A truly unique noise occurred every hour of every day outside of Baft's bedroom, accompanying it the ground shook and dust never seemed to stop falling on his face while he slept. Sometimes the sound would stop for a few moments and then proceed to rage even harder throughout the halls. The particular sound was the thundering's of hundreds of thousands of goblins in one goblin outpost. This noise, was one of safety to Baft, hearing this noise meant everything was well, and his people were doing well.

"Shift 12, time for the monthly checkup" A stern voice echoed outside of his door. The voice somehow overpowering the thrumming's of steps. Baft lazily climbed from his bed, like most goblins his room was a cramped living quarters, with a shared bathroom and kitchen in his hall. This was all meant to fit his status as a mere cleaner of one of the laboratories.

Climbing out of bed the rough stone of his flooring sent a shiver up his spine, only when he cleaned higher ranking goblins did he get to step on wooden floors. An absolute luxury, to have such an amazing feeling beneath your feet all the time, to feel the grains along your toes. Baft always loved the feeling of anything except stone, it was his only complaint of the goblin life style to much damn stone.

"I said get up, you wor-rt snorrrting lot!" The official yelled again louder then before. Baft figured the official must have some reason, usually the checkups were mere routine to see if any of them had developed any muscle to join the military. As the saying went, a good goblin, is a a goblin that did everything he or she could possibly for the good of the country. Or the abbreviated version, A good goblin, is a dead one, it seemed there enemies probably had a similar saying but slightly different context. Baft never had any intention of joining the military, he had always feared battle, and much preferred his current lifestyle; and maybe one day when he was partnered with another goblin to produce the future next toothed general he would have a family.

Putting on his cloak, and boots he stepped out of his door, to his left and right a hundred other goblins all dressed in the same cloak and boots, many of whom he was related too. Goblins were good at two things, reproducing and re-pro-ducing.

"Okay you lazy bums that took a whole two minutes, didn't you all tr-r-rain for emergency r-r-raids. No more then Thir-r, THIRTY SECONDS WHEN CALLED." He coughed after yelling. It seemed yelling irritated his throat, too much of the wart juice does that too a man, and everyone knew the higher ups had good wart juice.

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While standing in line Baft's mouth was salivating, him and a few brothers only ever managed to afford a few glasses of the half decent stuff. They would never have been able to come up with enough to really save for anything significant.

"March!" A shiver was sent to Baft's spine, those same words echoed in his head. His military training had been short but in his opinion it could have been shorter. Three years, he had applied to do the bare minimum stating he would be a much better fit else where in the base wasting the militaries resources on further training. It took the General one short look at his skinny frame to conclude that Baft was right. That didn't mean that the three years he did serve weren't grueling in there own right.

One turn here, slip down this ramp, left turn, right turn, climb a ladder and lastly the slamming of a heavy iron door. The turns and twists were done on purpose in goblins base, each base had its own purpose whether for mining, storage or some other purpose to support the cause. But, at the end of the day each base was a military base and these twists were there greatest advantage. Every goblin knew there base like the back of there hand, but an intruder would never know and would most likely taking a wrong turn. This made every base practically impenetrable, just another reason goblins were feared throughout the land.

_bang_, they entered one of the goblins most protected locations, the infirmary. "Get in line your-r-r getting ye examinations." The commander pointed to an already formed line of goblins, it seemed not just there section was getting checked.

"Sir, our checkup is due on lesser moon?" One of the goblins in a separate line spoke up. Baft hadn't even noticed, as his was due at this time. But, there was decently too many goblins were for just his sections check up. There small infirmary had been crammed full with commanders shouting orders and there respective lines. The smell of wart juice was strong, it seemed some goblins had gotten bored and even started to drink here.

"Shut up, miner! When in your training did I teach you to talk back to orders?" The commander reprimanded him, but it seemed he wasn't done. He grabbed that goblin by the head and slammed him down, the commanders were generally large in stature as many had been picked for the role based on physique.

_murmur_ _whisper_, the goblins could clearly tell that there companion had just been made an example off, so they all got in line.

The heal goblin at the end of the room announced, "everyone please take off all of your clothes were just doing body checks!" Everyone promptly did as they were told.

"Look who got an illegal tattoo."

"Someone is about to get beat."

"This idiot."

The whispers came from behind Baft he wondered who was stupid enough to get tattoos here. The practice had long been outlawed as a sign of rebellion. Then Baft felt his commanders breath on his neck, "Well, well l, well what do we have her-r-re"