Brandiwine
an excerpt

The Mage

A tall thin man with a salt and pepper beard draping to the middle of his chest and a scraggly bit of long threads of hair clinging above his ears and resting upon his shoulders stood staring out a window at a sparse and nearly dead stand of trees around the great edifice of the mage's home and laboratory.
“By Baator, I need a gardener,” he mumbled.
“Master Bargle?” whined a voice behind him.
The mage turned. "What do you want slime? You reek and you've tracked your steps upon my carpet."
"I'm sorry Master," replied the goblin servant.”I've wet myself again. It's that Mercet and his kobold tricks, Master. He ...“
"What do you want?" The mage rubbed his temples, irritated.
"You told me to remind you of the new moon, Master. Is tonight, Master."
"And why did I tell you to remind me of the new moon?"
"I don't know, Master."
Bargle stepped away from the window and sat down in his great throne-like highbacked chair. He heaved a deep regretful sigh and said, "Oh Slagspit ... life is miserable..." He ran his fingers through his hair absently and then looked at it as it fell between them. "Oh damnit all, I've got only six hairs left on my head !” He cried.
“Oh no, Master. I’m sure you have twenty and three upon that side alone!” Slagspit retorted gleefully.
Bargle gave him a narrow-eyed glare. “Remind me again. How is it you, a goblin, manage to speak the common tongue?”
Proudly Slagspit responded, “Oh, you spelled it on me, Master, a wonderful gift!”
“Then shut up before I take it back.”
“Yes, Master.”
Bargle’s eyes flashed and the goblin cowered. “Go collect some of the dog plants.”
“Yes, Master.” Slagspit shuffled off.