The Goblin Parliament has welcomed a new class of representatives from every corner of Mudwick Isle. Their backgrounds and politics are as varied as the mushrooms growing in Grungle's beard. They share one trait: bewilderment.
"I haven't the foggiest notion what I'm doing here," said Gnarfle, a former cheese monger turned politician. "I figured free fermented ale and unlimited use of the parliamentary mud pit were good enough reasons to run."
He is not alone. Many of the new members are struggling with parliamentary procedure, the finer points of goblin lawmaking and the shifting alliances in the Council.
"It's a chaotic dance of absurdity," said Griselda the Grimy, a veteran goblin journalist who covers Parliament. "One minute they're debating fermented snail slime as a renewable energy source. The next they're arguing about what to wear on a diplomatic mission to the Troll Kingdom."
The lack of direction has worried citizens, who are frustrated by the lack of progress on the pixie reparations dispute, the rising cost of living and a continuing shortage of shiny objects. "It's a complete shambles," said a voter outside the Parliament building, shaking his fist. "They spend more time bickering and throwing food at each other than governing. It's enough to make a goblin lose faith in democracy."
Even the Goblin Gazette, the Council's official mouthpiece, has lost its composure. "We are witnessing a new era of goblin politics," it wrote in an editorial, "characterized by chaos, confusion and a disregard for the basic principles of governance. The future of the Goblin Nation hangs in the balance, and it is anyone's guess where this unruly Parliament will lead us."
