With a squishy thump your rump comes to rest in what passes for a wooden chair. You sit back and let your sore muscles relax a little bit as you take in the view.
Carved into the mountainside with all the precision of a Trogg miner lies the
stage. This achievement of miniscule proportions is dwarfed in failure
only by the horribly untalented and greatly innebriated Spirit Guide attempting what she believes is stand up comedy.
The Goblin Jamboree appears to be out of sight, but they make their
presence known through the montage of horrific sounds that some
would describe as several thousand cats being tortured all at once. Saddly, the attrocious sounds are not enough to drown out the stand up of the very drunk etherial being.
Glancing around, you see a makeshift "cage,"
poorly constructed and deployed like a goblin
component sitting in the corner next to the
stage. Within dances the stylish and sexy
orc Plog, who moves in ways that would make
an invertebrate onlooker cringe and gasp.
And in sharp contrast to the otherwise uninteresting
Smooti, Plog seems to have developed a sense
of rhythm that nearly brings tears to your
eyes.
To the right of the stage is a bizarre, iron clad door built right into the rockface, guarded by a single dwarf who looks fairly intoxicated.
Your infatuated stare is interrupted by the
grunting sounds of a perturbed little goblin
wench standing before you. She taps her foot
waiting for you to order something. You decide
to...
