Badax returned to his station and slumped down on the floor. He was a little dizzy, and it was only after he’d leaned into the wall that he realized he’d forgotten his axe. Oh well. He was in no mood to get back up and retrieve it himself. The goblin cleaners could bring it by when they finished up.

According to the candles of purple fire around the sorcerous clock on the wall, there were four hours left in his shift, but Badax wasn’t worried about more adventurers coming. It’d been months since there’d been two breaches in a day.

On the other hand, it was a Firstday, after all, so maybe it’d be wise to be a little cautious. Getting up with a groan, Badax rang the small bell to request another Mini-Boss to come replace him. There were several “on call” at any given time, and one of them was sure to be close by.

A few minutes later, Skitz, the giant spider with red eyes who was most certainly not to be confused with Scurry, the giant spider with blue eyes, entered the station. She was so big that she almost got stuck in the entrance way, and though Badax feared no creature, he shivered at the sight of her black, bristling fur.

Giant spiders made him uncomfortable.

Skitz clicked her jaws menacingly, and though Badax didn’t speak a word of the clattering language, he got the message. She was pissed that she’d been called in early and he was free to go. He’d been in the same position plenty of times, himself.

“Thanks,” Badax said as he stumbled out of the station with the guitar slung over his shoulder. “I’ll cover you next time you need it.”

The spider said something else, but fuck if Badax had any idea about what it was. Instead, he leaned on the wall for support and stumbled his way down the twisting hallways that led to the minion sleeping quarters. Every now and then he had to stop to catch his breath, but other than that he didn’t feel too bad.

Along the way, Badax passed goblin patrols, repair gnolls, and dozens of other minions that were scurrying along as part of their duties. They all looked so serious, acknowledging him with bows or salutes as was proper, and the minotaur waved them all away with equal disdain.

He didn’t have it in him to go along with the formalities just then, and he scowled like mad as he continued down to his room.

The lair itself was massive, but somehow that didn’t translate into spacious minion quarters. Badax lived in a small hole in the wall at the end of a hall next to four other rooms like his own. The only way to tell them apart from the outside was by the color of the dingy blanket hanging in front of the entrance in place of a door. Naturally, Badax’ was red, because the pixie in charge of decorating the place had a shitty sense of humor.

Normally the sight of the foul thing filled Badax with rage, but today all he could muster was a frustrated hiss through clenched teeth. Pulling the blanket aside, Badax saw Urt lounging in his only chair with a silver flask of whiskey in his knobby hands.

The goblin’s green skin paled a little bit as Badax walked inside.

“Oh goodness, what a pleasant surprise,” Urt said while Badax gingerly set the guitar on the ground in the corner and made sure it was balanced properly so that it wouldn’t fall. “I didn’t expect you to return for another few hours. Where’s your axe?”

“Left it in room seven,” Badax said as he walked over to his liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. Unlike some of his peers – like Predd – Badax never got drunk, but he enjoyed a nice sip of something strong at the end of a hard day and this probably counted.

“Killed a quartet of adventurers. One of them poisoned me so I didn’t feel like carrying the damn thing all the way back here. Cleaners will leave it at the station and I’ll grab it before my next shift.”

His own silver flask was suspiciously absent from its shelf, and Urt grinned sheepishly when the minotaur glared at him.

“Figured you wouldn’t miss it,” the goblin said as he handed it over. Badax snatched the flask away and lifted it to his lips, growling as only a few droplets of amber whiskey reached his tongue.

“It’s damn near empty,” he said, and Urt hopped down from the chair as fast as he could.

“I just remembered something that I’ve got to go take care of. It’s really important!” Urt squeaked, but Badax grabbed him and pulled him back before he could flee. The minotaur lifted the goblin up into the air and turned him around so that their eyes were at the same height, pleased to see that the little pest was starting to turn purple with terror.

“What’d I say last time?”

The goblin’s throat bobbed up and down nervously. “That you’d skin me like a cat if you ever caught me drinking your booze again.”

“That’s right.”

Badax tightened his grip a little bit, and Urt’s pudgy limbs flailed as he tried in vain to escape. When the minotaur lifted the flask up and gave it a menacing shake, the goblin threw back his head and wailed.

“I won’t do it again! I promise!”

Their little ritual complete, Badax grinned and set the goblin back down on the ground. He held up a warning finger and tapped Urt’s pointy nose.

“You’d better not, or I’ll carve you into millions of pieces with my axe.”

“More like crush me flat,” Urt muttered. “So, how’d you get poisoned?”

Badax pointed to the wound on his chest, which was no longer actively bleeding but still looked nasty. “A Rogue hit me with a thrown knife.”

“Ouch, that’s no fun. Let me take a look at it,” Urt said. “Sit down.”

Unlike most goblins, Urt was more interested in curing stab wounds than he was in giving them. Now, that wasn’t to say that he wouldn’t shank the ever-loving shit out of an adventurer in a dark hallway if given half a chance, but he didn’t necessarily like doing it.

Probing the wound with his stubby fingers and sniffing at the glistening pus around the edges, the goblin sucked in a deep breath and swore in his native tongue. After what sounded like a prolonged session of gargling gravel and bits of glass, he shook his head.

“This looks bad, buddy. My understanding of the classical poisons isn’t as robust as it should be, but I’m fairly certain that your foe coated their knives in bactrozal regorall.”

Badax could tell that Urt expected him to have some idea of what that was, but of course the minotaur had never heard either word before. Maybe his friend was still speaking goblinese? It was tough to tell, sometimes.

His ignorance must have shown on his face, because Urt continued in a condescending tone, “It’s cardiotoxic.”

“And that’s…bad?”

“It fucks with your heart,” Urt growled.

“Oh. Why didn’t you just say that instead of all the other stuff?”

This time, Urt did swear in goblinese. Badax listened politely, managing to catch a few of the words he’d picked up over the years. Loosely translated, they worked out to “flat-nosed” and “clean-smelling”, which were both dire insults as far as goblins were concerned.

“Damn it, Badax, why didn’t you accept the healing from the Floor Boss’ office? This is really serious!”

The minotaur shrugged and snorted. “I didn’t think it was necessary. I feel fine. Besides, you can heal me, can’t you?”

“Well, of course I can, but that’s not the point! The point is that you feel fine because you’re a thick-skulled minotaur with no sense! Bactrozal regorall is slow-acting, you dimwit! You’d feel just great until your heart popped tomorrow morning. Horns and hooves! Stay here, I’m going to get my kit and I’ll be right back.”

“Where else would I go?”

Grumbling to himself about minotaurs that thought they were invincible, Urt didn’t answer before running out of the room and leaving Badax by himself.

As silence returned to his tiny quarters, the minotaur closed his eyes and lifted the empty flask to his lips once more. With a bit of shaking encouragement, he managed to catch a few drops on his tongue.