cult of the Sun and decorated with statues and masks from all over the planet. A huge golden sun hung on the wall behind him, dazzling the dwarf with reflected sunlight.

It reminded Hilda of an unpleasant encounter she recently had. A paladin and a cleric of the sun came to the dungeon, which at the time wasn’t yet her dungeon, and nearly incinerated Philly. Hilda was only able to save the ghoul by pretending to kill her herself, which required beating the poor monster within an inch of her life. Hilda didn't enjoy it at all. She enjoyed even less Medvak’s hurt look, as the gentle barbarian was sure she really was killing the ghoul. That was a shitty day alright.

A large desk covered in papers and several southern idols stood in the middle of the office. There were two padded chairs by the desk, but Hilda didn’t want to embarrass herself by scrambling up the tall chairs, so she remained standing like a soldier facing her superior officer.

“Welcome, my dear,” Nabulu said with a broad smile. The obese merchant quivered like jelly under his circus-sized robe. This reminded Hilda of her unfortunate encounter with the green slime. Hopefully this man will be less slimy or, at the very least, wasn’t going to rob her of all her belongings and leave her bleeding and crying in a corner. Wow, that wagon is just a treasure trove of bad memories…

“Please,” he gestured toward the chairs, “take a seat. Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.” Hilda could swear the man was broader than she was tall. She wondered how someone got so fat. Didn’t he look in the mirror one day and got scared of what he was becoming? Could he even walk? Maybe the reason he never left his wagon was because he was just too fat?

The man shrugged. “So you are looking to buy obsidian?”

“Yes, sir.” Hilda said, “Sacrifice-grade obsidian.”

“Do you require a certificate of Trombbulation?” Nabulu asked, collating papers as he spoke.

Hilda had no idea what this meant. She didn’t want to appear ignorant so she simply shook her head. Worst case scenario: she’ll cancel the deal later. It’s not like her partner was a psychopathic fiend who used baby skulls as currency…

Nabulu put down the papers and looked earnestly at the dwarf, his fat fingers steepled under his chins. “I am working with a firm that is capable of supplying this product at a very affordable price. Excellent quality is assured. I’ve worked with them in the past and they are trustworthy. How much do you need?”

If Hilda was a cartoon character, her eyes would have turned into gp signs in response to the question. “As much as you can sell.”

Nabulu shook his head slowly, giving the dwarf a disappointed look. “It doesn’t work like this. Is this your first trade?”

Hilda sighed. She had no idea how any of this worked. She just wanted people to give her money. “100 tons.”

“So little?”

“1000 tons?”

“So much?”

“How much can you sell?”

“How much do you need?”

Hilda exhaled slowly to hide her annoyance. “Can I just talk to them?”

“You understand no reasonable merchant will agree to that?” Nabulu didn’t sound irritated. He sounded smug, which made Hilda irritated.

“I can sign a contract…” she said miserably.

“Contracts will have to be signed in any case,” Nabulu nodded, his great mounds of fat wobbling. “Otherwise, I won’t even be able to talk to them.”

Hilda sighed. “If I can’t talk to the seller directly in any case, what do we need contracts for? It’s not like I can cheat you…”

Nabulu smiled condescendingly. “It is the way of things, child.”

Hilda groaned inwardly. Child. I’m probably older than your mom, you fat fuck.

“Fine. Give me the documents and I’ll sign them.”

Nabulu shook his head. “You're the buyer, you need to prepare the papers.”

Hilda’s knuckles went white under the table. “Why do--- whatever. Do you have papers I could copy and just change the names?”

“Absolutely not! These papers are confidential. Consult with your legal team.”

“My legal te--” Hilda stopped herself before her speech turned into screech. “Fine. What do you need?”

Nabulu waved his obese hand dismissivly. “Oh, just the usual. An Irrevocable Lawful Purchase Order with a summary of the buyer and his financing bank accompanied by a notarized letter of intent and a signed letter of warning of the solar chamber of commerce. His Bigulian number will be very helpful as well.”

Hilda felt each word hit her like an acid arrow. If she understood correctly, some of these papers had to be signed by the final buyer, not any of the countless parasitic intermediaries. She had no idea what a Bigulian number was, let alone how to learn her employer’s Bigulian number, if he had such a thing, if such a thing even existed and wasn’t just made up by Nabulu to make her feel stupid.

There was no way she was meeting with the buyer again so soon. Last time they met, he, eh, it, had almost roasted her alive. Last time, she swore last time would be the last time.

Then again, maybe she could have Mina sign it. How could Nabulu know who the final buyer was? Most long distance detection spells didn’t function in dungeons. Maybe she could even sign it herself. She was kind of a buer… Hilda shook her head. No. She was a paladin. She was a judge of the moon. She respected the law of the land. She was the law of the land. This wasn’t worth losing her powers over.

Her powers. That’s it! Hilda raised her head. “You’re giving me a quest to find someone who can help me draft a contract that neither of us needs. Look,” she said. “You’re a merchant. This means you must have the Appraise skill, right”

Nabulu nodded, his jowls quivering.

“Appraise me then.”

“I don’t see why--”

“Just do it.”

The man shrugged and clicked his fingers. Hilda’s character sheet appeared in the air as a semi-transparent rectangle outlined in pale blue. Hilda never saw it like that. It looked very festive, very distinguished. Almost made her feel important.

“Look,” she pointed at the top of her character sheet. “I’m a lawful paladin, a judge of the moon. Do you think I’ll cheat you on a deal?”

“There are a lot of scammers in this bus--”

“I can perform the Zone of Truth ritual.” Hilda said, pointing at the bottom of her sheet. “It’s literally impossible to lie inside of it.”

“I’m afraid the contract is necessary,” Nabulu said. “I trust you, of course, but your buyer, well, you told me yourself he was questionable. I can’t risk my reputation on a wild goose chase. Regardless, the seller won’t speak to me without these papers. It is the way of things.”

“I understand,” Hilda said and started to turn away, crestfallen. “I’ll be back with the contract soon.”

“Excellent!” Nabulu said. “Then the seller will know you’re serious and we can proceed.”

By now the caravan had stopped rolling and Hilda just hopped out into the woods. For a while, she wandered about, dazed and confused. To her left, a long line of men stood along the road and pissed into bushes. Few sights were more proud than a human male pissing by the road. Say what you will about dwarfs, at least they did their private business privately. Hilda shook her head. This was the least of her troubles. She had no idea what to do.

Should she go back to the dungeon and get all this shit drafted and signed by Mina or should she press on to the city and hope to find a seller by herself, probably losing this opportunity? There was a third option, of course. She could just sign these documents herself. It’s not like the seller would bother reading them… It wasn't forgery. Not exactly…

“You look sad.” Zara’s perky voice ambushed Hilda as she shuffled in no direction in particular, wondering where she could get enough ink and paper, wondering if her pangolin could hold a pen, wondering where she could get something to eat…

Hilda stared at the girl. She wasn’t used to children being so bold. When Hilda was a child, she couldn’t look strangers in the eye, let alone start a conversation with them. She could barely do it now…

“Was he rude to you?” the little greenskin asked, impaling an apple on one of her tusks again and again.

Hilda ignored her and went looking for her, that is, Zara’s, wagon.

“If he was,” the child went on breathlessly, chasing the dwarf. “I’ll talk to him. It’s bad to be rude to dwarfs. It’s racist and sexist.”

By the Goddess, Hilda groaned inwardly. I’ve found another Philly.