Despite all the books you've read and films you've seen, working in a goblin mine really isn't too bad.
For one thing there are no guards with whips, (though given the slightly repetative goblin folk songs sometimes you wish there were just for variety), and also sinse you are larger and stronger than most of the goblins, you find they take what are to you very frequent breaks, meaning that the work never gets too hard.
most of the goblins have apparently decided that sinse your serving your community service peacefully, your probably not all bad and obviously back on the streight and narrow, so you find yourself not only frequently being handed cups of tea, biscuites and fungus sandwitches, but also being plied with questions.
The goblins explain that they're a bunch of miners sent by the goblin king to collect Christals for his labyrinth refurbishment, but that they're in some trouble sinse the transport spell they were sent has become stuck behind a magic door which mysteriously appeared for no reason.
After a day of hawling rocks and digging chunks of ore out of the rock face, --- with you feeling extremely ruggid given that your far less tired than the goblins around you, you all head back to the break tent where bladvash the mawler has prepared a surprisingly tasty mushroom stew.
After supper, as the goblins are sitting around telling jokes or drinking none alcoholic beverages (they are very concerned about getting drunk on the job, you offer to take a look at the locked door.
Afterall, you might not know too much about magic, but you've read enough fantasy, and anyway, all the repeatedly harmonic singing of "We salt the fields and slaughter" is getting a bit much.
The horrible dungeons of dreadful doom.
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