Sam was playing checkers with himself the first time the messenger came. He had politely refused the request, and sure, he had gone off on a bit of a tantrum when the kid brought up milk, but he made sure to admit his fault afterward. There was even a witness if one was needed; Spot was a very smart dog. He thought his response was very reasonable and the goblin king would stop bothering him.

Sam was playing backgammon with himself the second time the messenger came. He tried listening to the message, but it seemed to be the same crap as last time, so he sent the messenger away. He thought that that would be the end of it and the goblin king would stop whining about the dragon.

Sam was playing chess with himself the third time the messenger came. This time, the messenger seemed to have smartened up a little and said his message quickly. Unfortunately, the message was the same as before, no, worse. It was an order, and Sam hated orders.

Because he was technically freeloading on the goblin king's territory, he had very politely refused. However, the goblin king evidently wasn't happy with that answer, as the next second hundreds of thousands of attacks struck his house. Some were swords, some were axes, some were magic, and some were even just goblins walking up to the house and pounding on it with their fists. But none could make a scratch, for Sam's house was built out of the bones of that dragon he had slain so many years ago. The attacks still startled Spot into going off on a bit of a barking frenzy.

Although Sam got up out of his chair and patted Spot to calm it down, he himself was rather upset. After all, he hadn't done anything to warrant such attacks, and getting up and moving about really wasn't good for his old bones. Plus, he was in the middle of guessing what he would do the next turn. Followed by Spot, he walked out of his house, glared with empty eyes at the crowds of horrified goblins, and snarled, "Are you done yet?"

The goblins all prostrated themselves, gibbering with apologies and begging for mercy. Gobbeck, the king, stood tall, though his face was pale. The goblin king, after a moment of silence, opened his mouth and spoke, surprisingly, with not a hint of nervousness in his voice.

"As expected of the great dragon slayer. Your might truly leaves Us in shock."

Sam snorted. He had hardly shown any might; rather, it was the might of the cottage itself that had stopped the attacks. The king continued:

"We have come here to humbly request that you slay the dragon terrorizing the Southern Mountains. Now that We have seen your-"

Sam cut him off.

"I told you, I won't do it. Run off now, before I get really mad."

Spot growled threateningly.

The threat in his words caused Gobbeck to stumble backwards. However, the king quickly composed himself.

"We will offer anything you wish for," said the king confidently. He may have been just a goblin, but he was really, really wealthy. Especially since he had made multiple deals with the dwarves to get some minerals out of the mountains.

"Bah, there's no way you can have the thing I want," scoffed Sam. "Now GET OUT."

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Spot gave a small, but still intimidating, bark.

Gobbeck stumbled backwards, but quickly composed himself. Then he opened his mouth to speak, but...

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Spot barked in surprise. Hearing footsteps, the goblins turned around and saw a short, heavily bearded man stomping toward them. Of course, it wasn't the dwarf that caught their attention, but rather the giant pack on his back. They watched the top of the sack, as tall as a tree, bob up and down until it came to a stop. Then they looked down at the dwarf.

"Ahem, ahem," started the dwarf, producing a scroll from a pouch at his waist. " 'The dwarf lord Dwayne son of Dwon offers a gift of five hundred tons of slag to the worm eater-' " he squinted- "no, wait, 'dragon slayer...' "

Then he looked up. "Bah, it's too bright out here. Which one of ya's called the dragon slayer?"

The goblins looked at each other and, in unison, pointed at Sam, who was looking as bewildered as a skeleton physically could.

"What the hell would I want with five hundred tons of slag?" he asked the dwarf, who shrugged and consulted the scroll.

"Erm, let me see... 'The gift will be redeemable in milk-' "

Sam threw up his hands. "Enough with the milk!" he shouted. "I'm done here."

Then he turned and began to walk back into his house. Spot looked disdainingly at the dwarf and followed.

"No, wait! Mithril, mithril!" the dwarf hurriedly shouted. "Redeemable in mithril!"

"Mithril?" Everyone present turned and stared greedily at the dwarf, who had never been stared greedily at by a goblin army and a skeleton at the same time and never wanted to again.

"The dwarves don't have five hundred tons of mithril," Sam said confidently.

"Yeah, the treaty gets me a hundredth of a percent of all mithril the dwarves earn and yet I haven't received more than half a pound in total," said Gobbeck, eyeing the dwarf suspiciously. Some of the more bloodthirsty goblins in the army hefted their weapons and grunted accusingly.

"Yeah, what gives? I asked fer a bonus but they said they didn't have any mithril ta give out," the dwarf muttered. "Let's see... Ooh!"

He looked at Sam. "It's yer lucky day, Mr. Skeleton. That dragon? It's sitting on the biggest mithril mine discovered in history."

Sam looked at the dwarf skeptically. "So what if it's the biggest in history? This is mithril we're talking about, 500 tons will leave it mostly depleted. How strong is the dragon?"

Gobbeck also spoke up. "If that mine's in my kingdom, how did you dwarves discover it before me?"

"Dwarven secret, y'know," the dwarf said in response to Gobbeck, then consulted the scroll. "As for the dragon, it's..." he made a noise of surprise. "Well pull my ears and call me an elf, it's a Category 5!"

Spot began barking in alarm.

Sam blanched, or at least he would have if his bones could change color. "Category 5? No way, that's suicide. Mithril isn't worth that."

He turned to enter his house.

"Wait!" the dwarf exclaimed, pulling the scroll so hard it split in half. "The mine has adamant! Adamant!"

Most of the goblins didn't know what adamant was, but Gobbeck certainly did, as did Sam, who whipped around so quickly that his skull popped off.

"Adamant?" he demanded after putting his skull back on. "You don't mean diamond, you mean real adamant?"

"Yep, yep, certainly, certainly," responded the dwarf. "I'm sure you can negotiate fer a share with the lord," he added.

"All or no deal," Sam spat. The dwarf paled.

"I- I don't have the authority-"

"I don't even need the mithril. You'll get a mithril mine and the Category 5 dragon will be taken care of. Deal or no?"

"I don't-"

It was too late. Sam had already produced some paper from somewhere, written up a contract with uncanny speed, forged the dwarf lord's signature onto it, and showed it around, making sure the goblins all saw it.

"I'm sure this deal will benefit both of us," Sam said smugly. "Thank you very much, I'll take care of the dragon soon."

"W-wait- I- You can't-" the dwarf spluttered, but Sam had already reentered the house with Spot, humming to himself.

Everyone present gaped at the cottage. The dwarf sighed and turned to Gobbeck.

"Well, I ain't lugging 500 tons of slag back home," he said, dropping the mountain on his back. "Mind if I leave it fer you?"

Gobbeck nodded numbly, and the dwarf left. After a while, he shook his head and led his army back home.

There was really no point in trying to intimidate a guy who would dare forge Dwayne "The Stone" Dwonson's signature, after all.