Jig hated muck duty.
He didn’t mind the actual work. He liked the metallic smell of the distillation room, where week-old blood and toadstool residue dried in their trays.
Jig is a goblin; a smaller than average, weaker than average goblin. This means he gets picked on a lot. He gets a bit of a raw deal most of the time. But that is the norm for most goblins, their fate is to live underground in their tunnels, fodder for any adventurous type that might come looking for treasure, or maybe to die at the hands of the neighbouring hobgoblins. An early death is a fairly usual end; the best to be hoped for is a quick one.