The Goblin Auditors of Doom and the Great Coffee Pot Siege. Episode 2

Jul 29

A Tale from Mike’s Tavern

If there’s one thing I hate more than goblins, it’s goblins in suits.

We’d barely made it past the Filing Cabinet of Doom when they showed up — six squat, green bean-counters wearing monocles and badly tailored waistcoats, dragging clipboards and muttering about overdue adventuring permits.

One of them stepped forward, adjusted his cravat, and squeaked, “Form Q-13B must be submitted before engaging hostile dungeon features.”

Balrik, being Balrik, handed over a takeout menu from the Leaky Tankard. The goblin studied it. “Spicy Wyrm Wings... hmmm... Clause 14 might apply.” They huddled up and debated whether “deep-fried” was a recognized form of divine intervention.

Thrain got bored and threw a folding chair at them.

It collapsed mid-air and landed like a polite suggestion.

Balrik tried to backstab one of them, tripped on his own cloak, and faceplanted into a rack of scrolls. Helga, ever helpful, cast Turn Undead. Unfortunately, it worked on a nearby skeleton intern, who shrieked and bolted through a wall, knocking over the coat rack and a suspiciously large abacus.

Meanwhile, I’d found a stapler on a pedestal and was halfway through convincing Thrain it was “The Clamper of Binding +1” when the goblins screeched and called for reinforcements.

Helga sighed, filled out three more forms, and declared us “Provisional Contractors.” I have no idea what that means, but the goblins gave her a lanyard, so now she thinks she’s in charge.

Next came the Maze of Memos.

This labyrinth of bureaucratic hellscape shifted its walls based on your answers to office trivia.

First question: “What’s the proper font for a quest report?”

I shouted, “Comic Sans, because nothing says ‘urgent danger’ like whimsy!”

The walls closed in like a hungover mimic.

Thrain tried to hold them back, but got distracted by a shiny paperweight shaped like a beetle. Balrik tried to bribe the maze with lint and a half-eaten biscuit. Helga, muttering something about divine fonts, yelled “Times New Roman, 12-point!” and the maze parted like a miracle.

Turns out she actually read the dungeon employee handbook. Which raises so many questions.

At last, we stumbled into what looked like salvation — a break room.

But no, of course not. It was guarded by a sentient coffee pot, its glass belly boiling with cursed decaf.

Thrain screamed “DRAGON!” and charged. He shattered a table of stale donuts and got covered in powdered sugar like a berserker beignet. I tried casting Chill Touch to cool the pot. Accidentally froze Balrik’s boots to the floor instead.

He fell backwards, arms flailing, knocking over a shelf of mugs. Each one shattered in slow motion while Helga — bless her — attempted to negotiate with the coffee pot using sugar packets and passive-aggressive sighs.

The pot hissed, glowed red, and began spewing boiling decaf across the floor like a scorned espresso elemental.

We dove behind a row of chairs labeled “For HR Only.” Thrain used a donut box as a shield. Balrik tried to hide under the table, which collapsed immediately. Helga launched a spell that somehow summoned a chair with lumbar support. I don’t even know what spell that was.

I finally shouted “INTERNAL MEMO RECALL!” and hurled my stapler like a throwing axe.

Miraculously, it connected.

The pot coughed, sputtered, and belched a cloud of burnt roast steam before falling silent. I caught my breath. Balrik was steaming like a kettle. Thrain was licking coffee off the walls. Helga was already writing an angry review.

We were alive.

Barely.

And yet... the Orb was still ahead.

In an office.

With a manager.

Episode 3 is coming:
“The Photocopier Guardian and the Orb of Slightly Better Lighting”
It’s got duplication traps, glitter bombs, and two Thrains. And let me tell you — one was already more than enough.

Before that drops, ye’d best brush up on: