It had been a rough day, and Dave felt he could safely cross Armed Escort off his list of potential careers. Nevertheless, he was in fine spirits. The rain, cool and refreshing, had rinsed most of the goblin gore from his beard and armor. Now that he and his friends had returned to the relative safety behind the city walls, he used up his remaining zero-level Heal spells to clear up a few minor scratches and abrasions left over from the fight.

"What's that sound?" asked Julian.

"Shit, I'm sorry," said Cooper. "That chili from this morning is still doing a number on me. I thought the rain would drown out the noise, so I've just been letting them rip."

"I was talking about the music."

"Oh."

Dave was determined not to let Cooper's half-orcish gastrointestinal issues dominate the conversation. "I don't hear any music."

"It sounds like a violin," said Julian. "It's soft and sweet, and kind of sad." Julian's enormous elf ears could hear a mouse fart from across a meadow in a thunderstorm. "Let's go check it out."

"I've got a better idea," said Tim. "How about let's not?"

"A little culture wouldn't kill you guys. Cooper? Dave?" Julian said Dave's name like it was a challenge or a threat. He knew that none of them gave a shit about listening to some violinist. But not going along would give Julian more leverage to act all smug and superior.

Knowing that he, himself was being played like a violin, Dave sighed. "Let's go."

They had nearly reached the quad in front of the Great Library of Cardinia when Dave started to hear a melody through the rain.

By day, the public area between the Great Library and the Cardinian Multi-faith Grand Temple and Medical Center was a place of bustling commerce, but the rain and late hour kept all but a few wandering souls off the streets. Those who stood around to enjoy the music did so from at least a fifty foot radius of the musician.

The violinist stood tall and alone, pulling the bow back and forth against his instrument. A black leather hat sat upside-down at his hooved feet, presumably to collect coins which no one seemed in any great hurry to give. A matching leather cloak kept most of his body, as well as his violin, protected from the rain, but his massive, horned head was exposed. From the tone of the melody he played, Dave guessed the rain on his face might be mingling with tears.

"The poor guy," said Julian. "Look at everybody standing around enjoying his music, but not giving him any money."

"Look at the size of him," said Cooper. "You can't blame people for not wanting to get too close."

"Seriously," said Dave. "He'd probably just spend the money on booze anyway."

Julian's eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. Oh shit. Dave had just given him an early Christmas present.

"Hold up," said Tim. "Weren't we going to spend the money on booze?"

Julian's attention was fixed solely on Dave. "It's people like you who exacerbate the problem, making up these fantasies so you don't have to feel guilty about being a selfish asshole while your fellow man has to beg on the street for enough loose change to pay for his next meal. I suppose you think he's driving around in a Porsche in his down time."

"He's a fucking minotaur," said Dave. "Of course I don't think he drives a Porsche."

Julian fumbled around a rebuttal. "Or, like… you know…A fancy… carriage or…something. You get my point."

"Stop masturbating the problem, Dave."

"Shut up, Cooper!" said both Julian and Dave.

Dave held out his hand, palm up, to Julian. "You know what? Give me a gold piece. I'll go put it in the hat myself just to shut you up."

Julian pulled a shiny gold coin out of their collective coin pouch and slapped it down on Dave's palm. "Go for it."

Dave looked at the minotaur, then back at his friends. "You guys come with me?"

"Fuck no," said Cooper.

"Anything to get this shit over with," said Tim.

Julian rolled his eyes. "Sure."

Dave led the way in spite of his short dwarven legs. It seemed none of his friends were in any particular hurry to approach a minotaur.

The beast had looked big from a distance, but he wasn't standing near anything that would give Dave a frame of reference. As they crept closer, it only seemed to get bigger. It was built like a Voltron made up of vikings. Its curved horns were as thick around as Dave's arms. The music stopped as one gigantic bovine eye opened and focused squarely on Dave.

"Is something amiss, sir?" asked Ravenus, poking his head out from beneath Julian's serape. "I couldn't help but notice a certain unease in – OH SHIT!"

Dave felt a little satisfaction at knowing Julian was just as afraid as he was. He held up the coin. "Th-th-thi-this is for you, sir." He tossed the coin into a hat big enough for Tim to bathe in.

The minotaur looked at the coin, then back at Dave. Its nostrils flared and its eyes were alive with wild, murderous rage.

"Thank you," said the minotaur, his voice like silk wrapped around gravel. "That's very generous of you."

Dave guessed that maybe he had confused wild, murderous rage with simple gratitude. He hadn't spent much time studying minotaur facial expressions. He relaxed a little. "Don't mention it. You're a talented artist. The way you play that…" Now that he got a closer look, it was not like any violin Dave had ever seen. It functioned the same as one, but it was made of metal, the body was curved in such a way that it looked like it would rest well on a log, and the neck was made up of two long spikes. They held the strings in place, but looked more stabby than musical. "…instrument is exquisite."

"You are too kind, dwarf."

Julian tossed another gold coin into the hat.

"Guys," said Tim. "Let's not overdo it, huh?"

"Such a melancholy tune," said Julian. "Does it have a name?"

"It's called Lenore," said the minotaur. "I wrote it for my long lost love."

Tim clapped his hands together. "You know what cheers me up? Booze. You coming, Mr…."

"Call me Milo. Thank you, tiny halfling. It's been far too long since I've felt the warmth of drink and companionship." He frowned. "But I really shouldn't. I have a –"

"Nonsense," said Tim. "Come on. Grab your shit and let's get our drink on."

"Very well, halfling. Follow me. I know a place."

"I'll bet you do," Dave muttered so that only Julian could hear.

Milo glared down at Dave. "What was that, dwarf?"

Fuck!

"I… uh…" He had to spit out something. "I beg-a-boo!"

Milo furrowed his giant brow. "I am unfamiliar with that expression."

Julian folded his arms and grinned. "Yeah, Dave. I don't recall ever hearing that expression either. Tell us. What does I beg-a-boo mean?"

Dave was starting to sweat. "It means Let's go! It's like Yoo-hoo! and Toodle-doo! You know?"

"Dude," said Cooper. "Are you having a fucking stroke right now?"

Thirty minutes later they were standing outside the Piss Bucket Tavern.

"Hey," said Cooper. "I remember this place. We've been kicked out of here before."

Julian frowned. "Maybe we should find a different place."

"There is no other place," said Milo. "This is the only tavern that will serve me, on account of my –"

"Fucking racists," said Tim.

Dave thought back to their first night in Cardinia, and how they wound up at this very tavern because everywhere else they'd tried before that had turned them away. They'd refused to serve Cooper because he was a half-orc.

"I'm sorry," said Dave. "It's just that we've been specifically warned by the owner of this establishment to never set foot in there again."

Milo snorted. "Morty won't mind, so long as you're here with me." Before any further objections could be raised, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Julian tapped the bulge on his serape.

Ravenus peeked his head out. "Yes, sir?"

"We might be in here for a while," said Julian. "Why don't you go find a dead rat to eat?"

"I'm still rather full from all of those goblin eyes."

"Well then fly around and get some exercise."

Ravenus flew off, and Julian walked into the tavern unburdened by his fat, black familiar. Dave followed him in.

All conversation stopped when they stepped out of the small antechamber and into the tavern proper. That was no huge surprise; they were unwelcome guests here. But they'd been kicked out a long time ago, and Dave didn't expect them to be instantly recognized by every single customer in the place.

The Piss Bucket Tavern, contrary to what the name might suggest, was not the Mos Eisley of Cardinia. It was a clean, well-lit and well-maintained establishment in which patrons were expected to keep to certain standards of conduct. Violators of those standards were dealt with quickly and severely, as Dave and his friends had personally experienced. With the sudden hush of conversation, Dave expected they might be about to experience it again.

Milo stepped ahead of Dave and his friends, his hooves clopping on the wooden floor, and the collective gaze of the tavern's patrons moved with him. Dave, unaware that he had momentarily stopped breathing, exhaled.

The bartender placed a mug and washcloth down on the bar and wiped his hands on his apron. "Milo."

"Morty."

"I didn't expect to see you back so soon."

"My new friends invited me out for a drink."

Morty narrowed his eyes at Dave. "Did they?"

What the hell did minotaurs have against him? Why was he being singled out? Cooper was the one who'd wiped shit on the stool. Tim was the one who'd puked everywhere. Julian was the one who'd broken the No Magic rule. Dave was the only one of them who hadn't fucked up. And then it occurred to him, the unspoken message behind those mad cow eyes. Dave was going to be held personally responsible for any shenanigans his idiot friends got up to.

Julian should have stepped up to use his Diplomacy skill right about then, but the bartender was focused on Dave, so Dave did the talking. "I see you remember us, sir. I promise we're not here to cause trouble."

Morty's expression lightened to only mildly terrifying. He grinned with a mouthful of teeth that looked like they'd evolved to eat souls. "Relax, gentlemen. Come, Milo. Why don't you show your friends to your private room?"

Milo nodded solemnly, and the tavern grew noisy again as conversations picked up where they'd left off. Once again, Dave breathed a sigh of relief.

Making sure he was far enough back from Milo, Dave muttered to Julian, "The poor homeless minotaur has his own private room in a bar."

The tips of Julian's ears were red. For once, the bleeding heart elf was at a loss for words.

Milo led the group to the rear of the tavern where he slid open a seemingly inconspicuous section of wall, revealing a wooden staircase which led down into a basement. The huge minotaur trudged down the stairs, and the rest of them filed in behind him.

"Not a bad setup, my friend," said Tim, who was first in line behind Milo. "Smells like shit, but otherwise pretty sweet digs."

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Dave had to guess that Tim was either blind, lying, or simply had very low standards for what he considered an acceptable place to get drunk. The cramped little dungeon of a room looked like the sort of place you'd interrogate suspected terrorists in, furnished only with rough wooden crates, the largest of which would serve as a table. A small, permanently enchanted Light stone hung on a thin chain from the ceiling, providing just enough light to remind a person of the poor life choices which led them to this time and place. The ancient brickwork was crumbling, leaving little piles of red dust and grit along the base of the walls. The wall opposite the stairwell had a giant hole in it, about the size of a doorway, but looked to have been punched through rather than crafted. Who knew where that led?

Milo knew. "Pardon me," he said, unbuttoning the top of his leather trench coat. "I must answer nature's call." He ducked under the hole in the far wall. Shortly after came a sound like water being poured from a height and the pungent stench of ammonia.

Dave sat on a crate, his head spinning with the smell of minotaur piss. He sharpened up when he heard another set of hooves stomping down the stairs.

Morty appeared in the entrance, his each of his hands gripping the handles of two massive tin pitchers. They were dripping on the outside, as if whatever was in them had been scooped out of a larger reservoir rather than poured in.

"Two gold. Paid up front."

"Of course, sir," said Julian, hurrying to produce the coins.

Morty grunted his satisfaction and set the pitchers down on the large crate, sloshing some of the brown liquid over the sides. Dave watched in disgust as a cockroach leg slid down the side of one. Hair, bug parts, and other miscellaneous unidentifiable bits were trapped in a greenish-brown foam floating on the surface of all four pitchers.

"What the fuck is this shit?" asked Tim. "Can't we get a beer?"

Morty held out his hand to Julian. "Milo prefers drinking from the well."

Julian's hand trembled as he hesitated to hand over the money. "I-I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that two gold pieces seems a little steep for…" He looked down at the pitchers. "…that."

"Well sludge only costs a silver piece per pitcher. You can think of the rest as a security deposit."

Julian swallowed. "That sounds fair." He dropped the coins into Morty's hand.

Morty put the coins in his apron pocket, from which he then produced four rusted tin cups and placed them next to the pitchers. Stepping into the stairwell, he faced them again, reached up over his head and pulled down a heavy iron portcullis. When it was all the way down, there was a spring and a clanking sound, and Dave knew he was trapped.

"Enjoy your drinks," said Morty. "If you behave yourselves, I may let you out later. Cause any trouble, and you get flushed."

"Hang on, man," said Dave. "What's this all about? You serve us well sludge and lock us in a dungeon? So we screwed up once. That doesn't mean you have to treat us like criminals. I told you we weren't here to cause trouble."

Morty snorted and furrowed his brow at Dave. "It's not you I'm worried about." He turned around and stomped up the stairs.

Everyone looked angrily at Cooper.

"The fuck did I do?"

"You spread your stool on his stool," said Tim.

"Well I didn't barf all over his floor and break his glasses like some little asshole I could mention."

The sound of running liquid stopped.

"Jesus," said Julian. "Did Milo only just finish taking a piss?"

"Big fucker must have been holding it in for a week," said Cooper.

"Some of us know how not to piss ourselves every five minutes," said Dave. He immediately regretted it. That was too low. Cooper's incontinence was a symptom of his low Charisma score. Dave shouldn't have said that. "I'm sorr—"

"Holy shit!" Cooper's attention was elsewhere. Specifically, focused on Milo. More specifically, on Milo's enormous dick.

Milo had returned from his piss, but hadn't bothered to re-button his coat. Whatever this minotaur's problems may be, physical endowment was not one of them. He looked like a wooly mammoth doing a handstand.

"Ah," said Milo, licking his lips and staring down at the pitchers. "Sweet sustenance!" He picked up one pitcher and greedily licked the outside of it, his purple tongue flapping around like a snake having a seizure. "Who's thirsty?"

"Uh...," said Tim.

Milo poured the well swill clumsily into four of the tin cups, not bothering to tip it back up between pours. He ignored the fifth cup, choosing instead to just use the pitcher as his own.

"Forgive me for not having asked your names yet," he said, raising the pitcher to his mouth. "I can be a bit bullheaded at times."

From the wide-eyed, helpless expressions on Tim and Julian's faces, Dave knew that they were suffering through the same conundrum as he was. Was that a joke? Should he laugh? Would laughing get him murdered? Would not laughing get him murdered?

"Bullheaded?" Milo repeated, raising his eyebrows. He was clearly awaiting some kind of response.

"Heh... heh..." Julian started. A tentative start to a laugh that he still might be able to steer into a cough if he had to. Well played, Julian.

Milo grinned. "Bullheaded. Huh?"

Julian nodded as his laugh/cough became louder and more committed to the former, a sign for the rest of them to follow suit.

"H-hee hee h-hee," said Tim, barely containing the nervous tremor in his voice.

"Ha ha har har," said Dave. It was as good a fake laugh as he could muster up.

Cooper frowned. "I don't get it."

Julian nodded for Dave and Tim to continue laughing while he himself stopped. "He's a minotaur," he explained to Cooper. "He's bull headed. He's got the head of a–"

"Yeah, I get that," said Cooper. "But what does forgetting to ask our names have to do with being – Ow!"

Julian's jaw was clenched as he glared at Cooper. Dave couldn't see their feet behind the large crate, but he was pretty sure Julian had just stomped on Cooper's.

"What the fuck was – Ow! How how haw haw ha haha." Cooper appeared to have finally caught on.

"You get it now?," asked Julian. "Bull headed?"

"Yeah. It's fucking hilarious."

Julian rejoined Tim and Dave in their terrible imitations of laughter, but soon Milo joined in with his own genuine laughter, drowning the rest of them out.

Eventually, Milo calmed down and took a swig from his pitcher. He wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, that was too much!"

"I'll say," said Tim. "Jesus Christ I need a fucking drink." He grabbed one of the cups and necked back the contents, filth and all.

"It's only fitting," said Milo, "for a pint-sized lad like yourself." He didn't even wait for anyone else before he started his own roar of hearty belly laughs.

"What the fuck?" said Cooper. "Was that even a joke?"

Dave thought he might prefer to get punched in the face with Milo's fists than with his comedy routine. It was time to brave the well booze. He continued his fake laugh as he grabbed a cup, picked a dark hair off the top, closed his eyes, and choked it down. It was strong and sour, but the taste wasn't as bad as the texture. It was gritty, and though he may have imagined it, he thought he felt something in it move as he swallowed.

"Wow," Julian said when Milo stopped laughing long enough to suck back some more of the fermented sewage that passed for booze down here. "You're quite the jokester, aren't you?"

Milo's hairy face was wet with boozy foam, which didn't help him look any less crazy. "And you have quite an ear for comedy!"

"I don't...," Julian touched his ear. "Oh riiiight. Ear. Because I'm an elf. I have big ears. That's soooo funny."

"Oh my god," said Cooper. "Please stop. I'm begging you."

Julian doubled over in fake laughter and slapped his knee. "Yes, please stop! We need a moment to breathe."

"I'm an entertainer at heart," said Milo. "I tend to get carried away." His eyes were wet and puffy.

"You're a very talented musician," said Dave. "You could totally make it professionally."

Milo took a swig from his pitcher, and shoved a crate next to the one Dave was sitting on. He sat down, wrapped an arm around Dave, and pulled him in tight. Dave very much wished Milo's coat was buttoned, as their differences in height and the forcefulness of Milo's arm forced Dave to look directly at the giant, veiny moray eel between Milo's furry legs.

"I dream of one day playing for a real audience on the stage of Cardinia's Grand Concert Hall."

Dave took that as an opportunity to struggle out of Milo's embrace without offending him. "I can see it now," he said, standing up. "Your name in lights on the marquee." He spread his hands wide in a gesture of grandeur. "MILO!"

Milo finished the contents of the first pitcher. "Your kindness knows no limits. But when I dare to dream such lofty dreams, it's my stage name which I see illuminated above the theater entrance."

"Oh?" said Julian. "What's that?"

Milo stood, gazing at the ceiling on the opposite side of the room, his eyes glinting with the seeds of fresh tears. He mimicked Dave's spread arm gesture. "The Minotard".

Dave, Tim, and Julian exchanged brief glances. The laughter which followed was hearty and genuine.

Cooper, having his first taste of well swill, sprayed a mouthful all over the three remaining pitchers, further contributing to their lack of appeal. "Now that's funny."

The only one not laughing was Milo. He stared severely at each one of them in turn as laughter unconvincingly turned into fits of fake coughing. There was no mistaking the rage in his eyes this time.

"WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?" He hurled his empty pitcher at the wall leading out to the lavatory, widening the hole by half a brick.

The fake coughing subsided.

"It's nothing," Julian scrambled for something to say. "I… uh… We just… um… I had something in my eye."

Milo bent over, resting his hands on his knees, and started crying. As his body shook with sobs, his dick jiggled like a dead snake.

Dave looked questioningly at Julian and mouthed the words, Something in your eye?.

Julian shrugged helplessly. What the hell was I supposed to say?

"Why?" Milo said between sobs. "Why do they always laugh at me?"

"What… um…" Julian appeared to recognize his Diplomacy skill as the only way they might make it out of this dungeon alive. He was choosing his words carefully. "What made you decide upon that particular stage name?" Move past the laughing. Get him talking. Attaboy, Julian.

Milo sniffed back his sobs and sat down heavily on his crate. "I am a poet. Music and words are the tools of my art. I wanted a name which demonstrates how I can combine two words into one, thus creating something new. I combined the words minotaur and bard. Minotard."

Cooper choked on another throatful of well swill.

"Something wrong with your friend?" asked Milo, a hint of menace in his voice.

"Don't pay any attention to Cooper," said Julian. "He's retar— He's not right in the head."

Tim was holding his breath and bending his index finger back nearly to the point of breaking to keep his composure. Dave had to get him out of there before he cracked.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Dave announced. "Tim, can you help me?"

All eyes in the room turned to Dave as all of his blood rushed to his face. Unable to think of anything that could possibly further clarify such a request, he simply lowered his head and stomped toward the exit, grabbing Tim's arm on the way.

The cavern beyond the brickwork was carved out of bare earth. Dave didn't need any special dwarven mining knowledge to feel extremely claustrophobic in there. It was wide and high enough for a minotaur to move around in, but the slightest hint of a tectonic shift could see he and Tim buried alive in a second.

A saucer-sized hole at the rear had been bored into the stone floor, leading into some sort of chamber from which Dave could hear slowly running water. The three inch wide corona of wet stone surrounding the hole suggested that this was where Milo had relieved himself.

Tim fell to his knees laughing, and Dave pushed his face down into the piss hole to muffle the sound. Tim's laughter turned into hacking, then gagging, and finally vomiting.

"Are you good?" asked Dave as Tim ineffectually slapped at him. "You get that all out of your system?"

Tim ceased resisting and gave Dave a thumbs up.

Dave released him, and they both sat back against the wall, where Tim swapped out the thumb for a middle finger.

"Don't give me that," said Dave. "I've got enough hoofprints in my armor as it is. That guy's unstable. If we push him the wrong way, he'll murder us all and go back to drinking."

"He's the one that called himself a minotard!" said Tim. "How does he expect people to react to that?"

"That's just it," said Dave. "I don't think he has any idea of how he comes off to people. He's big and scary-looking, not to mention a bipolar alcoholic, so people have always just reacted the way they think they're supposed to. He makes a terrible joke. People laugh. He calls himself a minotard. People say 'Oh, that's very clever' and laugh later behind his back."

"That's quite the diagnosis, Doc."

"Have you not been paying attention? When Morty locked us down here, he said 'It's not you I'm worried about'. I thought he was talking to me specifically, but he was talking about all of us. He doesn't give a shit about us. He can easily throw us out of his bar again. We're locked down here to protect his patrons and staff from his depressed, violent, booze-crazed minotaur friend."

Tim thought for a moment, then looked at Dave. "What do you think he meant when he said he'd flush us?"

"I don't know," said Dave. "And I don't want to find out. We've got to come up with a plan."

Tim nodded. "I know what we have to do."

Dave breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. What?"

"We have to outdrink him."

"Goddamnit, Tim. That's your solution to everything."

"Think about it," said Tim. "If we can get him to pass out, Morty might let us out of here before he wakes up."

"And how do you propose we outdrink him? Have you seen how big he is?"

"You can do it," said Tim. "You're a dwarf. You've got a Constitution bonus and all that shit."

"He's a fucking minotaur!" said Dave. "Compared to his Constitution, mine's just a preamble."

"Well then think. How can we–"

"THAT BITCH TOOK MY KIDS AND MY MONEY AND RAN OFF TO WILLOWHAVEN!"

"Shit," said Dave. "We'd better get back in there."

When they re-entered Milo's private drunk tank, Julian was wedged into a corner, both hands wrapped around his sloshing tin cup. Cooper was sprawled out face-down on the floor. Beside him lay the crushed remains of another pitcher. Milo was in the corner opposite the one Julian was cowering in, one hand bracing him against the wall, the other furiously choking his dire chicken.

"What the hell is going on?" Dave whispered to Julian.

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

"LENORE!" Milo groaned at the ceiling.

"What happened to Cooper?" asked Tim.

"Milo punched him in the face," said Julian. "Knocked him out cold."

"Jesus Christ," said Dave. "What did that idiot say?"

"Nothing bad. He just asked Milo if he wanted another drink. I guess Milo read something into it. He said 'You sound like Lenore' and decked him."

Tim looked at Milo. "Is that the same Lenore he's whacking off to in the corner right now?"

"One can only assume."

"WHY, LENORE? WHY?"

"So what do we do?" asked Dave. "I think his arm is moving faster. He might be close to finishing."

Julian thought for a moment. "Tim, do you think, if I put you on my shoulders, you could knock him out with a Sneak Attack? He's pretty distracted right now. You'd probably get a bonus to hit him."

Tim shook his head vigorously.

"Okay then. What if I summon a horse, and we –"

"What's all of this noise?" shouted Morty as his hooves pounded the stairs. "You're disturbing my customers! If I have to warn you again, I'll –" Rounding the bend in the stairwell, he saw Milo through the portcullis bars. "Gods have mercy! Milo! What's come over you? Milo! MILO!"

"Wha?" Milo's arm stopped. He turned his head. "Morty? You distracted me. Now I'll have to start over."

Morty shook his head. "You were once a great minotaur, Milo. I was proud to call you my brother and my friend."

"Come on, Morty. Don't say –"

"You have gone too far this time."

"Please, Morty. Don't –"

"I'm sorry, Milo. I'm cutting you off."

Milo whirled around to face Dave, Julian, and Tim. His eyes were full of crazy, and his erect penis pointed at them like a cannon, complete with a furry sack of cannonballs. Dave now knew the face of fear.

Morty reached his hand up over the portcullis and looked at Dave. "I'm sorry, lads."

"What?" said Dave. "What does this have to do with –" He realized that Milo's crazy-eyes weren't focused on them, but rather the pitcher between Milo and them. "What's happening right now?"

The next couple of seconds seemed to pass in slow motion as Dave's brain processed sensations and stimuli he didn't understand, all happening at the same time.

Milo dove through the air, his arms stretched out in front of him, toward the last remaining full pitcher of well swill. "NOOOOOOOOO!"

Morty pulled some kind of lever which made a loud clicking sound.

Sudden weightlessness.

The bottom of the pitcher rose from the top of the crate while some of the liquid inside sloshed out of the top.

Tim screamed, "FUUUUCK!"

A single tear fled Milo's eye as his hands caught hold of the pitcher.

They were falling. The floor had disappeared from beneath their feet, and they were all being swallowed by a putrid, moist void.

It wasn't a long fall. He landed on his ass with a splash in foul-smelling water that came up to his shoulders.

The light began to fade quickly. Dave looked up just in time to see the floor rematerializing above their heads, like a fog condensing into solid stone, obscuring their only source of light, the enchanted stone suspended from the ceiling.

"Magical floor," said Julian. "That's so cool."

Only Julian would find anything cool about being dumped into the sewer.

"What the fubbblllggllbl," said Cooper, the sewer water having brought him out of his fist-induced slumber.

"Light," said Julian.

As a dwarf, Dave could see well enough to move around in complete darkness, but his Darkvision was in black-and-white, and limited in range. Julian's enchanted gold coin added rich textures of brown to the spectrum, allowing Dave's eyes to catch up to his nose in their appreciation of his surroundings. He was about to throw up when something shifted under his ass.

"Shit! I landed on Tim!" Dave got to his feet and plunged his hands into the murky water until he had a hold of a body.

"No you didn't." Tim's voice came from behind Dave. "I'm over here."

Whatever Dave had his hands on was definitely alive, and much too small to be Milo. "Then who is..." He pulled it out of the water. A muzzle full of sharp, bared teeth hissed sewer mist at him.

"Dire rat!" screamed Tim. "Kill it! Kill it!"

Dave trudged hurriedly through the water, intending to slam the huge rat against the wall, when its arms and legs started growing.

"What the fucking fuck!" said Dave. "What's happening?"

"I don't know!" said Tim. "Kill it more!"

The creature's fur retreated into its pale skin as it continued to expand. It was increasing in weight as well as size, and its limbs and face took on humanlike features. Dave hadn't gotten more than three steps when he found he was no longer carrying a giant rat, but instead hugging a naked man.

"Unhand me at once, you brute!" said the naked man who had just been a rat.

Dave removed his hands. "Who are you?"

"Why are you down here?" asked Julian.

"Why were you a rat?" asked Tim.

"What the fuck are we doing in the sewer?" asked Cooper.

The rat man put his hands on his hips. "I would ask you those very same questions!" He pursed his lips and thought for a moment. "Except for the rat one, as that doesn't really apply."

"We asked you first," said Julian.

The rat man wagged a finger back and forth between Dave and Julian. "Now you listen here, surface dwellers! This is my home you're invading and my body you're accosting! I'll be asking the questions!"

Dave looked at Julian.

Julian nodded. "Fine."

The rat man's eyes focused on the glowing gold coin in Julian's hand. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Julian, and all we want is to get out of here."

"How did you manage to get so far in here?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Cardinian sewer system is a veritable labyrinth of tunnels. Even if you knew the way out – and it's clear you don't – it would take you hours to get to an exit."

"Hours?"

"But judging by the way you screamed like little girls at the sight of a rat, it's a wonder how you've lasted more than ten minutes down here as it is. What you need is a guide. You're just lucky you ran into me first. Anyone, or anything, else down here might have just killed you outright. Now let's talk compensation. I'm a reasonable wererat. Let's just call it... say... whatever money you've got on you right now. For that I will grant you safe passage through – Rapha's mercy!"

Cooper frowned. "You kind of lost me at the end there."

"What is that?" asked the wererat, pointing his scrawny finger past the four of them.

Dave turned around. "Milo!" The minotaur's fur was slimy with shit water. He held the pitcher by the bottom in one hand as he rose to his full height, sucking in air so much air that Dave could feel the air around his own head rushing past in Milo's direction.

"Have you been underwater this whole time?" asked Julian.

Milo breathed in and out a few times. "I had to... uh... finish something."

Dave, Tim, Julian, and Cooper immediately backed up against the sewer walls, scanning the brown water between them for any curious streaks of white.

"It sounds like we've got a long walk ahead of us," said Julian. "Let's just pay the – Hey, where's the wererat?"

Dave turned around. Sure enough, the wererat was gone. Not even a ripple remained where he had been standing. "Looks like he fled."

"Good riddance," said Milo.

"No no no!" said Tim. "He was going to show us the way out of here!"

"Best not to put your faith in wererats. They are a shiftless bunch."

"Yeah," said Tim. "I feel much better putting my faith in Drinky the Minotard."

"Tim!" snapped Julian.

"Fuck this," said Tim. "I'm done being nice. We're lost in a sewer thanks to this moron. I am literally swimming in shit."

"Your words cut deep, little halfling," said Milo. "But your fears are unsubstantiated. Minotaurs are never lost."

"Of course!" said Julian, looking more optimistic than anyone stuck in a sewer with a violent, alcoholic minotaur had any right to look. "The Minotaur!"

"Very good, Julian," said Tim. "It's nice to see you've caught up."

"No, I mean the real Minotaur, from Greek mythology."

"Isn't that kind of a self-contradictory statement?"

"He lived in the Labyrinth."

Cooper scratched his head. "I thought that was David Bowie."

"I'll bet my shit-soaked hat that his description in the Monster Manual includes something about being able to find his way around a maze with no problem."

Milo nodded. "I know not of this David Bowie of Greek mythology of whom you speak, but otherwise, the elf's words are true. I am incapable of being lost in any labyrinth. Morty dumps me down here when I've had too much to drink, intending for me to clear my head during the time it takes to reach the surface."

"That's nice," said Julian. "I can tell he really cares about you."

"To be honest, the stench of raw sewage tends to clear my head right away. 'Tis fortunate I rescued this last pitcher."

Dave had met a lot of alcoholics in his day, but he wasn't sure he'd ever met one so dedicated that he could masturbate underwater, submerged in sewage, while holding his drink above the surface. The last thing they needed right now was Drunk Milo.

"Maybe you should take it easy?"

"There will be time enough for that when we reach the surface, dwarf. The sewer is not without its share of danger." Milo started walking.

Julian summoned a horse to carry Tim and Dave, whose already slow Movement Speeds were further hampered by having to move through water.

Milo walked briskly, turning left or right at each intersection. Dave felt more hopelessly lost than ever, but Milo seemed confident, never stopping to ponder or second-guess his choice of direction.

They traveled for about two hours before Milo stopped dead in his tracks at the intersection of two large tunnels. The elevation was slightly higher here, and the water was thicker, barely covering the top of Milo's hooves.

"Why did we stop?" asked Dave. "Are we near an exit?"

"Very nearly," said Milo. He sniffed the air. "But I sense we are not alone."

Squeaks echoed out from the darkness of the four tunnels surrounding them. Dave felt Tim's arms squeeze him just a little bit tighter.

Cooper started to unstrap his greataxe, but Milo placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Your weapons will not harm them. I'll handle this." He called out into the darkness. "What cowards are you who hide in the shadows? Come out and make yourselves known!"

"Dude!" whispered Julian. "I think you need a few more ranks in Diplomacy."

The darkness came alive with the sounds of squeaking, splashing, and feet squelching through shit on all sides. Two by two, eyes became visible, followed by forms. Some were dire rats. Some were humanoid. The vast majority were something in-between. A hybrid form with ratlike features, including whiskers and a long tail, but bipedal and human-sized. Some of the humanoids and hybrids were armed with daggers or small, rusted swords. They blocked every potential escape route, but did not advance.

Dave held tightly on the horse's reins and whispered to Milo. "If they meant to kill us, they would have attacked already, right?"

"They are choosing which of us they want to eat and which of us they want to turn into one of their own," said Milo. "Mind you don't let them bite you."

"Thanks for the tip, asshole," said Tim. "How the fuck are we supposed to stop them?"

"There's no need for that kind of language." Milo addressed the crowd of wererats. "I demand you stand aside and let us pass, or surely you will know my wrath!"

One dire rat in front of Milo grew and morphed into his human form. It was the same one Dave had landed on upon entering the sewer.

"Silence, man cow! The elf carries gold. He and the Halfling would make fine additions to our family. Leave them, and the horse and dwarf for us to feed on, and you and the half-orc may leave unmolested."

"And if we refuse?"

The wererat laughed, provoking his many, many companions to do the same. "Your bravery is commendable, minotaur. I'll give you that. But we outnumber you ten to one, and you have no weapons with which to fight us. Satisfy our demands, or we shall tear apart every last one of you."

"Your threats are as empty as your tiny, shriveled sack. Scurry back into the darkness, where your kind belongs."

The wererat looked livid. While it wasn't fair to compare his genitalia to Milo's, even for a gangly human he was not particularly gifted in that department. He held out a hand. "Sword!"

A nearby hybrid rat person handed over his shortsword.

Milo took a long swig from his pitcher, then handed it to Cooper. "Hold this." He addressed the wererat. "Speak your name, rat. If you die with honor, I shall compose a ballad in which your memory may live on."

"My name is Roger," said the wererat. "Please, tell me yours, so that I may label the trophy I mount on my wall."

Milo snorted. "Very well. You may call me… The Minotard!"

The silence that followed was so complete that, had anyone blinked, Dave was sure he would have heard it. It didn't last long. The wererats erupted in raucous, howling laughter. Even those still in their rat forms squeaked and wheezed until they could scarcely breathe.

"What?" said Milo, the surprise on his face bubbling up into rage. "WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING? STOP LAUGHING AT ME!"

Dave cradled his head in his hands. This was the saddest thing he'd ever seen.

Milo heaved and trembled. The wererats only laughed louder.

"STOP! LAUGHING! AT! ME!" Milo ran forward and kicked Roger in the face. The laughter was cut short by the crunch of hoof against bone. Roger bounced off the ceiling, then hit the floor so hard that he bounced back up to a standing position, where two of his companions caught him.

His face was completely smashed in, a concave mess of blood, flesh, and bone.

Milo stomped back toward Cooper with tears in his eyes. "Why do they always laugh at me?"

Roger's face started to reform, like an inflating balloon made out of meat. When it was nearly back to its original shape, he shrugged off his friends' assistance. When his teeth had all straightened out and his nose was once again facing outward, he started to laugh. "The Minotard?"

The sewer came alive with a second deluge of laughter.

Milo balled up his fists, trembling violently. He turned around to face Roger.

"I can't take it anymore," cried Roger. He stopped laughing. "Kill them all."

A dozen humanoid and hybrid rat men lunged at Milo. He punched the first two, and kicked a third, sending them flying in three different directions, but they quickly recovered from any damage he dealt, and there were more leaping onto his back than he could possibly fend off.

"Cooper!" screamed Tim. "Behind you!"

Cooper turned around and punched an approaching hybrid in the face, smashing Milo's pitcher and blinding the wererat with horrible booze.

Dave swatted another away with his mace, while Julian jabbed at one with his quarterstaff.

"There's an opening!" cried Tim. "Let's get out of here!"

"What about Milo?" asked Julian.

The suicidally brave minotaur had fallen to his knees, cowering inside the flimsy protection of his leather coat. Wererats piled on top of him, and while he was able to gouge one here and there with his horns, it was clear his time had finally come.

"Milo's done for," said Dave. "There's nothing we can do. This is our only chance. Let's –"

"SHIT!" cried Dave and Tim as they fell to the sludgy sewer floor.

"What happened to the horse?" asked Tim.

Julian smacked a dire rat golf-style with his quarterstaff. It squeaked as it flew out of the range of his light. "Spell timed out," he said. "I've gotten so used to them dying all the time, I forgot they had a spell duration."

The opening Tim had spotted wasn't completely free of wererats. It was merely less densely packed with them. Exploiting it would have required the mass and speed of a charging horse. With Milo secured, more of the wererats focused their attention on Dave and his friends, who were already having a hard enough time fending off the first wave with their ineffectual weapons.

Just as they looked about ready to charge en masse, one near Milo screamed.

"SILVER!"

The wererats scattered like shrapnel, running over each other to flee into the darkness.

Milo stood tall, his right fist raised. His violin-like instrument was strapped to his arm, the long, double-pointed neck sticking out of the top of Roger's head. The rest of the naked man hung as lifeless and limp as Milo's giant dick.

"Milo!" cried Dave. "You're alive!"

Milo lowered his arm, allowing Roger to slide off his instrument into a dead heap on the shit-covered floor. "It is unwise to traverse the sewers without silver or magical weapons." He frowned at the instrument strapped to his arm. "It will require tuning."

"That was amazing!" said Julian. "Did you see how fast they bolted? What a bunch of pansies!"

"I told you," said Milo. "Wererats are cowardly by nature. They will put up a façade of courage only if they know they have no chance of losing. Now please, give me my –" Milo gawked at the busted tin pitcher on the floor, then up at Cooper. He had the crazy-eyes again.

"What?" said Cooper.

Milo clenched his fists. "I asked you to hold that for me!"

"Are you fucking kidding me, man?" said Cooper. "I had, like, a hundred rat fuckers to deal with!"

"You could have set it down."

"Come on, man," said Julian. There was Diplomacy in his voice. "Cooper didn't mean anything by that. He got taken by surprise and that pitcher was all he had to defend himself with. We all saw it."

"Lies!" roared Milo. He pointed his instrument at Cooper, still dripping with Roger's blood and brains. "You judge me, half-orc. 'Do you want another drink?'"

"Hey guys," said Tim. "Let's take it down a notch, huh?"

"I didn't say it like that!" said Cooper. "I was offering you a fucking drink, and you punched me in the goddamn face!"

"You're just like Lenore!"

Cooper grabbed his greataxe with both hands. "You keep saying that. I'm starting to think Lenore must have been an ugly fucking bitch."

Tim shook his head. "Well I guess that's that."

"How dare you!" said Milo. His voice shook with rage. He brandished his weapon at Cooper even more threateningly. "Prepare to face the wrath of my vioLET!"

"Your what?" asked Dave, Julian, Tim, and Cooper simultaneously.

Milo lowered his arms and sighed. "My vioLET."

Dave stood between Cooper and Milo. "Are you saying violet?"

"VioLET," said Milo. "It's a combination of violin and gauntlet."

"That's the stupidest sounding name for a weapon I've ever heard of."

"That's because you're pronouncing it wrong," said Milo. "The emphasis goes on the last syllable. VioLET."

"No," said Dave. "I'm pronouncing it right. That combination of letters only has one pronunciation. Violet. As in a synonym for purple, or a fucking flower. Neither of those invoke the kind of fear you're going for."

Milo snorted through his flared nostrils. "I'm. A. Poet! I combine words to create –"

"You're a drunk asshole!"

"I'm warning you, dwarf!" Milo raised his gore-soaked arm. "I'll –"

"You'll what?" said Dave. "You'll stab me with your violet? Oh, I'm so scared!" He wiggled his fingers daintily at Milo.

"Dude," said Julian. "Take it easy, man. A rose by any other name, you know? Could still tear your face off? Is that how that goes?"

"He needs to hear this," said Dave. He addressed Milo. "You know what your problem is? Nobody's ever told you that you suck at certain things."

Milo's rage softened into confusion. He lowered his arm. "Suck?"

"You're a lousy poet. And your comedy is terrible."

Milo looked at Julian and Tim. "Is that true?"

Julian and Tim shook their heads.

"Dave's crazy," said Tim.

"I thought your jokes were hilarious," said Julian.

Milo turned back to Dave, eyebrows raised like he was expecting an apology.

"That's exactly what I mean! They only said that because it's what they think you want to hear and therefore you might not kill them. Cooper, what do you think of Milo's jokes?"

"They're fucking terrible."

"Who are you to lecture me on –"

"That's precisely the attitude I'm talking about!" said Dave. "You're so used to people feeding you false praise, you can't take criticism. You either drive away or murder anyone who criticizes you. That's not going to get you far in show business, especially when you go around insisting that people call you The Minotard, and then fly off the handle when they laugh."

"It's not funny," said Milo.

"It's literally the only funny thing you've said all night."

"I told you, it's a combination of the words minotaur and bard."

"I didn't interpret it that way."

"How can I be held responsible for how you interpret my words?"

"You listen to feedback!" said Dave. "You are absolutely one hundred percent responsible for making your words clear to your audience. You need to understand that when you call yourself The Minotard, not one single person ever is going to think bard. When you call your weapon a violet, no –"

"VioLET," Milo corrected him.

"NO NO NO!" said Dave. "You're still not listening! That's not what people hear. At best, it sounds confusing. At worst, stupid. Why couldn't you combine a violin and a lance? A violance? Sounds like violence. Not a flower. You see where I'm going with this?"

"Hmm…" said Julian. "I don't know. That one's kinda lame, too."

Milo frowned. "Not to mention impractical to carry around."

"It doesn't have to be that," said Dave. "You're missing the point. You have to stop blaming other people for how they react to your behavior."

"Are you suggesting I change who I am?"

"If by who you are, you mean a violent, psychopathic drunk, then maybe yes. Can you really blame Morty for locking you in a cellar and dumping you in the sewer? He's got a business to run. You're lucky he lets you drink there at all. Can you blame Lenore for leaving? You can't raise kids in that kind of environment. These are people who cared about you, and you pushed them away."

Milo sighed and sat down hard on the shit-caked floor. "I appreciate your candor, dwarf. Everyone I ever loved is gone. What is there for me now but to drink away the rest of my years, alone in this sewer?"

"So," said Tim. "Which way did you say the exit was?"

"Have you listened to a goddamn word I've said?" asked Dave. "You're still making excuses to live your life exactly as you have been. You can still turn things around, but you need to make an effort. You're an excellent musician. You have that much going for you."

Milo looked up at Dave with his big sad cow eyes. "You've seen the way people look at me. They think I'm a monster."

"That's not true."

"Julian?" Ravenus's voice echoed out from the tunnel Milo was facing. "Are you down here? I've been looking everywhere for – NO!"

Ravenus flew into the light and landed on Milo's head. "Run for it, Julian! I'll hold him back!" He pecked furiously on Milo's head, and Milo just sat there and let him.

"Stop it, Ravenus!" said Julian, collecting his familiar. "How did you get down here?"

Ravenus ruffled his feathers, keeping a wary eye on Milo. "The site of the sewer collapse is just a half a mile in the direction I came from, sir. I sensed you were in peril."

Tim was standing behind Milo, jerking his thumb in the direction Ravenus had indicated, mouthing the words "Let's go!" He followed that with a series of gestures including Drink, Sleep, Milo, Crazy, Jerk-off, Me, and Drink again.

"Even your bird sees me as a monster," said Milo.

Tim rolled his eyes and did the Jerk-off gesture one more time.

"You're a big guy," said Dave. "You can't change that, but you can change your image in other ways. Clean yourself up. Maybe get a more colorful coat."

"And some pants," Julian suggested.

"Perhaps you could invest in a violin that doesn't double as a murder weapon." Dave crouched down next to Milo and put his hand on the minotaur's shoulder. "Do you know what name I see lit up above the entrance to the Grand Concert Hall?"

Milo lowered his head even further than it had been. "What?"

Dave waved up at the wall above the sewer tunnel. "THE VIOLINOTAUR".

Milo's head jerked up, his eyes wide and glistening.

Cooper snorted. "That's even –"

"… better than The Minotard!" said Milo.

Cooper shrugged. "I had a different adjective in mind, but whatever gets us out of here."


The sun was up when they reached the surface. Dave had hoped it would still be raining, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The only evidences of the previous night's downpour were large, muddy puddles in the poorly maintained streets of the Collapsed Sewer District.

Rolling around in the street earned them a few stares, but it got most of the shit off. When they stood up again, they evaluated themselves to be at acceptable levels of filth, so as not to be questioned upon returning to the Whore's Head Inn.

When the bathing was done, it was time to bid Milo farewell.

"Thank you, dwarf," said Milo. "You have touched a part of me which I feared would never again be aroused."

Dave could hear murmurs from the crowd which had gathered to watch the crazy people bathe in the street. He wished he was anywhere but standing eye-level to Milo's massive dong.

"You mean your heart?" said Dave, louder than was strictly necessary.

"Of course," said Milo. "What else would I have meant?"

Dave shook his head and laughed. "You can call me Dave. Take care of yourself, Milo."

Milo bowed. "Fare thee well, Dave." He turned toward the rising sun and skipped away, fiddling a happy tune.

Julian stood next to Dave, watching people scream and leap out of the way of the prancing minotaur. "How does it feel to make a difference in someone's life?"

"Hmph," said Dave. "He'll be back on the sauce in a week."

Julian nodded. "That's a distinct possibility. Only Milo can change Milo's life. All you can do is be there for him when he –"

"Oh my god," said Tim. "Can you two knock off this After School Special bullshit? I need to drink something that doesn't taste like fermented cow snot and pass out on the floor."

That sounded just fine to Dave. He clapped his hands together. "Let's go."

Julian frowned. "You guys don't think it's a bit early in the day to start drinking?"

"Fuck that," said Cooper. "It still counts as last night if you haven't gone to bed yet."

Julian wrung some of the shit water out of his serape. "You know what? Comparatively speaking, I'm liking Milo's odds."