The Buried Mine Site had a life of its own. Goblins barked at one another through the tunnels, dragged crystal ore across the lower floors, and stomped along their patrol routes with the same bitter rhythm they repeated every day. Even underground, the place never truly rested.
One goblin had drawn the worst post of all.
He leaned on his spear with both hands, the butt braced beneath his palms and the crystal tip planted in the ground, using it more like a crutch than a weapon. His eyelids drooped. His mouth hung half-open in a tired sneer.
Every few seconds, his eyes drifted back to the same spot, as if staring harder might somehow make the job less boring.
That spot was the drop.
